The Last Supper

Mara arranged the orange segments on the white porcelain plate with surgical precision. The color screamed against the sterile backdrop—too bright, too hopeful for what tonight was supposed to be.

'You're doing that thing again,' David said from the living room. His voice carried that particular weariness that had settled in three years ago and never left.

'Making dinner?'

'Pretending everything's fixable. Like if you arrange the fruit right, we'll forget what I said this morning.'

She stopped, her finger hovering over a particularly perfect wedge. The goldfish in the tank on the counter floated near the surface, its mouth opening and closing in silent judgment. She'd bought it on impulse six months ago, during that week they'd tried couple's counseling. The fish had outlasted the therapy.

In the skillet, the spinach wilted into dark submission, releasing water as it surrendered its structure. She watched it collapse and felt something dangerously like relief.

'I ordered the forms,' David said, appearing in the doorway. 'They'll be here Tuesday.'

The water in the fish tank hummed its endless, soothing filter song. She thought about how the goldfish would remember nothing of its previous life, if it even had one. Maybe that was the real tragedy—having only this bowl, this counterfeit ocean, this manufactured peace.

'Tuesday.' She turned off the burner. 'That's—'

'Soon. I know.' He stepped closer, and for a moment she thought he might touch her. Instead he reached for the wine bottle, already half-empty though they hadn't even sat down. 'You can keep the apartment. I'll take the offer in Seattle.'

Seattle. The word was foreign, a geography that belonged to a different life. A life they'd planned together, back when they still made plans.

She looked at the dinner she'd prepared—this pointless, beautiful meal. The orange segments weeping juice onto the plate. The spinach reduced to nothing. The wine breathing its last.

'Let's eat,' she said, and her voice didn't sound like her own. 'Before it gets cold.'