Bearing the Weight

The papaya sat on the white plate, its orange flesh glistening like a wound too fresh to heal. Elena pushed it around with her fork, watching the juice bleed onto the porcelain. They'd come to St. Lucia to save their marriage, but after three days, all they'd saved was the receipt.

"You're doing that thing," Daniel said from across the table. His hands were pressed against his thighs—a nervous tic she'd once found endearing.

"What thing?"

"The bear thing. Where you bear down like you're carrying something heavy and the rest of us are just supposed to wait."

Outside, the palm fronds caught the afternoon sun, casting shadows that moved like fingers across the restaurant floor. Their dog back home would be six years old tomorrow. Max. They'd forgotten to ask the neighbor to give him the extra treat they'd bought.

"I'm not bearing anything," Elena said, though she felt the weight of ten years compressed into this moment. The wedding photos, the miscarriage, the promotion he'd gotten that she'd wanted, the way he never asked about her day anymore.

Daniel signaled the waiter. "Check, please."

They walked down to the water afterward. The ocean was calm, deceptively so. Elena had read about riptides here—how they pulled you under while you thought you were still swimming.

"Remember when we talked about moving to Seattle?" she asked.

"That was five years ago, El."

"I still think about it. The rain. Starting over."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You want to talk about Seattle now? While we're literally in paradise?"

"That's just it," she said, toeing the sand where it met the water. "Paradise was supposed to fix things. But we brought ourselves with us."

A couple walked past, holding hands, papaya cocktails in their other hands. They looked like they'd invented happiness.

Daniel took her hand then, his palm rough and familiar. "What if we don't fix things? What if this is just who we are now?"

The question hung there, heavier than all the unspoken words between them. Elena watched a dog chase a seagull down the beach—some tourist's pet, happy and purposeful in its pursuit.

"Then we bear it," she said. "Or we don't."

The sun began to set, painting the water in colors too beautiful to trust.