Things That Stick

The spinach had been lodged between David's front teeth for half the dinner, and Elena—his wife of twenty-three years—hadn't said a word. That was the thing about marriage: you watched someone slowly self-destruct and sometimes you just let it happen.

They were at the resort restaurant, surrounded by fake palm trees that cast artificial shadows on the table. David was talking about the merger again, his hands moving, his voice rising. He was passionate about corporate acquisitions in a way he hadn't been about anything involving her since maybe 2009. Their daughter's cat back home was probably shredding the new sofa—Luna had texted about it yesterday—and wouldn't that be something else to pay for.

"The cable bill is overdue," David said suddenly, mid-sentence about synergies. "Did you pay it?"

She looked at him. Really looked. The spinach—dark green, stubborn—like a secret he couldn't keep. His palm rested on the white tablecloth, his wedding ring leaving a faint indentation on the fabric. They used to hold hands everywhere. Now his hands were mostly for gesturing at meetings and signing checks.

"I forgot," she said. "I've been... distracted."

"By what?" He genuinely didn't know.

By the fact that you haven't looked at me like I'm a person in three years. By the way your mother asks about my job with that barely concealed pity. By the realization that I could walk out of this restaurant, get on a plane, and you'd probably notice before the spinach.

"Nothing important," she said.

He nodded, satisfied, and returned to his monologue. Elena watched a gecko scale the nearest palm tree, thinking about how easy it would be to become something else entirely. Something small and climbing. Something that could just leave.

Then she reached across the table and brushed the spinach from his teeth with her thumb. David stopped talking. For the first time all night, he looked at her—really looked—like she was a mystery he'd forgotten he was supposed to solve.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, licking the taste of him from her thumb. "Just a moment."