Spinach Between Your Teeth

The rain had been falling for three days when Sarah's cat, Miso, began vomiting on the antique rug. She'd inherited both from her mother six months ago—a neurotic Russian Blue and a handwoven Persian that smelled faintly of lavender and regret. Now, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she noticed another gray hair threading through her temple, stark as winter against the chestnut waves she'd stopped bothering to style.

'You look like you've seen a ghost,' David said from the doorway, holding two glasses of water. His wedding was in twelve hours. Sarah was the maid of honor, and he was still pretending they hadn't almost destroyed each other three years ago.

'Miso's sick again.' She didn't turn. 'And I'm thinking about canceling.'

The water ripled as he set the glasses on the counter. 'You can't. Katherine will kill you.'

'That's a compelling argument.' Sarah met his eyes in the mirror. He looked tired. Good.

They'd come here for the rehearsal dinner—David, his fiancée Katherine, and Sarah, staying in the guest room because all the hotels were booked. Katherine was lovely. Katherine was patient. Katherine was currently asleep in the master bedroom, blissfully unaware that her future husband and his former almost-something were having a midnight bathroom confrontation.

'The spinach thing was real, you know,' David said quietly.

Sarah laughed, startled. The sound bounced off the tile. 'We're really doing this? Now?'

'At dinner. You had spinach in your teeth. That whole night. I should have told you.' He stepped closer. 'I was trying to be cool, letting you be charming without embarrassing you. But I should have just said it.'

'That was two years ago, David.' She turned to face him. 'And you didn't tell me because you were cowardly, not considerate. There's a difference.'

'What if I said it now?' His voice dropped. 'What if I told you everything I should have said then?'

The bathroom light flickered. Outside, rain drummed against the window like fingers. Somewhere in the house, Miso began retching again.

'Go to bed,' Sarah said. 'Katherine is waiting.'

'I'm not talking about Katherine.'

'You should be.' She picked up her glass of water, swirled it. 'That's the point. That's always been the point.'

He reached for her hand, his fingers cold. 'I could still choose differently.'

The water spilled over her knuckles. 'No. You can't. That's not how this works.' She met his eyes, saw something break there. 'Some things can only happen once. You had your chance. I had mine. We made our choices.'

'And the spinach?' he asked, something like desperation in his voice.

Sarah smiled, tired and final. 'Go back to your fiancée, David. And for god's sake—if she ever has spinach in her teeth, tell her.'

He left without another word. Sarah stood alone in the bathroom, listening to the rain, listening to Miso's quiet footsteps in the hallway. She washed her face with cold water, watching the gray hair at her temple shimmer in the harsh light. Tomorrow she'd dye it. Tomorrow she'd stand beside David at the altar and say the right things and smile the right smiles.

Tonight, she let herself cry, just a little, for everything that could have been different if someone had simply been brave enough to speak the truth when it mattered.