Young Jane Young(47)

“Do not be morbid, Ms. Levin. The dress is very festive.”

“Margarita, what does meté mean in Spanish?”

“A child having a tantrum might yell it to get someone to put something down. Meté! Meté!” Margarita said.

“But what if there’s an el in front of it? El Meté. Does that make a difference?”

“Ah,” Margarita said. “Then, it means nothing at all.”



The receptionist apologized. The doctor was running behind schedule. Behind schedule was the schedule, Embeth thought.

Embeth took out her phone and searched for mentions of Aaron’s congressional race online. She decided she wouldn’t care if he lost. Despite what people said about her – that she was the ambitious one, that without her, he would most certainly be a high school English teacher, not that there’s anything wrong with that – she would almost welcome his defeat.

“Embeth Levin, is that you?”

She turned, and it was Allegra. Allegra was so old. She looked like she was in her late forties. Oh God, Embeth thought, she doesn’t look old. She is old. She is in her late forties, because I’m in my late fifties. Allegra had worked with Embeth, back when Embeth had worked for the hospital. They had been so close. People had jokingly referred to them as “work wives.”

“Allegra, it’s been too long,” Embeth said.

Allegra kissed her on the cheek. “I hope you’re well.”

“I was sick last year, but I’m better now,” Embeth said. “I’m only here for a checkup.”

“Well…,” Allegra said. “Well, you look good.”

“Don’t lie. I look like shit,” Embeth said.

“You do look good… A little tired maybe. I hate when people say I look tired.”

“We’re having an anniversary party tonight,” Embeth said. “And after this, I’m going to the salon. I’ve got to figure out something with these useless feathers.”

“I like your hair. It’s very chic,” Allegra said. “By the way, I know about the party. I mean, I’m coming to it,” Allegra said.

“Why?” Embeth said without thinking.

“Well, I was invited,” Allegra said. “I assumed by you?”

I should goddamn remember a thing like that, Embeth thought. “Of course,” Embeth said. “Of course.” What state of mind must she have been in to invite Allegra?

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. I’m…” The truth was, she couldn’t remember anything lately. Probably chemo brain.

“Mrs. Levin,” the receptionist called.

“I was happy to get the invitation,” Allegra said. “Surprised, but happy. But if you don’t want me to come… If it was some sort of accident, I mean.”

“I do want you to come.” Embeth squeezed Allegra’s hand. The hand was cool and soft, and Allegra smelled of frangipani and something spicier and earthier, like sandalwood or pure cocoa powder. “Sometimes, my brain works better when I’m barely thinking.”

Allegra smiled. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I want us to have an impossibly long lunch next week,” Embeth said. “Can we promise to do that?”

“I wish I’d known you were ill,” Allegra said.

“I wasn’t any fun to be with,” Embeth said.

“Still, I would have done something…”

What would she have done? Walked a 5K? Worn a ribbon? Brought chicken soup for Embeth to throw up? Posted a sympathetic tweet? “Why are you wearing cat ears?” Embeth asked. “Am I imagining them, or are you actually wearing cat ears?”

“Oh!” Allegra laughed coyly, a bit embarrassed, and patted down the hair beneath the black cat ear headband. “It’s my costume. Yesterday was Halloween.”

“I forgot,” Embeth said.

“But the party at Emory’s school is this morning. Something to do with testing. I’m in charge of punch. One of the moms sent me a text last night, Don’t put nuts in the punch! Who puts nuts in punch? I’m the oldest mom there, and they think I’m a flake.”

“Mrs. Levin!” the receptionist repeated.

“The ears suit you,” Embeth said as she went through the doors into the doctor’s office.

“How’s Embeth today?” the doctor asked. English was not his first language, and he seemed frightened of pronouns.

“Embeth has found a new lump,” she said brightly.



On the way out of the doctor’s office, Embeth felt stupidly cheerful. The promise of future tests! The promise of another round of chemo! The promise of death! These were not reasons to be cheered, and yet, cheered she was.

It was certainly not the promise of the evening’s festivities.

Perhaps it was the relief of revelation. When she’d found the knot in the shower, she had felt like a failure, though she knew that was a trick of her brain, pure foolishness. It was not her fault that her body had continued to grow anomalous clusters of cells. Embeth had been raised to believe that everything was her fault. She was enormously powerful and couldn’t do anything right. Embeth, Creator of Anomalous Clusters. Embeth, Destroyer of Worlds.