Ripe Fruit

The papaya sat on the white bedside table, its yellow skin growing soft in the tropical heat. Elena had bought it two days ago from the market, before she found the receipt.

She lay by the pool now, sunglasses hiding eyes that refused to focus. The palm fronds above her rustled in the breeze, casting shifting shadows across her stomach. Somewhere beyond the resort walls, children laughed. They sounded like her own children, four thousand miles away with their grandmother. She'd told herself this trip was about finding herself again. She hadn't specified which version.

"They played baseball in college," David had said about the woman whose number she'd found tucked into his wallet. "She was a catcher." Elena had imagined her crouched behind home plate, face hidden by a mask, hands waiting in their leather glove. The specificity had been worse than a name. It meant he'd listened. Meant he'd cared enough to remember.

The papaya would need to be eaten soon or thrown away. Nothing lasted in this heat.

She thought about David's proposal, five years ago. He'd said she was full of it, that she was bull-headed, that he loved how she never compromised. She'd believed him. She'd built a life on that belief.

"Madam?" A waiter's shadow fell across her. "Another drink?"

She shook her head. Her skin prickled with heat.

That night, she'd held the receipt up to David. A hotel bar. Two drinks. He hadn't denied it. Just looked at her with those patient eyes and said, "I'm lonely, El. You're always somewhere else. Even when you're here."

The words had cut deeper than any affair could. She'd packed her bag and booked the first flight out. The resort had been the cheapest option. Now she wondered which was worse: his betrayal or her relief.

She sat up, water dripping from her hair onto the concrete. The papaya on her nightstand would be over-ripe now. Sweet almost to the point of rot. The kind of sweetness that made your teeth ache.

Sometimes you let things spoil because you can't bear to throw them away.

Sometimes you leave because you're tired of being the one who always stays.