The Papaya Sunset

The pool was empty except for one couple arguing in hushed, urgent whispers. Margot stood waist-deep in the turquoise water, her silk wrap floating around her like a wounded thing. David sat on the edge, legs dangling, nursing his third gin and tonic.

"You said you'd leave her," Margot said, not for the first time.

David rubbed his temples. "I will. It's complicated."

A stray cat wound around David's chair, mewing for attention. He absentmindedly scratched its ears while avoiding Margot's eyes. The animal's loyalty to a stranger who'd done nothing to earn it made something in Margot's chest tighten.

That morning, they'd laughed over breakfast, feeding each other papaya from a shared plate. The fruit's sweet musk had seemed intoxicating then, like everything about this stolen weekend at the resort. Now the memory made her sick.

"You're just like your father," David said suddenly, the words sharp as glass.

Margot recoiled. "Don't."

"He left too."

"At least he had the courage to actually go."

The silence stretched, broken only by the distant barking of someone's dog and the rustle of palm fronds in the evening breeze. The setting sun blazed through the palm trees, painting everything in gold and blood.

Margot climbed out of the pool, water streaming from her body. She didn't look back as she gathered her things.

"Where are you going?" David called, finally sounding alarmed.

"Home. To my husband."

"Margot—"

"What, David? Did you think this was different? Did you think you were different?"

The cat abandoned him for a waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. David watched Margot walk away, her silhouette cutting through the paradise he'd convinced himself they were building, one lie at a time.

By the pool, the papaya on their breakfast plate had turned brown and oxidized in the heat. Tomorrow, the staff would clear it away. Tomorrow, someone else would sit in this same chair, tell themselves the same stories, believe the same lies.

Tonight, the cat would curl up in a stranger's lap. And David would fly home to his wife, carrying the scent of another woman's sunscreen and the taste of papaya on his tongue, wondering how he'd become exactly the man he swore he'd never be.