Market Stains

The spinach container had exploded across the passenger seat of Elena's sedan, leaving green sludge in every crevice of the leather upholstery. She stared at it through the windshield, watching condensation weep down the glass, while rain turned the parking lot into a gray mirror of everything she'd failed to fix today.

Her phone buzzed. Marcus. Again.

She let it go to voicemail, just like she'd let their friendship dissolve into something unrecognizable over the past six months—what had started as late-night work sessions comparing stories about incompetent bosses and impossible deadlines had somehow warped into borrowed money and IOUs and nights she couldn't quite remember the morning after. He'd texted her three times today already. She knew what he wanted.

The dog in the adjacent car—a golden retriever with a head out the window, tongue lolling, entirely too pleased with existence—watched her with what felt like judgment. Elena considered rolling down her window and explaining herself to it. Instead, she opened her door and stepped into the rain, letting it plaster her hair to her skull like a second skin.

Water filled her shoes. She didn't care.

She'd been promoted to vice president last week—the youngest in the company's history. The announcement email had called her a "bull in a china shop who learned to dance." Her mother had framed it. Elena had wanted to throw up.

The elevator ride to the forty-second floor felt like ascending to her own execution. The office was empty except for Marcus, sitting at her desk with his feet up on her paperwork, eating her emergency stash of almonds.

"Thought you'd ghost me," he said, not looking up.

"I should." She leaned against the doorframe. "For a lot of reasons."

"I paid you back."

"That's not the reason."

He finally met her eyes. "Then what is?"

Elena looked at the spinach stains still visible on her blouse cuffs, at the rain tracking down her arms, at the man she'd trusted with things she'd never said out loud. "I don't know who I'm becoming," she said quietly. "And I'm afraid you're the only one who'd notice."