The Absence You Tasted

The spinach lay wilted in the colander, its once-vibrant leaves now surrendering to time's slow decay—much like the marriage it had been purchased for. Sarah stood at the kitchen counter at 11 PM, iphone 12 burning in her hand, the blue light illuminating the dark kitchen as she scrolled through texts Mark hadn't answered.

'You okay?' she'd sent at 7. 'Dinner's ready.' At 9: 'Everything alright?' Now, at midnight, she considered whether to call or to let the silence speak for itself.

The recipe had been his mother's. Creamed spinach with garlic and nutmeg—the dish that had made him laugh when she first cooked it, three years ago in their first apartment, when everything felt possible and permanent. Now the nutmeg sat on the counter, measuring spoon hovering over the jar like a question.

Her phone buzzed. Not Mark. A calendar notification: 'Take Vitamin D — 30 minutes before bed.' She swallowed the small white pill with a glass of water, thinking about how they'd started taking vitamins together, some couples' wellness routine they'd read about online. Another thing that was supposed to keep them healthy, together, whole.

The back door clicked. Mark entered, smelling of cold air and whiskey.

'I was at O'Malley's,' he said without looking at her. 'Work ran late. Then drinks.'

'Spinach's ruined,' she replied. 'It was supposed to be romantic, I think. Or maybe just dinner.'

He looked at the wilted greens, then at his phone lighting up with new notifications. 'Sarah, I'm thirty-five. I don't know if I want to cook anymore. I don't know if I want to be someone who cares about spinach not being perfect.'

She set her iphone on the counter, screen dark. 'You used to. That's what婚姻 marriage is supposed to be—caring about things you don't care about because someone else does.'

'Maybe that's the problem,' he said, walking toward the bedroom. 'Maybe that's exhausting.'

She watched him go, then scraped the spinach into the trash. The garlic still lingered in the air, ghost of a meal that never happened. She took her vitamin, washed the dishes, and lay alone in their king-size bed, both phones charging on nightstands like small monuments to the life they'd almost built.