The Spinach in Her Teeth

The padel court echoed with the hollow sound of rubber against glass, each volley marking another Tuesday evening slipping away. Elena stood at the baseline, her dark hair plastered to her forehead in the humidity, watching Daniel across the net. He'd been sleeping with their marketing director for three months now—everyone in the office knew, though no one said it to her face.

'Your form's off,' he called out, all effortless confidence and clipped vowels. Their rackets had collided earlier; his hand had lingered on her shoulder for a fraction too long, the kind of touch that meant nothing and everything.

'Just tired,' she lied, missing the next serve on purpose.

After the game, they sat at the club restaurant. Daniel ordered the salmon. Elena got the spinach salad with walnuts, picking at the greens while he talked about quarterly projections and maybe opening a bottle of wine later, at his place. His apartment, with its cat named Bowie and the plant wall he'd installed last spring.

She'd been there once, after the holiday party. She remembered waking up to the cat padding across the duvet, Daniel's phone vibrating on the nightstand with messages that stopped when he reached for it. She remembered leaving before sunrise, her hair still holding the shape of his pillow, the spinach from her takeout stuck between her teeth when she caught her reflection in the lobby mirror.

'So,' Daniel said now, leaning in. 'About later.' His eyes flicked to her mouth, then away.

Elena swallowed a piece of spinach, feeling it lodge between her molars. 'I have an early morning.'

'Always the early morning.' He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. 'You know, Sarah—that marketing director—she never has early mornings.'

The cat trotted across Elena's memory, padding across that duvet, toward someone else now. She signaled the waiter for the check. 'Good for her.'