Spinach in the Battery Compartment

The iphone lit up at 3 AM, its ghostly blue glow illuminating Maya's bedroom ceiling. Another text from him. Or maybe not-him-anymore. She watched the notification pulse and fade, like a heartbeat slowing down.

On her chest, Barnaby—her sister's cat, now hers since the funeral—purred with the rumble of a small engine. He was the only living thing that still sought her warmth consistently.

She rolled over, dislodging him, and padded to the kitchen. The charging cable lay frayed on the counter, exposing copper wire like veins. She'd meant to replace it for weeks. Some things you just let fall apart, she supposed, until they stop working entirely.

The spinach in the crisper drawer had turned to slime. That's what happened when you avoided things—when you let them sit in the dark, waiting for the right moment that never came. Like her dissertation. Like the conversations they kept postponing until there was nothing left to say.

Her phone buzzed again. A friend from the program—someone who'd ask how she was doing and expect an answer. Maya didn't have any. Not real ones, anyway.

She remembered finding spinach leaves in David's phone case once, months ago. A stupid accident while meal prepping, they'd both laughed. But she'd also found other things. Messages that glowed brighter in the dark. Receipts for dinners she wasn't invited to.

The spinach had rotted in there, unnoticed, staining the white plastic green. He'd bought a new case instead of cleaning it. That was his way—replace, don't repair. Start fresh. Move forward like nothing had been lost.

Barnaby wound around her ankles, crying for food. Maya scooped the slimy spinach into the trash, washed her hands, and filled his bowl. The cat ate greedily, without bitterness.

Back in bed, Maya typed a response to her friend: "I'm okay. Just tired." Then she blocked David's number for the third time this month. The cable would hold for a few more weeks. The cat would sleep on her chest. Some things, she was learning, you had to tend to yourself.