The Color of Regret

Margaret stood before the mirror in the hotel bathroom, pulling at a gray strand of hair that had emerged overnight. At forty-seven, she was still surprised by how quickly her body was turning against her. Tonight was the reunion — twenty years since she'd last spoken to Elena.

Downstairs in the ballroom, the crowd buzzed with the kind of performative warmth that made her stomach hurt. Then she saw Elena across the room, wearing an orange dress that clashed magnificently with the hotel's beige carpet. Margaret remembered that dress. Elena had worn it the night they'd both gotten drunk on cheap wine and confessed their secrets by the apartment complex's swimming pool.

"You look exactly the same," Elena said, pulling her into a hug that smelled of expensive perfume.

"Liar." Margaret laughed. "You're the one who hasn't changed. Still painting?"

Elena's smile faltered. "No. I work in corporate now. Human resources, of all things."

They ended up at the bar, avoiding the small talk that poisoned these events. Elena ordered them both whiskey, neat.

"Remember that bull?" Elena asked suddenly. "That ceramic one you bought at the flea market? Said it represented your stubbornness?"

Margaret felt the memory wash over her. "I broke it the night Tom left. Threw it against the wall."

"I heard about that." Elena's fingers traced the rim of her glass. "I wanted to call. But I thought — "

"You thought I wouldn't want to hear from my oldest friend?" The words came out sharper than intended.

Elena's eyes found Margaret's, something ancient and unspoken passing between them. "I was in love with you, Margaret. That summer by the pool? I wasn't confessing secrets. I was trying to tell you."

The ballroom noise faded. Margaret remembered Elena's hand lingering on hers that night, the way the orange sunset had caught in Elena's hair, the way she'd deliberately misunderstood everything.

"I'm getting divorced," Elena said now. "Turns out marrying men was never going to work for me."

Margaret looked at this woman she'd loved silently for decades, whose happiness she'd sabotaged through cowardice, whose absence she'd felt like a phantom limb.

"Stay tonight," Margaret heard herself say. "We can order room service. Talk. Really talk."

Elena's smile returned, different this time. "I'd like that."

Outside, the sun was setting — painting everything the color of sudden second chances.