Four Words for Goodbye

The spinach stuck between Michael's teeth while Lisa told him she was leaving. He ran his tongue against the green obstruction, a tiny physical annoyance to match the emotional one spreading through his chest.

'I'm sorry,' she said, not looking at him. 'I've been unhappy for months.'

Their dog, Buster, whimpered under the table as if sensing the finality in her voice. Michael had found the golden retriever three years ago, wandering the neighborhood during a baseball game he'd been watching alone at a bar. He'd brought Buster home to Lisa, and she'd cried — happy tears, then. Now she was crying again.

The kitchen was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. On the counter sat the orange she'd packed for his lunch tomorrow, a small domestic gesture that felt cruel now. They used to have breakfast together every morning. He'd make her spinach smoothies. She'd laugh at the color, drink them anyway.

'Do you remember when we found Buster?' Michael asked suddenly. 'During the World Series?' He couldn't explain why it mattered, except that it was something.

'Yes,' she said, wiping her eyes. 'I remember.'

'It was the bottom of the ninth,' he said. 'Two outs. We heard him whining outside.'

Lisa stood up. 'Michael. Don't.'

'Don't what?'

'Don't do the thing where you make everything about baseball. Where you think if you just get the right combination of memories and nostalgia, you can win this.' She grabbed her coat. 'Some games you lose.'

He wanted to argue — games had extra innings, you could come back from behind — but the spinach was still stuck in his teeth, and Buster was still whining, and Lisa was already moving toward the door.

'The orange,' he said, gesturing lamely toward the counter. 'Your lunch.'

'Keep it.' She paused at the door. 'I already ate.'

After she left, Michael stood in their kitchen alone. He picked up the orange. He thought about peeling it, but instead he put it in the garbage. Then he flossed the spinach from his teeth while Buster watched, hopeful, as if Michael might suddenly produce something worth celebrating.

'There's no game tonight,' Michael told the dog. 'Season's over.'