The Last Supper at Mario's

The spinach was stuck between her front teeth. Elena could feel it with its obstinate persistence, a tiny green betrayal. She'd spent forty-five minutes on her hair before leaving—blowout, extra shine serum, the works—and now this.

Across the candlelit table, Marcus stared at something over her shoulder. The restaurant window reflected them both, and in the glass, Elena saw it: the first white strand threading through her dark hair, shining like spun silver under the pendant lights.

"You're not listening," Marcus said, his voice flat. "I said I'm moving out."

Lightning fractured the sky outside, sudden and violent. The restaurant flinched. Conversations paused. For a moment, everyone looked toward the windows, toward the storm breaking over the city, toward something more interesting than their own collapsing lives.

"Right," Elena said, picking at the remaining spinach on her plate. "When?"

"I've already found a place. It's downtown, near the orange trees on 5th."

"Orange trees?" She'd lived with this man for seven years. She didn't know there were orange trees downtown.

"They're ornamental. They don't actually fruit." He signaled for the check. "That's sort of the point, isn't it?"

She reached for her wine, catching her reflection in the water glass again. The white hair was still there. The spinach was probably still there too. Everything that mattered was decaying, and everything that looked beautiful was fake.

"The storm's getting worse," she said, watching rain streak the glass.

"It always does."

He stood up. His umbrella was by the door. Hers was still at home—probably still in the closet where he'd left his goodbye note next to it three weeks ago, before he'd come back, before they'd agreed to try dinner and talking and pretending they weren't already over.

"Elena?"

"Go," she said.

He did. The restaurant door swung shut behind him, and outside, lightning struck again—closer this time. The overhead lights flickered. People gasped.

She ordered another glass of wine. The spinach was still there, and so was she.