The Sweetness of Unripe Things

The papaya sat on the white ceramic plate, its flesh too orange, too firm. Elena pressed her fork into it, remembering how Marco had laughed when she ordered it at breakfast. 'You're so adventurous,' he'd said, though they both knew she wasn't—not really. Not like him.

Now he was at the padel court, sweat gleaming on his arms as he smashed the ball against the glass backboard. Elena watched from their cabana, nursing a drink that had gone warm in the sun. Padel was new, trendy, the reason they'd come to this Mexican resort for their anniversary. Marco had fallen in love with the sport last year, the way he fell in love with things: intensely, obsessively, until something else caught his eye.

She thought about their first date five years ago—a baseball game in Chicago. He'd explained every inning, every rule, his hand warm on hers in the chill of April. They'd shared a lukewarm hot dog, mustard staining her chin, and he'd wiped it away with his thumb. That was the moment she knew. That was the man she'd married.

That man was gone. Or maybe he'd never existed at all.

A stray dog wandered onto the beach below, ribs showing through matted brown fur. It lifted its head, sniffing the air, then collapsed into the sand. Elena watched its shallow breathing, something tightening in her chest. She started down the stairs, bowl of water in hand, before she even made the decision.

'El, don't,' Marco called from the court. 'You know what they say about strays.' He wiped his face with a towel, padel racket dangling from his other hand. 'Once you feed them, they never leave.'

She paused on the bottom step, the dog watching her with eyes too old for its body. 'Maybe that's not the worst thing,' she said quietly.

Marco didn't hear. He'd already turned back to his game, calling to his partner about the next match.

The dog stood slowly, limping forward. Elena set the water down, and it drank greedily, water spilling onto the sand. She sat beside it, careful not to touch, and watched the waves roll in, thinking about papayas that weren't ready to be eaten, about baseball games in cold cities, about the things you keep trying to sweeten even when you know they never will.