Tethered

The papaya sat untouched on the nightstand, its flesh already oxidizing to an unappetizing brown. Martin had brought it up from the resort breakfast buffet that morning, back when they were still pretending this trip could save them. Now it was midnight, and Elena stood at the sliding glass door, watching the pool below. The underwater lights cast rippling shadows across her face, making her look like a stranger.

"They're doing maintenance on the cable," Martin said from the bed. "No TV. Nothing to distract us."

Elena turned, and the light caught the silver threading through her dark hair. She was thirty-nine, but tonight she looked ancient. "We don't need cable to talk, Martin."

"Do we?" He sat up, sheets pooling around his waist. "Because I'm not sure we've had a real conversation in three years."

She walked to the bed and sat on the edge, not touching him. Below, the pool's surface was still. "I cut it off, you know."

"What?"

"My hair. I found a gray hair last month, and I panicked." She laughed, but it was dry, brittle. "Cut it all off. That's why I've been wearing it up."

Martin reached out, then pulled back. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to see me aging. I didn't want you to stop loving me."

The silence that followed was heavier than the tropical humidity pressing against the glass.

"Elena." His voice cracked. "I found another apartment. I'm moving out next week."

She nodded, once. The papaya on the nightstand seemed to shrivel before her eyes. All that money, this resort, the desperate attempt to recapture something that had been dead for years. Below them, someone had turned on the pool's waterfall. The water cascaded down, and Elena thought: we could have been happy. We could have grown old together, eating fruit and watching cable television and letting each other age without fear. But they hadn't. And now there was only the sound of water falling, and the space between them on the bed, and a papaya that would never be eaten.