Cutting the Cord

Forty-three and already shrinking. Marco caught his reflection in the bedroom mirror—thinning at the crown, graying at the temples. He swallowed his vitamin D supplement with tap water, same as every morning, pretending it wasn't actually faith he was ingesting.

"You're still doing that?" Elena asked from the doorway, not looking up from her phone.

"It's good for me."

"Everything is supposed to be good for you now. The papaya, the pads, the supplements." She finally met his eyes. "You think any of it matters?"

The cable bill sat on the kitchen counter, final notice stamped in red. Their subscription to each other had lapsed years ago; now even the literal connection was about to be severed. Elena had already moved her things to the guest room. Marco still slept in their bed, alone, surrounded by pillows that smelled like her expensive shampoo.

They met at the padel court at noon, per their divorce mediator's suggestion. "One last friendly game," she'd called it. Marco's racket felt foreign in his hand—he'd only started playing because she'd wanted him to.

Her hair was pulled back in that severe ponytail she'd adopted recently. Professional. Closed off.

"You're not going to win," she said, bouncing the ball.

"I'm not trying to."

She served hard. Marco let it hit him in the chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Standing here while you hurt me. Seems like what we both do best now."

Elena lowered her racket. For the first time in months, really looked at him. "You're eating papaya every morning. You're taking vitamins. You're trying to...

"What? Live?"

"You're trying so hard to stay the same." She stepped toward the net. "Marco, we were supposed to grow old together. Not—you holding on so tight to how things were that you can't see how they are."

He thought about the cable company shutting off their service tonight. How the house would be so quiet without the TV's constant hum. How maybe that was the point.

"Your hair," she said. "It's different."

"It's what happens."

"No." She touched her own ponytail self-consciously. "Mine too. We're both changing. Just not... together."

They finished the match in silence. Elena won 6-0.

Back at the house, Marco found the papaya he'd sliced that morning, already turning brown at the edges. He ate it anyway, standing in the kitchen that used to be theirs, watching the cable guy's truck pull up to the curb.

Some connections have to be cut before anything new can grow. He placed his vitamin bottle back in the cabinet and waited for the doorbell.