Cable to Nowhere

Mara stood in her mostly empty apartment, watching Carlos wrestle with the coaxial cable behind the television set. They'd been together seven years, and somehow this was what it came down to — who kept the cable subscription, who got the better coffee maker.

"You've got something in your teeth," Carlos said, not looking up from the tangle of wires.

Mara ran her tongue over her teeth. "Spinach? From dinner?"

"Yeah. Left side."

She swallowed hard, remembering how they'd met at that pretentious farm-to-table place, how she'd had spinach stuck in her teeth their entire first conversation, how he'd been too polite to mention it until their third date. Now he couldn't wait to point it out.

Her palms were sweating. She wiped them on her jeans, leaving dark streaks on the denim.

"Done," Carlos said, standing up and stretching. He looked different in the harsh overhead light — older, maybe. Or maybe she was just seeing him clearly for the first time in years. "You know, my dad used to say relationships are like baseball. It's not about how many times you strike out. It's about how you keep stepping up to the plate."

"Your dad watched too many sports movies," Mara said.

"Maybe." Carlos picked up his box of belongings — mostly books and some clothes. "But he also said that sometimes you gotta know when to walk away from the plate. When the pitcher's got your number, and you're just embarrassing yourself."

He paused at the door, box in his arms. "You coming to the game Saturday? My company season tickets, remember?"

Mara looked at the disconnected cable dangling from the wall like a severed artery. "I don't think so."

"Right. Sure." Carlos nodded, like he'd expected nothing else. "Well. Good luck, Mara. With everything."

The door clicked shut behind him, and she stood alone in the apartment that was suddenly too quiet. She realized she was still running her tongue over that spot where the spinach had been, searching for something that wasn't there anymore.