L.M. PINO

THE MEAL

The kitchen was done. Elena took a few steps back to look at it again from the doorway, trying to take a critical eye, imagine how Liv would see it. But she couldn’t find a single thing wrong with it. She’d mopped, wiped down the cabinet fronts, cleaned the glass on the window. And there was no clutter at all on the countertops. She’d even put the coffee maker away, just how Liv liked it, even though she knew she’d have to take it right back out tomorrow morning. 

Yes, it looked good. It should be okay. Elena pulled out her phone and ticked off “kitchen” on her notes app with a small, satisfied sigh.

The living room was still a disaster. The soft morning light fell incongruously on the takeout boxes on the coffee table, her suit jacket flung over the back of the couch, the mangled legal pads scattered on the floor. Elena frowned. If she were here, Liv would be shaking her head. It wouldn’t be this much trouble if you’d just tidy up a little every day, she’d say, as she had before, many times. 

Liv was right, of course. Elena was grateful, actually. She’d already gotten so much neater, even though she’d only moved into Liv’s place a few months ago. It was nice, always coming back to a clean apartment. 

She’d tried her best to keep it up while working the trial, and had managed, for a while. But it was just so long—three whole weeks, each of them full of sixteen and eighteen and sometimes twenty-hour workdays. How could she clean when she was barely sleeping, when she came home so tired she didn’t even brush her teeth, just collapsed right onto the unmade bed?

Elena never would’ve admitted it, but really, she thought it was lucky Liv had been out of town for most of it. It’d been a relief to be able to let everything fall apart so spectacularly. And anyway, she could definitely get the apartment in order before Liv came back.

Next on the list was laundry—luckily the laundromat was close. Elena stepped out the front door, one bag in each hand, and smiled as she always did to see the ocean winking at her in the distance. This was her favorite thing about Liv’s neighborhood, the big reason she’d agreed to move in with her instead of insisting they stay in the Mission. Her friends loved to tease her that the Marina was overrun with frat bros, and they weren’t wrong, but no amount of frat bros could ruin this view. 

Besides, everything they needed was right there: the coffee shop, convenience store, and laundromat, each next to the other, like they’d been placed there for her particular benefit. Elena passed the coffee shop—technically a Vietnamese restaurant, though she’d never seen anyone actually order the food—and smiled at the owner through the window, knowing she’d go ahead and start making her order. One of the brothers who owned the convenience store was outside, but he didn’t notice her, he was too busy sweeping the sidewalk. Well, she’d say hi later. Elena fixed her grip on the left bag and hurried past, then stopped short.

The laundromat was gone. 

The window-front was now covered by a series of long black shades, too opaque to see through, though Elena instinctively put her face to the glass to try. When had this happened? She tried to remember the last time she’d walked by the garish green laundromat, but the past few weeks had been such a blur she couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t realized it was doing badly—there always seemed to be someone inside when she walked by. Now what were they supposed to do?

Elena was just about to walk back home when she heard a familiar bell jingle, whipped her head around. One building down, a man was exiting the bright green laundromat, a mesh basket in his hands.

Elena felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She stepped back unthinkingly, almost crashing into a pair of tourists. Coffee shop, convenience store, laundromat, she thought again, her back pressed against the reassuringly solid metal of the streetlamp. One next to the other. 

She looked again at the building in front of her. She’d never seen it before, she was sure of it. But that was impossible, of course. It was a classic old SF building—four stories, the façade done up in pale blue, with the bay windows painted a contrasting white. It didn’t look like a new build.

But it was new. It hadn’t been here before. Elena knew that, just like she knew it was impossible for buildings to spring up overnight. The effort of trying to hold these two truths at once made her slightly queasy, and she hurried towards the warm familiarity of the laundromat.

Paula sat at the table by the entrance, her wispy white head bent over a book. Rebecca, an old English copy Elena had lent her a couple months ago. 

“What’s up?” Elena said—in Spanish, she always spoke Spanish, with Paula—dropping her bags and taking the seat across from her. Paula lived a couple floors below them, had been there for sixteen years. After Elena moved in, they’d realized they were both from Jalisco, and that was all it took for Elena to decide they were friends. Well, that and the fact that Paula was always game for a good book recommendation—unlike Liv, who never quite managed to read anything Elena liked, no matter how hard she begged.

Paula gave her a nod. “Liv out of town?”

Elena winced. Usually when Liv was home, Elena would go back to wait for her clothes there. Liv didn’t really like Paula, refused to even say hi to her in the hallway. 

“Did the two of you argue or something?” Elena had asked once, trying to sound casual.

Liv had shrugged. “She’s just so weird,” she’d said, though she wouldn’t explain why. “She’s probably homophobic.” 

Elena wasn’t so sure, but she knew better than to argue. When Liv was home, she dropped off her clothes and went right back—just to spend more time with her, she’d told herself. She didn’t realize Paula had noticed.

Elena took a moment to dig around her pockets for a roll of quarters, which she placed upright on the black Formica table. “She’s been out of town for a few weeks. She’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Paula nodded, didn’t ask anything else. And Elena didn’t volunteer any more information, either. She didn’t know why, but when she was with Paula, she didn’t talk about Liv at all. 

“So, did you see the new place next door?” Elena said instead.

Paula had rolled up the sleeves of her green military anorak—which she seemed to wear regardless of the weather—and was busy groping around in her purse. She didn’t look up. “What new place?”

“Next door,” Elena repeated. “Right next to the store, with the black curtains in the front? It doesn’t have a sign.”

“Hmm,” said Paula, busy extricating her latest knitting project—a lump of gray yarn Elena could not reliably identify—from her bag. Snagged in it were her keys, a gum wrapper, and a faded tube of honey chapstick. She set the mass down on the table. “Don’t be mad, but I may have been walking while reading again.”

Of course she had. Elena sighed. Well, she could always tell Liv. She pulled out her phone to text her, then paused, finger hovering over the messaging app. Liv’s days were long when she was on a travel nursing assignment. She imagined an exhausted Liv reading her message—the furrowed brow, the twist of her lips. Her skeptical text back: “Wdym a new building? In three weeks?” 

Or maybe, “I mean I don’t remember anything there but idk, I haven’t really been paying attention…” 

Or even, “Babe, I can’t text rn. Did you need something?”

Elena put the phone away. Drummed her fingers pensively on the table. Then, decision made, she stood. “Watch my stuff for a sec.” 

She popped next door—which, it bears repeating, was no longer literally next door—to talk to the guy who owned the convenience store. But he seemed confused by her question. “New building? Oh, do you mean the construction on Lombard and Polk?”

And inside the coffee shop, the owner just blinked at her over the espresso machine. “Cannot move building,” she said, and chuckled, not unkindly.

She was right, of course—you couldn’t move a building. But Elena had too much on her to do list to consider the implications of that. When it was time to head back to the laundromat to switch her clothes, she took the long way around the block. 

***

That night on her way home she saw it again. During the day, the black shades of the new building had looked impenetrable, but now it was easy to see through them. What she’d assumed must be a store was actually a small, expensive-looking restaurant, though Elena had never seen one like it. There weren’t any tables, just a bar wrapped around a chef’s workstation—long enough to seat eight, maybe ten people. 

Elena pulled up Google Maps while she waited for the light to change. The building showed up, but there was no business registered for that address. Same thing with Apple Maps, Yelp.

The crosswalk ticked for the visually impaired. Elena walked quickly, drawn to the soft amber glow of the restaurant. Up close, she could see that everyone inside was dressed for the occasion—rare for SF, land of the Patagonia jacket. But how had these people ended up here? How could they even know this place existed, when it didn’t have a name?

When she pulled open the door, Elena told herself it was just so she could ask the hostess a few questions. It was normal, wasn’t it, for a neighbor to want to know what she was living next to?

But as soon as the door closed, Elena paused. She hadn’t realized how loud the street was until she was enveloped within the warm, near-perfect silence of the restaurant. The chatter of people walking into the convenience store, the rumble and hiss of the 49 bus, the unending drone of cars turning left on Lombard—all these sounds instantly vanished, like she’d pressed the mute button on the television. Even her place, four floors up off Van Ness, wasn’t this quiet. 

Elena turned back, as if to make sure the outside world was still there. But it was the strangest thing—from inside, the shades made everything on the street dissolve into indistinct darkness. She could only make out a smattering of glowing yellow orbs, which had to be the streetlights, only they looked off. Were they in the wrong places?

“Just you tonight?”

Elena jumped, hand over her pounding heart. A woman in an all-black suit stood in front of her, smiling like she was genuinely happy to see her.

Elena had been expecting to be asked if she had a reservation, or told how long the wait was. “Er—yes.”

“First time joining us, isn’t it?”

Elena nodded.

The hostess—for that was what she had to be—smiled even more broadly. “Welcome. You’re just in time.”

She ushered Elena forward. The seating bar had seemed full from outside, but now Elena could see there was an empty stool right in the middle, like someone had saved it for her. She slid in quietly, trying to seem like she walked into places like this all the time. But inside, panic. She shouldn’t have let the hostess seat her. There was no way they could afford this—Liv would kill her if she knew. She should just tell the hostess there’d been a mistake and slip out. But god, that would be so embarrassing. 

Elena looked around helplessly. To her right, two older white men in crisp jackets and matching silk pocket squares were deep in conversation. On her left, a young Asian woman with perfectly highlighted hair was whispering something in her date’s ear. From this position, Elena couldn’t really see any of the other diners, but she could hear them, all of them speaking in hushed tones, like they were in a cathedral. She closed her eyes. Together, their voices sounded like the murmur of running water.

It had been so long since she’d treated herself to a nice dinner out. Liv always said she liked Elena’s cooking so much, she’d rather eat at home. 

Elena thought of the empty fridge waiting back in their apartment and took her jacket off, decision made.

As if on cue, a gong rang. “Welcome to Revelations,” said the head chef, a tall Asian man with bright blue glasses. Like the hostess, he smiled broadly, but on him the gesture looked less natural. Behind, five assistants—all men—stood staring at nothing, hands clasped in front of their unassuming black aprons. “We are delighted to take you on this experience.”

In unison, the assistants stepped forward and placed a small gray rock in front of each guest. Their first dish was on top, but Elena couldn’t really tell what it was. The bottom was unnaturally black, and flat, like a disc. On top were strips of what looked like flesh, but—she resisted the urge to sniff it, instead poking it discreetly with her chopstick. It was probably fish, raw fish, only the strips were much longer than sashimi usually was. A strange purple powder was sprinkled on it all, making it look even more alien.

“Enjoy,” said the chef.

Beside her, the two white men looked at each other excitedly, though they didn’t speak. In fact, everyone had stopped speaking, as though the show they’d come to watch had finally started. Well, it was definitely too late to run now. Elena slowly lifted the strange concoction to her mouth, taking it in one bite. Her eyes closed reflexively. God, it was—it was like nothing she’d ever tasted before, a heady burst of umami on her tongue. 

“Try a sip of the chardonnay,” the hostess murmured in her ear. Elena obeyed, closing her eyes again. The wine somehow made the fish taste—it was impossible, really, to describe how it tasted. Buttery, maybe, only the word seemed woefully inadequate. 

They ate in silence, a silence that stretched so unnatural and long it eventually became comfortable, as though she had been communing with these strangers for years. By the seventh course, Elena had given herself over fully to the experience, stopped thinking so much about whether she was eating things right, or trying not to spill anything, or peeking over to see what the other diners were doing. Instead, her focus turned inward, to her own body—the decadent aftertaste of rich food on her tongue, the growing heaviness in her limbs from the alcohol, the quiet clinking of cutlery around her. There was something soothing, too, in sitting still and watching as the chefs labored, their motions fluid and repetitive. 

Course after course was presented wordlessly, on the kinds of items you’d find on a forest floor: slabs of wood, rocks, moss. Like a child, Elena let herself be fed, put everything in her mouth without asking questions. Every once in a while, the hostess would whisper a tip in her ear. “Cleanse your palate with some water,” she might suggest, and Elena would do it, unthinkingly. 

At some point there was a kind of intermission, and Elena took the opportunity to stumble to the bathroom. Like the rest of the restaurant, it managed to be both tiny and luxurious, with emerald green wallpaper glowing in the golden light of the lamps. In this mirror, Elena thought, even her face seemed changed. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair inexplicably tousled, like she’d been having sex. She giggled, then slapped a hand over her mouth. God, she was drunk, absolutely and completely trashed. How had she gotten so drunk so fast? She splashed some cool water on her face, ran her wet hands though her hair. She’d be fine, she just needed to slow down a bit.

Elena walked slowly back to her seat, determined not to look as drunk as she felt. On the way, she passed a large, stainless steel fridge with a glass door—so large, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it the first time. Inside, rows of fish hung face down, sharp hooks pierced through their tails. She leaned closer. The fish were all different sizes, their colors ranging from a pearl gray to coral pink to an unnaturally bright orange. But they all had the same look: shock, pure shock in those dead eyes, those open mouths forever gaping. Elena ran her hands down her bare arms, suddenly chilled, and hurried back to the dining room. 

As soon as she was seated, an arm appeared over everyone’s right shoulder, holding a carefully-painted, teacup-sized ceramic plate. On it lay what could only be described as a small orange tongue with hundreds of minuscule wet globes. Some kind of caviar, maybe.

The woman next to Elena took her phone out, and suddenly the hostess was leaning down between them. 

“I’m afraid we don’t allow photos,” she murmured.

That was strange, Elena thought, swirling her—what had they poured into her glass? It was a dark, slightly viscous liquid, possibly sake. Delicious, sweet, with a faint floral undertone. Oh right, pictures. Didn’t most restaurants like pictures, for reviews and stuff like that? She should ask the hostess the next time she came around, and also why they weren’t on Google Maps. She kept forgetting to do that.

The man sitting beside her scooped up the globes with his spoon, placed them delicately in his mouth, and audibly moaned. His boyfriend did the same.

Nothing about the globes looked appealing, but Elena told herself not to think too hard. She scooped them quickly into her mouth and bit down. The globes burst, coating her tongue with a bitter brine, and that was when Elena realized they were eggs. She gulped down her sake, shuddering.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” The man beside her said in a low voice, eyes scanning her face.

“Incredible,” Elena whispered, wondering whether he genuinely liked them, or if everyone around her was just pretending.

And then, before she knew it, the meal was over. The chef smiled with false humility while everyone clapped—Elena hadn’t even realized she was clapping. The man next to her dabbed his sweaty forehead with his handkerchief.

She slipped carefully off her stool. She felt like she was moving in a dream, her body acting and reacting before her mind had time to catch up. 

The hostess placed her coat gently on her shoulders. “You already paid, Elena,” she said, answering a question Elena didn’t remember asking. 

Elena stumbled onto the sidewalk, then stood, gulping in the fresh night air. She hadn’t realized how hot it had gotten inside the restaurant. But it had rained, while they were inside, and the cool SF air was a relief on her face. 

Years later, when she looked back on that night, she would wonder when exactly she had told the hostess her name.

***

Elena woke the next morning half-convinced she’d dreamt everything, but the sheer brutality of her hangover suggested otherwise. She muddled her way through a grocery run, head pounding, throat curiously scratchy. It had been worth it, though—so worth it. She was sure of that, even if her memories of the dinner were already beginning to fade, leaving her only with an indistinct sense of remembered pleasure. 

It had rained again overnight, and it was still drizzling halfheartedly as she stepped outside the grocery store. On the far side of Marina green, the ocean blurred into the pearl-gray sky. Elena pulled up her hood and began the trek back home, walking as quickly as she could. Only a few hours left until Liv returned.

The way home would take her past Revelations. Maybe she’d stop in for a second, if it was open. Just for a second. She needed to ask the hostess how long they’d been open—this time, without getting distracted. 

Elena hurried across one street, then another. Again, she passed the coffee shop, corner store. Again she looked up—then stopped, gaping, in the middle of the street. The laundromat had resumed its rightful place next to the corner store, not a half inch gap between them. Elena closed her eyes. Opened them. Looked again, again. 

There wasn’t a single blue building on the whole block.

Her body went hot, then cold. And then one of the brothers who owned the convenience store was there, picking her groceries up off the sidewalk. “Whoa, whoa. What happened?” 

She opened her mouth, but couldn’t answer. 

He hustled her inside the store, out of the rain. Sat with her until the color came back into her face, then walked her home. “You get yourself right into bed, okay?” He made her promise.

But Liv would be back soon. Elena put the groceries away and started cooking in a daze, her mind running over and over the night before. She kept trying to untangle what was real from what wasn’t, only she couldn’t get anything to make sense. It’d be one thing if she’d dreamt the meal somehow, Elena thought, peeling the carrots. Everything about Revelations had felt surreal, right from the moment she walked in. But she’d first noticed the new building hours before, in the morning. She’d talked to people about it. That couldn’t have all been in her head. Could it?

She cleared her throat, tossed the chopped vegetables into the pot. Maybe she was coming down with something. People hallucinated sometimes if they had fevers, right? She’d read that somewhere. That would make much more sense than her having some kind of psychotic break. She put a hand to her forehead, though she knew you couldn’t feel your own temperature. 

Or maybe it was just the aftermath of the trial. It was terrible for you, working so long without any breaks, reaching that level of stress. The body could only take so much. 

While the soup simmered, Elena popped a couple of preventative Advils. Made tea for her sore throat. She had just finished cooking—chicken noodle soup, Liv’s favorite—when she heard Liv’s key in the front door. 

Oh god. Had she missed a text? Elena smoothed her hair, wishing she’d had time to change. She took a deep breath. Stepped out into the hallway. 

And there was Liv, finally, looking adorable in her powder blue workout set. A year ago, Elena would’ve thrown her arms around her, but she knew better, now. Like a cat, Liv reacted unpredictably to physical affection. 

“Hi,” she said instead, a little shyly.

Liv pulled her into a hug, and Elena buried her face in her neck, breathing in the lavender smell of her hair products.

“Ugh, I missed you,” Liv said, then laughed. “Babe, stop, I’m so gross. Don’t smell me.”

“I don’t care.”

They closed the door behind them somehow, and then Liv was pressing her up against it, kissing her in a way that made her stomach drop, like she was on a rollercoaster. 

They had to reheat the soup. Liv set the table with their fancy placemats, lit a few candles. This had always been one of Elena’s favorite things about her—the way she made everything feel like an occasion.

“Aw, did you get the bread I like?” Liv said, taking a piece from the center of the table.

Elena’s throat was getting smaller, too small to properly breathe through. She cleared it, smiled at Liv. “I dropped by the farmer’s market yesterday.”

“I love you.” Liv squeezed her thigh. “So. What did you get up to while I was gone?” 

Elena started to speak, but her throat was too dry. Liv turned to look at her, with those eyes that saw everything. 

“Why do you keep clearing your throat? Are you sick?”

Elena took a sip of her water. “I’m fine. I’ve been resting, you know how trial is.”

She hadn’t even meant to lie—the words had come out before she could think too hard. But maybe it was for the best. She wasn’t sure what would be worse: Liv taking her seriously, frowning, telling her hallucinating an entire meal wasn’t normal. Saying, with reproachful eyes, that she needed to be more careful. Or Liv laughing, telling her she was being silly. 

A few years ago, right when they’d first started dating, Elena had woken up in the middle of the night with the worst chest pain she’d ever felt in her life. She’d driven herself to urgent care, convinced she was having a heart attack. It took them until morning to deliver the diagnosis: she’d pulled a muscle in her chest earlier that day. Elena had been mortified, but Liv thought it was hilarious. It had become a running joke, Liv saying they were perfect for each other: a nurse and a hypochondriac. 

Most of the time, Elena took it in stride—she knew she wasn’t actually a hypochondriac, no one in her life but Liv had ever even joked about that. But nothing about the past few days felt funny to her. 

“Anyway, you’re the one who needs to fill me in. How was Wisconsin?”

But Liv was frowning. “Babe, did you add noodles to the soup?”

“Oh yeah, there was a lady selling fresh noodles at the farmer’s market. Figured we could try them.”

Liv didn’t say anything, didn’t meet her eye, just nodded. 

Elena cleared her throat again. “You don’t like them?” They tasted fine to her—though maybe not worth the $15 she’d paid for them.

“No, they’re fine,” Liv said, in the specific tone of voice she used when she wanted to seem like she was trying to be nice and just couldn’t quite manage the lie. Elena hated when she did that. Liv could lie perfectly well, when she wanted to.

“What’s the issue?” she asked, setting her spoon down.

“Nothing, it’s just —” Liv sighed. “This is exactly what Mary and I were just talking about.”

“What?”

“It’s double carbs,” Liv said, holding up the bread accusingly. “We really need to eat healthier.”

Elena blinked. “I made this from scratch. It’s chock-full of vegetables, I—”

“But it’s way too many carbs for one meal.”

“Fine, then, don’t eat the bread,” Elena reached forward and took the slice off Liv’s plate, placing it at the opposite end of the table. “There. Problem solved.”

The problem was not solved. Liv had gotten that look on her face—serious, even a little sad, like she knew something Elena didn’t and hated to be the one to break the bad news. 

“I’m not just talking about this one meal,” she said, then sighed. “We don’t eat anywhere near as many vegetables as we should be eating.”

Elena took a deep breath, trying to summon her patience. “Okay, look, I hear you. But I’ve been really looking forward to you coming home, and I worked really hard to make this. Can we please just have a nice dinner and talk about this later?”

“Fine.” Liv sipped her soup in silence, not meeting her gaze, and Elena knew it was too late. They were not going to have a nice dinner tonight.

A few moments later, Liv spoke again. “I mean, to be honest, I’m saying this mostly for your benefit. I’m worried about you.” 

“Me? What about me?” Elena asked, very calmly. 

Liv was tiny, not an ounce of fat on her. Elena was not. But they’d never really talked about it, because Liv had never—ever—commented on Elena’s weight. 

“You put so much sugar in your coffee every morning.”

Elena scoffed. “I use one teaspoon of sugar. And anyway, you wanna talk about drinking too much sugar? What about that Kombucha you like so much? Maybe you should worry about that.”

Liv squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, like she needed to clear it — always the first sign she was getting truly mad. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. We need to have a broader conversation about your cooking.”

“I cook what you ask me to half the time,” Elena said, hating the way her voice sounded, like she was pleading. “We have salads every day. We don’t even eat red meat.”

But Liv went on like she hadn’t even heard her. “It’s really important to me that we eat healthy food, that we feed our kids healthy food. I need to be with someone who understands that.”

A long silence fell. 

“Why can’t anything I do ever be good enough for you?” Elena said, finally. 

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is! It is! I was just in trial for three weeks. I’m exhausted,” Elena said, trying to swallow down the knot in her throat. “I should’ve spent the weekend resting, taking care of myself. Instead, I spent it cleaning this place from top to bottom, doing the laundry, getting groceries, cooking you a meal, and I thought maybe for once you’d say thank you, honey, this is lovely, I really appreciate everything you do for me. But you always find the one flaw—”

“Stop yelling at me,” Liv said, holding her hands out.

“I’m not yelling, I’m just Mexican!” Elena said, and okay, maybe she did yell that last part, but she really hadn’t been yelling before.

“I can’t talk to you when you get like this.”

“Fine, don’t.” Elena rose, headed towards the bathroom. 

Liv was right behind her. “Why do you always do this? You love to walk away when I’m trying to have a conversation with you —”

Elena shut the door. Liv had taken a quick shower before dinner, and the bathroom was still heavy with steam, smelling of her eucalyptus bodywash. Through the door, she heard Liv walk away in a huff. Then the tears came.  

After she finished, Elena opened her mouth, gulped in the steam. It felt like it was loosening the knot in her throat. Wasn’t that a thing? Maybe she was sick. She inhaled deeply again, then leaned over the sink. There was a weird lump of phlegm caught in the back of her throat, but it wouldn’t come out. She wiped the condensation off the mirror and opened her mouth wide, using her phone flashlight to shine a light onto the back of her throat. She’d had strep in college. Maybe she’d caught it again somehow.

At first, she saw nothing — just red, leading into darkness. 

Then the darkness moved.

Elena’s stomach churned. She inched closer to the mirror, trying to hold the light steady. It had probably been a weird shadow, she told herself. But there it was again — a piece of the darkness undulated, and Elena felt a wetness crawl, impossibly, up her throat.

Her chest filled with air for a scream, and then the thing struck, its tentacles splayed firmly over Elena’s open mouth, like a hand trying to force it shut from the inside. The phone fell. Elena leaned over the toilet, retching involuntarily, but nothing except saliva came out.

Liv yanked the bathroom door open. “Elena?”

She couldn’t stop gagging. Liv dropped to her knees beside her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Elena’s hands shook as she groped for the phone, afraid to speak. She opened wide, stuck her tongue out like at the doctor, pointed the light inside.

“What am I looking at?” Liv asked, peering intently. “Your throat looks fine — a little inflamed, maybe.”

But Elena could feel it now, a wetness clamped around her airway like a vise. She pointed again.

“Use your words,” Liv said.

Elena stood, quivering. She faced the mirror again, Liv a solid presence behind her. “There’s something at the back of my throat, moving,” she whispered, not wanting to anger it, whatever it was. 

“Moving? What, did you swallow a bug or something?”

“Oh my god.” Elena remembered those eggs bursting on her tongue. That had to be it. “Listen. Last night, I went to this restaurant—”

Liv frowned. “Food you ate more than 12 hours ago wouldn’t be moving in your throat. Let me look again.” 

Elena opened wide. The revolting wetness crept up, attracted to the light. Slowly, it coated her mouth, tasting like saltwater, or tears.

Liv was looking right at it. Elena could see her eyes on it. But Liv shook her head. 

“There’s nothing there. Have you been getting enough sleep? Maybe you should lie down for a second.”

In the mirror, Elena looked at Liv. Her hands, soft and warm, rested gently on Elena’s shoulders. Her brows were knit together, her whole face radiating concern.

And Elena didn’t believe her.  

She pushed past Liv and ran out of the apartment, down two flights, all the way to the opposite end of the hallway. Banged on Paula’s door.

“What the—” But when Paula saw her face, she pulled her inside immediately. “What’s wrong? Did she—here, sit.”

Elena dropped onto the couch. Her throat felt like it was constricting, stopping her from getting enough air, so she just pointed at her mouth, opened wide.

“Hold on.” Paula disappeared into her bedroom. While she rummaged around, Elena did her best to try to calm down, take deep breaths. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t. 

Paula came back with her reading glasses on. “Alright, let me take a look.”

Elena pointed her phone flashlight inside again, trembling. She felt the darkness move inside her, pinning its tentacles to her teeth as it slithered its way up, up. 

It had to be real. It had to be, because Elena could never have imagined this.

Paula’s face went white. “Dios de la vida.” 

Then, from the door, knocking. “Elena?” Liv said, “Elena, talk to me.”

Paula stomped over. “She’s not in here,” she snapped, her voice harsher, in English. 

“Just let me talk to her.” Liv’s fists were heavy on the door. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound dismissive, okay? We can go to the ER if you want. I’ll get the car.”

Paula looked back at Elena, who shook her head.

“Go fuck yourself,” Paula said. 

It took a while for Liv to walk away, but when she finally did, Paula came back to the couch. In the newfound quiet, she put an arm around Elena’s shoulders, just like Elena’s mother would have. 

Again, Elena opened her mouth to speak. She needed to tell Paula—about the restaurant, yes, but also about Liv, and the way her eyes had looked in the mirror, a bottomless black. She took Paula’s hand and pitched forward, heaving up brine until she was empty, until all that was left was a dark, oily puddle seeping into Paula’s rug. Then she covered her mouth and wept, in terrible relief.