The Taste of Goodbye

Emma sat at the kitchen table, the morning light filtering through dust motes she'd stopped bothering to wipe. On the plate before her: papaya, sliced into neat triangles, and a segmented orange whose juice had already begun to pool. Breakfast of champions, or at least breakfast of people pretending everything was fine.

"Did you take your vitamin?" Mark called from the bedroom, his voice muffled by the closing closet door.

"Yes, Mark." She'd taken it—along with the antidepressant her doctor had suggested when she'd shown up at her appointment, eyes swollen from three nights of crying.

The papaya tasted like nothing. Like something you'd eat because you read once it was good for you, not because it brought any joy. The orange was better, sharp and acidic, making her mouth pucker. At least it felt real.

Mark emerged already wearing his favorite hat—that ridiculous navy fedora he'd bought on a whim in New Orleans and refused to retire, even though their friends made fun of it. He looked like a man playing dress-up, a boy pretending to be sophisticated.

"Big day," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. His lips were dry. "The presentation. Then we can celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" she asked, but he was already grabbing his briefcase.

"Whatever happens, Em. Whatever happens."

After he left, she carried their plates to the sink. Through the window, she watched their neighbor's daughter walking to school, clutching a teddy bear. The girl stopped to adjust its fuzzy arm, tender in a way Emma hadn't felt toward Mark in months. Not since she'd found the messages. Not since she'd realized she didn't even care enough to confront him.

"Bear your burden," her grandmother used to say, in that heavy accent Emma could still hear sometimes, in her dreams. "Bear it or break it."

She wasn't sure she could do either anymore.

The vitamin bottle sat on the counter. Emma picked it up, reading the label she'd memorized weeks ago: Supports heart health. Promotes wellbeing. She wondered who got to decide what constituted wellbeing. Whether staying qualified.

The morning sun hit the orange juice on her plate, turning it bright, impossibly golden. For a moment, she could almost believe in tomorrow.