The Green Between Our Teeth

The spinach leaves were wilting in the colander, limp and betrayed, much like I felt. Marcus sat across from me at his marble island, his thumb scrolling through his iphone with that maddening rhythmic swipe. He'd barely looked at me since I arrived.

'You're going to lose him,' Marcus said, not looking up.

The kitchen was filled with the sound of water running from the faucet — I'd left it on, overwhelmed by the sudden pressure of his words. Marcus was supposed to be my friend, the one person who knew everything about my marriage to David, the one who'd listened through three years of late-night confessions about how I was slowly disappearing.

Now he was telling me what I already knew: David had been distant for months, coming home late from work, his phone always face-down. I'd suspected another woman, but I was too cowardly to check.

I turned off the water. 'David and I are fine.' The lie tasted bitter.

Marcus finally looked up, his eyes tired. 'He's not cheating on you, Elena. He's just done. You can feel it, can't you? The way he looks through you now, like you're furniture he's tired of arranging.' He set down his phone. 'And honestly? You look through him too.' He gestured to the spinach. 'You're making dinner for a man who hasn't eaten at home in two weeks.'

I stared at the spinach, at the pathetic leaves I'd planned to sauté with garlic — David's favorite. The sudden realization washed over me: I wasn't making this for him. I was making it for the version of us that existed three years ago, the one who still tried.

Marcus reached across the island and took my hand. 'You need to let yourself want something else. Something real.' His thumb brushed my wrist, electricity rising like a tide I'd been holding back for months.

I looked at Marcus, really looked at him, and for the first time in years, I didn't feel like someone's wife. I felt like myself — terrified, awake, and suddenly, desperately hungry.