Sleepwalking Through Sunset

The padel ball hit the racket with a sound like a pistol crack — sharp, violent, satisfying. Forty-two years old and David still chased satisfaction in the wrong places. His divorce had been final for three months. He'd become a zombie of his former self: same job, same gym, same desperate approximation of a life, but something vital had rotted away inside him.

He adjusted his hat, pulling the brim lower against the Mexico sun. The resort was supposed to be healing. His therapist had suggested it. His sister had paid for it. He stood alone at the edge of the pool, nursing a drink that was mostly ice, watching steam rise from the water like ghosts.

"You have spinach in your teeth," a woman said.

David flinched. She was maybe thirty, sitting on the pool's edge with her legs submerged, dark hair slicked back, eyes that had seen too much. She wore a wedding ring with tan lines where another ring used to be.

"Thanks," he said, tongue working at his teeth. "How long?"

"Since you ordered that terrible spinach wrap at the bar." She gestured to the empty foil wrapper on the nearby table. "I'm Elena, by the way. Also a zombie, also hiding from life." She patted the pool's edge. "Come sit. The water's perfect."

He didn't move. "I was going to play another match."

"Were you?" She challenged him with her eyes. "Or were you just hitting balls against a wall and pretending it meant something?"

David laughed, startled by how good it felt. He sat beside her, feet in the water, and for the first time in months, the crushing weight in his chest lifted enough that he could breathe.

"My husband died," she said quietly, like testing how words taste. "Eight months ago. I keep thinking I should be over it by now."

"People expect grief to have an expiration date," David said. "Like milk."

She smiled, and it was the saddest, most beautiful thing he'd seen in years. The sun began to set, painting the pool in impossible colors, and somewhere in the distance, children laughed, and he thought: maybe this isn't sleepwalking anymore. Maybe this is what it means to finally wake up.