Bear Market

The cat showed up at exactly 3 AM, scratching at the fire escape like it owned the building. Elena—my friend, my ex-friend, whatever she was now—had left him behind when she moved out three weeks ago. The orange tabby sat on my windowsill, judging my insomnia with those unblinking eyes. I'd inherited the custody dispute along with the rent we couldn't afford anymore.

My iphone lit up with another notification from work. Something about Q3 projections and market volatility. I swiped it away without reading. The spreadsheet was still open on my laptop, glowing like some kind of corporate shrine. I'd been a commodities analyst for seven years, spent my days predicting the movements of things I'd never see—pork bellies, crude oil, precious metals. Now I couldn't predict whether Elena would ever text me back.

The cat, whom I'd mercifully renamed Bear because of his substantial shoulders and generally grumpy disposition, hopped onto the desk and knocked an empty onto the floor. I watched it roll.

That's when I found it—under the desk where Elena's file cabinet used to be. An orange. A single, perfect mandarin orange, somehow not rotted, not crushed, just sitting there like it had been waiting. I picked it up, the dimpled skin cool against my palm. The last time I'd bought mandarins was the night she told me she'd met someone else. We'd eaten them in the dark, not speaking, while somewhere down the street, a car alarm wailed like it was mourning something.

Bear meowed, impatient. I peeled the orange. The spray of citrus hit the back of my throat, sudden and sharp. I ate one segment, then another. It was impossibly sweet, the kind of flavor that makes you remember you're alive, even when you wish you weren't.

The spreadsheet was still glowing. Q3 projections. Market volatility. Bearish outlook.

I typed out a text to Elena—three years of friendship, eighteen months of something else, and it all came down to this: "The cat misses you."

Then I deleted it. Some markets never recover. Bear jumped into my lap, purring like a small engine, and somewhere outside the city was waking up, indifferent and enormous. I ate the rest of the orange in the dark while my phone stayed silent, and for the first time in weeks, I didn't check it again.