The Papaya Summer

The papaya sat on the counter, overripe and weeping golden juice onto the granite. Elena had bought it yesterday, along with spinach for the salad she never made. That was the thing about their marriage lately — all intention, no follow-through.

"Baseball's on," Mark called from the living room. The familiar crack of bat against ball drifted through the hallway, same as every Sunday. Routine had become its own kind of anesthesia.

In the bathroom mirror, Elena examined her face. She looked like a sphinx these days — enigmatic, carved from something harder than flesh. Mark had stopped asking what she was thinking. Maybe he'd stopped caring.

Lightning split the sky outside, sudden and violent. The storm had been threatening all afternoon. She watched her own reflection and wondered when she'd become this person who cried in bathrooms while her husband watched baseball.

"Elena?" His voice closer now. "You okay?"

She almost laughed. The spinach between her teeth — she'd been eating it raw from the bag, standing at the counter like some kind of emotional animal. She'd spit it out when she heard him coming, but not in time. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Fine," she called back, but her voice cracked.

The door creaked open. Mark stood there, baseball cap still on, the game forgotten. His eyes found hers in the mirror, and for the first time in months, he really looked at her. Really saw her.

"You have spinach in your teeth," he said, and then, softer: "And you're not fine."

The papaya on the counter continued its slow decay. The lightning flashed again, illuminating everything she hadn't said. The baseball game murmured on in the background, irrelevant now.

"Mark," she said. "I think I'm leaving."

He didn't look away. Just nodded, like he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since that summer in Hawaii, since the papaya and the sunrise and the moment they'd both pretended everything was perfect.

"I know," he said. "I've known."

Outside, the sky opened up. The storm finally broke.