The Wednesday Papaya

Margot hadn't worn a hat since her mother's funeral, but there she was, standing in the breakroom with a wide-brimmed straw thing perched precariously on her head. The office was celebrating Chen's promotion—her promotion—and someone had brought tropical fruit.

'Papaya!' Chen beamed, thrusting a plastic container toward her. 'Your favorite.'

Margot stared at the orange flesh. It wasn't her favorite. It had been Anna's favorite, her wife who'd left six months ago with nothing more than a note and her iPhone. Anna's iCloud still synced to Margot's iPad—a digital haunting she couldn't bring herself to sever. Sometimes photos would appear: Anna laughing in Mexico, Anna holding a papaya on a beach, Anna wearing that ridiculous hat Margot had bought her as a joke.

'Thanks,' Margot said. She accepted the fruit.

Her phone buzzed. A calendar notification: *Anna's flight departs at 3:45 PM.* One year ago today.

The breakroom buzzed around her. Chen was already moving on, holding court about 'synergy' and 'right-sizing' the department. Margot had trained Chen herself. She'd shown her everything, thinking mentorship was enough. Thinking competence counted for something.

'Margot?' Someone waved a hand in her face. 'You okay?'

She looked at the papaya in her hand. Then at her phone. Then at Chen, who wasn't even looking at her anymore.

Margot set the fruit down gently on the counter. She reached up and removed the hat—Anna's hat, actually, found in the back of the closet this morning.

'I'm fine,' she said, and for the first time in six months, it wasn't a lie. 'Just realized I don't need to hide anymore.'

She walked out of the breakroom, hat in hand. Her phone buzzed again—another ghost from the past—but this time, she didn't look down.