Electric Papaya

Maya sat at the edge of the infinity pool, her legs submerged in the turquoise water that seemed to spill endlessly into the Pacific beyond. The papaya on the plate beside her had gone warm and soft in the tropical heat, its flesh the color of a bruise she couldn't quite explain to anyone who asked.

Three days into what was supposed to be a second honeymoon, and David hadn't looked her in the eye since their arrival at the resort. He was currently at the bar, ordering another round of drinks she knew he wouldn't share with her.

A storm had been brewing offshore all morning. The first crack of lightning splintered the sky—a violent, jagged scar that turned the ocean momentarily white. Maya counted the seconds until thunder shook the deck chair beneath her. One one-thousand, two one-thousand. The storm was still miles out, but moving closer.

"You're going to get hit out here," David said, suddenly beside her. He didn't sit. Just stood there, silhouetted against the darkening sky, holding two glasses with melting ice and something amber and expensive.

Maya accepted the glass he offered. "What, you think lightning strikes women who ask their husbands if they're happy?"

David laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. He sat finally, close enough that their legs brushed in the water. "You think that's what this is about?"

"Isn't it?" Another flash of lightning, closer this time. The pool surface rippled with the vibration. "We haven't had a real conversation in six months, David. This trip was supposed to fix something, but we just brought all the broken pieces with us."

He was silent for a long moment. Then: "I got offered a position. In Chicago."

"You were going to move without asking me."

"I was going to tell you. Eventually."

The storm broke then. Rain began to fall, hot and heavy, flattening Maya's hair against her face. The pool water rose around them. David set down his drink and took her hand—really held it, for the first time in she couldn't remember how long.

"I don't want to go," he said over the rain. "I only took the interview because I thought you wanted out."

Lightning struck somewhere nearby. The hair on Maya's arms stood up.

"I want in," she said. "With you. I just need you to be there."

He kissed her then, in the pouring rain, as the world went white and electric around them. The papaya sat forgotten on the table, sweet and strange and perfect, like second chances always are—unexpected, slightly messy, and absolutely worth the risk.