The Orange Peeling

You notice the gray in her hair first—those first few strands at her temples, like frost on autumn grass. Sarah's always been the vibrant one, the one who dyed her hair shocking pink in college and laughed too loud at parties. Now she's peeling an orange in the breakroom, her movements precise and clinical, and you realize you haven't really seen her in three years.

"Did you get my email about the Reynolds account?" she asks, not looking up.

"I did." You lean against the counter. "I thought we agreed to present it together."

Sarah separates the orange into perfect segments. "Things changed."

Outside, the office hums with phone calls and keyboard clatter. Inside this small room, the citrus scent sharpens the air, cutting through the stale coffee smell.

"We were supposed to be friends," you say, and hate how small your voice sounds.

She finally looks at you. Her eyes are tired, the kind of tired that comes from years of choosing bills over ideals. "We are friends. That's why I took the lead. You've been distracted since your mother died."

The words land like stones. "I asked for time. Not for you to slide in behind my back."

"Someone had to." She pops an orange segment into her mouth. "You think corporate waits for grief? You think Reynolds cares about your process?"

You want to scream. Instead you look at her—really look at her. The fine lines around her mouth, the way she holds herself like she's always ready for impact. You realize she's been fighting this war alone while you were drowning in loss.

"I would have come back," you say quietly.

"I know." She sighs, and for a moment she looks like the girl who used to dance on tables, who once convinced you to drive to New Orleans at 3 AM just because the moon looked full. "But sometimes friends have to carry you until you can walk again."

She holds out the orange half. You take it. The juice stings your fingers, sticky and bright against your skin.

"I'm still mad at you," you say.

Sarah smiles, and it almost reaches her eyes. "I know. But you'll also get that promotion. And I'll be there to celebrate with you."

You eat the orange together in silence, and for the first time in months, you don't feel quite so alone in the world.