Page 7 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

“What is all of this?”

“No idea. Pro tip: You don’t have to read it. You just have to sign it,” Chase says.

I scan the first few pages. It seems fairly standard: I grant permission to use my image and my voice in perpetuity, for promotional purposes, and so forth. But there are a few lines that jump out to me. “ ‘I release Get Real Productions from any and all liability for any injury, dismemberment, death, or trauma, emotional or physical, that may occur,” I read out loud. “I don’t like the sound of dismemberment. Or death.”

“Don’t worry,” Chase says. “That’s all regular waiver stuff. It’s reality TV. Nothing bad’s actually gonna happen.”

I think of the news article I’d scrolled past about a contestant onNepo Housegetting airlifted out of Joshua Tree because he was vomiting so hard he ruptured his esophagus.

“Chase,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I can’t sign this. You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to apply for this show.”

“But I’m asking now,” Chase says.

“That’s not—” I begin, and a door swings open.

A nurse looks around, clipboard in hand. “Ms. Chen?” he calls. “Your mom’s settled in her room now. You can come back and see her.”

The nurse brings us to my mom’s room, and there she is in the bed, connected to an oxygen tank and vitals monitors. But she’s awake and alert, and that’s enough for me. I don’t know if I want to rush to herside or cry at the door. Luckily, Chase knows what to do. He puts a hand on the small of my back and walks us both forward.

“Mrs. Chen, so good to see you,” Chase says. “Maybe a little too young to take up smoking, yeah?”

My mom smiles indulgently at him, patting his hand. “You’re so funny, Chase.”

“Tell that to Alice,” he says, and they laugh like I didn’t pull my mom out of a burning apartment earlier this evening.

“He’s funny, Alice,” my mom says. “When’s the wedding?”

“Mom,” I choke. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“Alice is still recovering from my proposal,” Chase puts in.

There were a lot of dark nights when my mom first found out she had cancer, when we weren’t sure how things were going to go. We fought a lot, both of us stressed and afraid. During one of our fights, I found out that my mom was terrified that I wasn’t married yet.

“What if something happens to me, and I leave you here all alone?” my mom had asked, tears in her eyes.

“I have Chase,” I told her.

“He hasn’t even proposed, and it’s been three years,” my mom said, sniffling.

“We’re not ready,” I said. “And it’s not like he’s the only person in my life. I have friends, you know.” I didn’t point out the obvious, which is that my mom is divorced, but that doesn’t mean she’s tragically all alone in the world. I mean, she has me. But that was too low of a blow.

I’d broken down later and told Chase all about our fight, and the next week he proposed. And I said yes, because it made sense.

The ring had been gorgeous, a large diamond set among a dazzling array of other tiny diamonds. I made him return it and get me a much more modest ring for a fraction of the price. We only got store credit on the return, so now whenever we have to buy something, I just hope that Macy’s carries it.

My mother was never a big fan of Chase. He wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer—hell, he barely graduated from college—andworst of all, he wasn’t Chinese. My mother said I was a different person around him. But I thought that was probably a good thing. Chase made me cooler, more relaxed, more confident. My mom would saycomplacent.

But I guess she changed her tune after she found out about the cancer, because she cried actual tears of joy when she found out we were engaged.

“Don’t tell me Alice still wants to do the ceremony at the courthouse,” my mom says, still holding Chase’s hand.

“I know you want a big wedding, Mrs. Chen. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back on this,” Chase says with a wink.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I say firmly. “Mom, why were you trying to cook tonight? You know you’re supposed to be resting. The doctor said you shouldn’t push yourself too hard.”

I can tell by the scrunch of her nose that my mom doesn’t appreciate my tone. She hates being told what to do.

She waves her hand as if sweeping my words away. “You had a long day. I wanted to cook for you.”

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