Young Jane Young

by Gabrielle Zevin

  “That’s very sweet,” I said.

  “Thanks for everything,” Wes said. “The wedding was beautiful, and I know your friendship has meant a lot to Franny.”

  “It’s been fun,” I said.

  He turned to leave. Then he turned back. “Why don’t you like me?”

  “I like you,” I said.

  “I don’t think you do. Audra overheard you talking to Franny. She said you almost convinced her not to marry me,” Wes said.

  “I think Audra’s in love with you. I think she heard half of a conversation, and she’s trying to make trouble,” I said. “Because that’s not what happened.”

  Wes nodded. “Is it because I remind you of him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “You can play dumb, but I ran a background check on you before we hired you. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t a criminal. You aren’t—technically. But I know who you are. I know your real name.”

  Ruby came through the door. “Hi, Mr. West,” she said.

  “Hey, Ruby girl. Nice to see you.” He smiled at her and shook her hand.

  “I was showing Wes out,” I said.

  “Say hi to Franny!” Ruby said.

  “Will do,” he said, and I walked him to the door. When he reached the threshold, he lowered his voice. “You don’t have to worry, Jane. I won’t tell anyone. Not even my wife. It’s no one’s business, and the past is past.”

  The past is never past. Only idiots think that. I stepped outside and I closed the door behind me. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you don’t know anything.”

  “Come on,” he said. “There’re pictures—”

  I interrupted him. “Even if it were true, what does it gain you really?”

  “I’m not threatening you, Jane. I imagine, though,” he said, “it wouldn’t be great for a wedding business if people knew you had once been the star player in a sex scandal.”

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “That’s interesting that you see things this way. Maybe you’re too young to remember—I wasn’t even born yet myself—but in 1962, Robert McNamara, John F. Kennedy’s secretary of defense, gave a speech where he laid out the concept of mutually assured destruction. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Sure,” said Wes. “It’s the idea that you’re fine as long as you have more bombs than the other guy.”

  “That’s oversimplifying,” I said. “But it’s good that you know it, being that you want to go into politics.”

  “What are you getting at?” he asked.

  “You think you know something about me. I definitely know something about you,” I said. “I know about Franny,” I said. “Her past.”

  “She wouldn’t have told you that.” He looked at me, and then he looked away.

  “If you run for office, this is a small town, and maybe it wouldn’t look so great for the future whatever of Allison Springs to have a wife who . . .”

  “Shut up,” he said.

  “But if you tell people about who you think I am, what would it do to me? Maybe people would care? Maybe they wouldn’t? I’m a private citizen and I don’t need anyone to vote for me for anything, you know? I can always move and plan weddings somewhere else.” I shrugged.

  “You’re a bitch,” he said.

  “Probably. Here’s what I think you saw. And the reason I think you saw this is because it is the truth. Aviva Grossman was my roommate at the University of Miami. We were close once, but I haven’t seen or heard from her in years. I’ll tell you, Wes, I do dream of her sometimes. It’s a little embarrassing. What’s even more embarrassing, though, is that you would have made such an error, but I can’t blame you. Who knows what kind of shoddy background check you get for forty-nine dollars online? Your failure to thoroughly research this matter is understandable. You’re a busy man, and I want to assure you I won’t hold it against you. People make mistakes. I don’t see it as some kind of moral failing.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “See, I do like you.” I offered him my hand. “Shake my hand,” I instructed him, and he obeyed. “Good doing business with you. I hope you’ll keep in touch.”

  I watched that weasel walk away. Though he did not run, he walked briskly, eager to put some distance between us. I thought, Wes West, you are not one iota like Aaron Levin.

  However, this might be unfair. It’s hard to know what I would think of Levin if I encountered him today. Maybe he would seem like Wes West—they were both arrogant and ambitious. In Levin, these qualities were leavened with intelligence and an intense, almost painful empathy for his fellow human beings. Still, it must be said . . . Maybe, despite everything, I think kindly of Levin because I knew him when I was easily impressed, because I knew him when I was young.

  TWELVE

  In May, just before Ruby’s tenth birthday, I happened to see Wes West leaving his office. He was heading toward Market Square, and I, in the opposite direction, Schiele’s Flowers—I was meeting a wedding couple there, Edward Reed and Eduardo Ontiveros, who went by Reed and Eddie. Reed was a landscape architect—the flowers at his wedding were going to be a serious business; he wanted what he referred to as “architectonic topiaries,” and Schiele would be up to it. Eddie was a teacher at Franny’s school, and Reed and Eddie had both attended the Lincoln-Wests’ winter wedding, and they had liked my work. I think I had also won their favor by not being overly amused that they had variations on the same first name. “People are so annoying about this. Yes, we have the same name,” Eddie said when we were discussing the announcements. “We are men with the same name. This happens. It is not so amazing or hilarious.” The wedding was set for August. The theme was WASP fiesta.

  By the way, Maine had legalized same-sex marriage the prior December, and early signs were that same-sex weddings were going to more than double my business. I was even thinking of hiring a few full-time employees.

  So, Wes West was on his cell phone, and he was gesturing and projecting as if he were in a play and no one else in the world existed but him. Or, we did exist, but we were meant to be the audience for his call, for his impressive real estate acumen, or some such. He was walking right toward me, and I was walking right toward him. And I could tell that he hadn’t seen me, but if he had, he wasn’t going to move over. He hadn’t yielded for the dog walker with the tangle of leashes. He hadn’t yielded for the woman with the baby carriage and the toddler. He hadn’t yielded for the older man coming out of the post office. He hadn’t yielded for the two teenage lovers who had arms linked. Why would he yield for me?

  I was feeling jaunty that afternoon so I decided to test Ruby’s hypothesis. What happens if a person comes toward you and you just don’t move? The day was warm, the streets were mercifully ice-free, and so I kept walking and swinging my arms. I walked right toward him until we were about to crash into each other.

  Our noses were perhaps six inches apart, but I kept coming.

  He moved.

  III

  Thirteen, or a Few Interesting Facts About Maine

  Ruby

  To: “Fatima” shes_all_fatima@yahoo.com.id

  From: “Ruby”

  Young_Ruby_M@allisonspringsms.edu

  Date: September 8

  Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program

  Dear Fatima,

  Allow me to introduce myself! My name is Ruby Miranda Young. I am thirteen years old and I am in the eighth grade at Allison Springs Middle School, which is in the great state of Maine, “the Pine Tree State.” Do you eat lobster in Indonesia? A fun factoid about Maine is that most of the lobster in the United States comes from, you guessed it, Maine! I like lobster, but I do not love it. My mom says I do not love lobster because it has become “blasé” to me. “Blasé” means that you act bored because something is too familiar. My mom also says if you use a new word in a sentence three times you will remember it:

  1. The word “blasé” is not “bla
sé” to me.

  2. Having a pen pal from Indonesia is not “blasé.”

  3. It is “blasé” to eat lunch in the cafeteria alone, and I have only been in eighth grade one week, and it is already “blasé.”

  4. BONUS ROUND: My mom finds lobster to be the opposite of “blasé.”

  There are many ways to cook lobster. I like lobster chowder or lobster roll. (A “lobster roll” is a “sandwich.”) My teacher for social studies and world cultures is Ms. Reacher, and she is the one who signed up our class for the “Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program.” She calls it FAW-PUH-PUH. Something I do not like is when people say acronyms, like FAW-PUH-PUH. It is one of my “pet peeves.” “Pet peeves” are “especially annoying things.” My other “pet peeves” include the cafeteria and “fake” Instagram accounts and people who do not RSVP. My “pet peeveiest” thing would be a person who did not RSVP and then said, “Sorry I didn’t remember to RIZVIP.” If I had a dog or a cat, I would call him Peeves, and then I would say, “This is my pet, Peeves.” I cannot have a dog or a cat because I am allergic to dogs and cats and possibly other furry animals. I have not, for example, met a lion or a camel. My other allergies include strawberries and goat cheese and pine nuts. I am not allergic to peanuts, which is excellent, because organic peanut butter is my favorite food. I could eat peanut butter every day and it would never become blasé. Do they use “acronyms” in Indonesia? Something interesting is that up until last school year Ms. Reacher was a “man.” Do you have “transgendered” people in Indonesia? I don’t know much about Indonesia, which I guess is why it’s good that you are going to be my pen pal!

  I googled your first name, and did you know that “Fatima” means “captivating” or “shining one” in Arabic? That’s very interesting. My name “Ruby” means “precious jewel,” which is pretty close to “shining one,” which makes us nearly MEANING TWINS! (I just invented that.) How did you get the name “Fatima”? Duh, your parents gave it to you . . . Imagine that I am smacking my forehead. I guess I mean, what made them choose it? Also, do you have a middle name?

  I googled pictures of Indonesia. Do you go to the beach a lot? Something to know about me is I google everything. My mom says I should be the Olympic champion in googling.

  The instructions say that we should keep our e-mails to “around 250 words,” and I have written more than 500! Please write back soon.

  Your pen pal,

  Ruby

  P.S. I know it’s weird and probably seems like an invasion of privacy, but I had to have Ms. Reacher read this e-mail before I sent it to you. It is an “assignment.” I hope you won’t take that personally because I would want a pen pal even if it weren’t assigned. Anyway, Ms. Reacher said my letter was good but that I should probably not have spent so much time on lobster, seeing as I don’t have a “particular passion” for lobster. She says the part about lobster felt like “padding,” which is when you add extra words to make a certain “word count.” I wasn’t “padding.” I thought the point of this was to learn about each other’s cultures, and lobster really is a big thing in Maine. But I’m sorry if the part about the lobster was super blasé.

  P.P.S. Also, Ms. Reacher says I should explain that she was always a woman inside and that she only “presented” as a man before. “Presented” means “looked like” or “appeared to be.” (I think that’s what it means.)

  To: “Fatima” shes_all_fatima@yahoo.com.id

  From: “Ruby”

  Young_Ruby_M@allisonspringsms.edu

  Date: September 15

  Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program

  Dear Fatima,

  Your e-mail was Very, Very, Very, Very, Extremely Interesting and Not Even One Word Blasé and your English is Very Good even though you said it wasn’t. I’m super EXCITED that you joined FAW-PUH-PUH to work on your vocabulary because vocabulary is my “raison d’être.” “Raison d’être” means “reason that you are alive.” My other raison d’être is oxygen, ha ha. What is your raison d’être? I didn’t know that Muslims don’t eat lobster and you can only eat seafood with scales! Also, it is interesting that you are Muslim, as I don’t know any Muslims personally, and it is interesting that you are Muslim because none of the other kids in my class have a Muslim pen pal. By the way, I’m sorry if it was awkward that I went on and on about lobster when you can’t even eat it. FACE PALM!

  I googled so many things while I was reading your letter. Do you wear a “hijab”? And if you do wear a “hijab,” what do you do when your head gets hot and you are away from your house? The average temperature in Indonesia is 82.4°F or 28.0°C, but you probably know that already.

  Ms. Reacher says that our e-mails should “strike a balance between telling about you and asking about them.” She says that “pen pals” are “students and teachers at the same time.”

  An interesting thing about me is that my mom is an event planner. She doesn’t like it when people call her a “wedding planner” though mainly what she plans is weddings. When I’m not in school, I work as her assistant. She says I am “trustworthy” and “strong for my age.” I have many responsibilities:

  1. Make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be when it’s time for the bride and groom to say their vows. Brides and grooms get lost more often than you would think. I also keep track of the location of the “rings” and the “wedding party.”

  2. Sign my mom’s “signature” for deliveries.

  3. Answer the phones in the office. I make my voice looooow, and no one ever knows I’m thirteen.

  4. Pick up small items, like boutonnieres, from the florist, which is three doors down from my mom’s office. “Boutonnieres” are “the flowers that men wear so they don’t feel left out.”

  5. Online and other kinds of “research” for my mom. One time my mom needed to find out if we could get an ice cream truck for a December wedding, even though that did not end up happening. By the way, you can get an ice-cream truck, in December, in Maine, if you ever need one. (I don’t know why you would, seeing as you live in Indonesia!)

  6. Putting “place cards” on tables. It is very important to be accurate when I am in charge of this. People get very angry if they are seated in the “wrong” place. Sometimes, they get angry when they are seated in the “right” place, too.

  7. Et cetera. (“Et cetera” means “and other things.”)

  My mom pays me, and so far, I have saved $3,998.93. I also have been given a “business” American Express card. The American Express card says RUBY MIRANDA YOUNG, and underneath that it says, EVENTS BY JANE, which is the name of my mom’s company. I am only supposed to use the card “for business.” I like to stroke the top of the card with my thumb and pretend that I know how to read Braille. Fun factoid about ME: I am the only thirteen-year-old I know with a business American Express card.

  Another interesting thing is that my mom is “running” for mayor of Allison Springs.

  Your Meaning Twin,

  Ruby

  P.S. Ms. Reacher says she is not going to read any more of our correspondence. She will only check to make sure we are doing it. I hope that will ease your mind.

  To: “Fatima” shes_all_fatima@yahoo.com.id

  From: “Ruby”

  Young_Ruby_M@allisonspringsms.edu

  Date: September 22

  Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program

  Dear Fatima,

  Hello!

  It is interesting that you and your sister are interested in politics! It is tragic that there are “quotas” on how many women can run for parliament in Indonesia. (I did not know anything about politics in Indonesia so I googled it.) How old are you, by the way? Are you in high school? I do not have many friends who are my exact age. People my age tend to be pretty blasé.

  Here are the answers to your questions.

  1. Yes, there are female mayors in the U.S., but Allison Springs has never had one
before so if my mom wins she will be the “first female mayor,” which is awesome. My mom’s “friend” Mrs. Morgan says that this is because Allison Springs is “shamefully patriarchal.” “Patriarchal” means that “men control everything.” Also, my mom says that she is running for “mayor and not first female mayor.”

  2. No, I don’t think it’s usual for event planners to become mayors in the United States or in Maine, but I do not have “exact” numbers. I will have to get back to you.

  3. The way my mom became a candidate for mayor is that everyone in Allison Springs thinks that my mom is their best friend, though I am her actual best friend. My mom says the reason people think she is their best friend is because weddings and events give people “the illusion of intimacy.” The “illusion of intimacy” means people “lower their inhibitions.” “Lower their inhibitions” means “people talk and drink and hug too much.”

  4. One of the people who think they are my mom’s best friend is Mrs. Morgan. My mom says that Mrs. Morgan is not her best friend but she is definitely her “best client” and “my college fund.” Mrs. Morgan is a “socialite.” A “socialite” is a “rich, old lady who drinks wine and throws parties for charity and gets in other people’s business.” Mrs. Morgan also owns the Allison Springs Cryer, which is our newspaper. My mom says it is getting to be more like a “newsletter.” I like Mrs. Morgan A LOT. She has a colorful vocabulary and a colorful wardrobe.

  5. Mrs. Morgan was throwing a benefit “party” for male cancer of the breast, which is what Mrs. Morgan’s husband died of last year. After the party, Mrs. Morgan “lowered her inhibitions” and we had to drive her to her mansion in our SUV. My mom took off Mrs. Morgan’s shoes and put her to bed. My mom says that Mrs. Morgan is a “chatty drunk.” A “chatty drunk” is “a socialite who does not just pass out like a normal person.”

  SCENE BETWEEN MY MOM & MRS. MORGAN

  MRS. MORGAN: You are far and away the best event planner I have ever hired, but I’m a crutch for you. I have half a mind to stop hiring you, so that you would go do something better. You should write a book, have a show like Martha Stewart. Jane, don’t lie, did you want to be an event planner when you were young?