The Color of Drowning

The spinach lay limp on David's plate, steamed into submission, much like their marriage over the past three years. He watched a single bead of condensation trace a path down his water glass, mapping the route his own tears had stopped taking months ago.

"You're doing it again," Maya said, not looking up from her plate. "That thing where you disappear while sitting right there."

David reached for his water, his hand trembling just enough to notice. "I'm right here."

"No. You're swimming." She finally met his eyes, her irises the color of oxidized copper—warm once, now cold. "You dive deep inside yourself and I can't follow. I'm left on the shore, watching for ripples, wondering if you'll come up for air this time."

The orange wedge on the rim of her glass had dried out, its pulp exposed like a wound. David had bought it fresh yesterday at the market, when he still believed groceries could fix things, that domestic rituals could heal what intimacy had failed to sustain.

"I'm trying," he said, hearing the weakness in his own voice. "Isn't that enough?"

"That's the problem." Maya's voice cracked, a small fissure in her armor. "Trying isn't swimming. It's treading water. It's staying safe in the shallows where nothing can touch you, where nothing can hurt you—but also where nothing can really happen." She set down her fork with deliberate care. "And I'm so tired of watching you nearly drown while convincing yourself you're just taking a bath."

She stood, her chair scraping against the floor like an accusation. David watched her walk away, each step measured and deliberate. The spinach cooled on his plate. The water in his glass stilled, reflecting the kitchen light in distorted patterns. The orange remained where she'd left it, a bright exclamation point on the table of their quiet war.

He took a bite of the spinach. It tasted like iron, like blood, like giving up. He reached for the orange, its skin still bright despite everything, and squeezed it over his water until the oils flecked the surface. Then he drank it all down.