The Weight of Summer

Elena sliced the papaya with precise, angry strokes. The juice ran like blood against the white porcelain. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the pool glittered—impossibly blue in the Mexican heat. Couples lounged on chaises, ordered drinks, lived their uncomplicated lives.

"You're still running, aren't you?"

Mark's voice from behind her. She hadn't heard him approach. Three years of marriage and she still startled at his presence like a wild thing.

"I'm making breakfast."

"You're running." He leaned against the marble island, injured in that way that made everything about him, always. "You've been running since the funeral."

Elena's knife slipped. A thin line of red opened across her thumb. She watched it well, mesmerized.

"I asked you to play padel with me yesterday," Mark continued. "You said you had work. But I saw you at the resort courts, alone, hitting balls against the wall for two hours."

"I needed to clear my head."

"You needed to bear it alone. Like always."

The word hit like ice water. Bear. Her sister's favorite word before—before. "Bear with me, El. This treatment is going to be hard, but you can bear it. You're the strong one." Carmen had been dead fourteen months. Fourteen months of Mark watching Elena carry the weight, watching her run from everything except the grief.

"What do you want from me, Mark?" Elena wiped her thumb on a paper towel. The red bloomed against white. "You want me to cry? You want me to fall apart so you can fix me?"

"I want you to let me in. I want to stop sleeping beside someone who's thousands of miles away. I want to stop wondering if you wish it had been me instead of Carmen."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and unbearable.

"I saw her, you know," Elena said finally. "Before she died. I had this dream—I was at this resort, just like this one. There was a pool, papaya trees, everything lush and alive. Carmen was there, and she was young again, before the cancer. She told me—"

Her voice cracked.

"She told me what, El?"

"She told me to stop bearing everything alone. She said some weights are meant to be shared."

Mark reached across the counter, covering her hand with his. His palm was warm, grounding.

"So," he said softly. "Breakfast? And then maybe that padel match?"

Elena looked at the papaya, at the blood, at the impossible blue pool beyond the glass. Something loosened in her chest.

"Yes," she said. "Yes to both."

Outside, the sun climbed higher. The day continued. They would continue too—running now, perhaps, but running together.