Oranges at Sunset

The padel court glowed orange in the dying light, the color matching the bruises under Elena's eyes. Marcus hadn't seen her in three months, not since the divorce papers were served. Now here she was, holding a racquet like she'd forgotten how to use it.

"You look like a zombie," he said, bouncing the ball against the ground. Thump. Thump. Thump.

She laughed, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That's exactly how I feel. Like something that died but forgot to lie down."

They played in silence for a while. Elena's movements were stiff, mechanical. Marcus remembered when she'd been the best player in their friend group, fierce and laughing on the court. Now she missed every shot.

"I'm sorry," she said after the ball sailed past her again. "I haven't been eating well. Or sleeping."

"Spinach," Marcus said suddenly.

"What?"

"My mom used to say spinach would fix everything. Broken heart? Spinach. Bad day? Spinach." He shrugged. "Maybe she was right."

Elena's shoulders shook. Marcus realized she was crying, quietly, the tears tracking through the sunscreen on her face. He walked to the net, reached across. Their fingers brushed over the tape.

"I miss him," she whispered. "Even though he destroyed me. I still wake up reaching for the empty side of the bed."

"You're not a zombie," Marcus said. "Zombies don't feel this much."

They sat on the bench as the orange deepened to purple. Elena peeled an orange from her bag, her fingers stained with juice. She offered him a segment. It was tart and sweet and real.

"Thank you," she said. "For this. For being my friend when I'm such a mess."

"That's what friends do," Marcus said. "We show up. Even when you're terrible at padel."

She laughed—really laughed this time. The sound carried across the empty courts. The zombies don't laugh either, he thought.

They sat together as the last light faded, eating oranges and watching shadows stretch across the ground. Alive. Broken. But present.