Orange Warning

Margot sat on the deck chair, peeling an orange, its citrus spray misting her forearm. The backyard party hummed around her—her sister's thirty-fifth birthday, everyone younger, everyone paired off. Her golden retriever, Buster, paddled happily in the pool, his senility momentarily forgotten in the cool blue water.

"He's swimming again," Sarah said, dropping into the chair beside her. "Remember when we thought Buster would never swim?"

Margot nodded, watching the dog's graceful strokes. "Remember when we thought thirty-five felt old?"

Sarah laughed, but Margot wasn't joking. At forty-two, she'd stopped coloring her hair six months ago. The silver threads now wove through her chestnut waves like early frost, each strand a rebellion against the woman she'd been—the one who spent hours at salons, who tracked her ovulation cycle with religious precision, who believed that if she just tried hard enough, she'd get the life she was promised.

Her iphone buzzed on the small table between them. Not hers. Daniel's—he'd left it when he went inside for more ice.

A notification lit up the screen: *Can't wait to see you Tuesday. Xo*

Margot stared at it. Tuesday. Daniel's "late meetings at the office" night. Had been for three months.

"You okay?" Sarah asked.

"Fine." Margot peeled another section of the orange, her fingers stained with juice. "Just tired."

Buster climbed out of the pool, shaking water everywhere. He limped over to her, dripping and happy, and rested his gray muzzle on her knee. Margot stroked his wet fur, thinking about how many years they'd had together, how his muzzle had gone white while she'd been dyeing hers.

She picked up Daniel's phone, thumb hovering over the notification. Part of her wanted to open it, to read the messages, to know the details of the life he'd built without her. But she already knew the important part.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of tangerine and coral. Beautiful. Terrible. The way endings often were.

Margot ate the orange section, bitter-sweet on her tongue, and watched the dog dry in the dying light. Some days, you peeled an orange and found it rotten inside. Some marriages worked the same way.