The Papaya Incident

Maya smoothed her silk blouse, feeling like an imposter in this candlelit restaurant. Six months after David left for his assistant—a woman half Maya's age—she was still learning how to be single again. Her friend Elena had insisted she needed to get back out there, had set her up with Julian, the new senior editor from London.

Julian was attractive in that unsettling way of men who know they're attractive—sharp cheekbones, eyes that seemed to see too much. He was talking about his years covering conflicts in Southeast Asia, but Maya kept thinking about the piece of spinach she'd found wedged between her teeth in the restaurant bathroom twenty minutes ago. How long had it been there? During their introduction? The entire appetizer?

"You're distracted," Julian said, not unkindly.

Maya sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been—this is harder than I expected. Dating again, I mean."

He smiled, and for the first time, the polished veneer cracked. "Me too. My divorce was finalized three weeks ago. My ex-wife took the house, the dog, and most of my dignity."

Maya laughed, surprised. "You seem like you have it all together. Like a fox who knows exactly which chicken coop to raid."

"Appearances," he waved dismissively. The waiter appeared with their main course—papaya salad with chili and lime, Julian's choice from his years in Bangkok.

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Maya said, "I used to be someone who knew who she was. Now I'm just trying to remember what I actually like, not what David liked, or what the kids need. I bought spinach at the market yesterday because I'm supposed to like it. I hate it."

"I hate papaya," Julian admitted. "Order it every time though. Reminds me of being young and stupid in Bangkok, convinced I was immortal."

Maya looked at him—really looked at him. The confident journalist was just another wounded person trying to figure out who they were outside of someone else's definition.

"Tell me about being young and stupid in Bangkok," she said.

Julian's eyes softened. "I might need another drink for that story."

"I might too," Maya said, and for the first time all evening, she didn't feel like she was performing. She felt like herself—spinach teeth, confusion, and all.