The Papaya Sunset

The hotel pool reflected the orange sunset like liquid fire. Elena sat at the edge, legs submerged, eating papaya with a plastic spoon. The fruit tasted sweet and wrong — like something that should be enjoyed alone, not during what was supposed to be a romantic anniversary trip.

"You're doing it again," Mark said from the chaise lounge behind her. He'd been watching a baseball game on cable TV for three hours. Some game from 1998, recorded on VHS, that he insisted on rewatching like it held the meaning of life.

"Doing what?" Elena didn't turn around.

"That thing where you disappear. I'm talking to you and you're just... gone."

She'd married him seven years ago because he made her laugh. Now the laughter felt like a memory from someone else's life. They'd come to St. Lucia to fix whatever had broken between them, but everything just felt sharper here. The air too humid, the sun too bright, the silence between them too loud.

"I'm not gone," she said. "I'm right here."

"Are you?" Mark sat up, finally looking away from the television. "Because you seem like a zombie, El. Just going through the motions. I ask what you want for dinner, you say 'whatever.' I ask if you're happy, you change the subject."

The papaya turned to ash in her mouth. She stood, water dripping from her legs onto the concrete deck.

"You want to know what I want?" Her voice rose. "I want to feel something again. Anything. I want to not wake up every morning wondering if this is it. If this —" she gestured between them, "— is everything."

"That's not fair."

"It's the realest thing I've said in years."

He was silent for a long time. The baseball game played on, distant commentators shouting about home runs and curveballs. A world away.

Then Mark stood up. He walked over to her, took the papaya cup from her hand, set it on the table. And for the first time in months, he really looked at her.

"Let's start over," he said. "Right now. No cable, no distractions. Just us in this pool until we figure it out."

The sun disappeared. The pool lights flickered on. Elena took a breath, then nodded.

"Okay," she said. "But no more 1998 baseball games."