The Spinach Between Us

The divorce papers sat on the kitchen counter next to a wilting bag of spinach. Elena had left them there three days ago, along with Barnaby—their ginger tabby who now regarded me with accusatory yellow eyes from his perch atop the refrigerator.

'You never cook anything green,' she'd said during our final argument, the one where she finally stopped crying and started packing. 'You think padel and whiskey constitute a balanced diet.'

She wasn't wrong. I'd spent the past six months at the racquet club, smashing balls against glass walls while our marriage disintegrated at home. There was something cathartic about the violence of it, the sound of rubber hitting glass, the way I could pretend every ball was another conversation I didn't know how to have.

I stood at the stove now, stirring a pan of spinach with wooden desperation. The kitchen felt cavernous without her coffee mug tree, her collection of mismatched tea towels, the way she hummed while cooking dinner. Barnaby watched me, his tail flicking with what I swear was judgment.

'Your mother would be disappointed,' I told him. He meowed and jumped onto the counter, stepping directly on the divorce papers.

My phone buzzed. Marcus, wanting to play padel. Always padel. The game had become my refuge, the place where no one asked about my marriage or my feelings or why Elena had stopped wearing her wedding ring two months before she left. 'Can't,' I typed. 'Cooking.'

The spinach released its peculiar iron-and-earth smell as it wilted. I remembered the first time Elena made this for me, back when we were twenty-three and poor and convinced that love could survive anything. She'd laughed when I made a face at the greens. 'You'll acquire the taste,' she'd promised, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 'Some things are worth growing into.'

I turned off the burner. Barnaby rubbed against my leg, purring, and I picked him up. His fur smelled like Elena's vanilla shampoo. I'd have to remember to buy cat food—the expensive kind, not the generic brand I'd sneak into the cart when she wasn't looking.

'Just us now,' I whispered into his orange fur. The spinach sat untouched in the pan. I wasn't hungry anymore.