Three Courses of Goodbye

Marcus stood at the kitchen counter, his back to me, shoulders tense beneath his linen shirt. The storm outside had been building for hours, but the silence between us had lasted longer.

"The spinach is wilting," he said, not turning around. "Just like everything else lately."

I watched his hands work the wooden spoon, rhythmic and precise. We'd been together three years, and I still didn't know if he meant the greens in the pan or us. Probably both.

"Eat anyway," I said, pouring wine that had sat open too long. "It's still good underneath."

Lightning flashed through the window, brilliant and sudden, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stale kitchen air. In that split second, I saw his face in the glass's reflection—exhausted, hollowed out by months of trying to make something work that had stopped growing long ago.

He turned then, holding the bowl of spinach like an offering, or perhaps a weapon. "Remember our first anniversary? When we went to that Caribbean place and you ordered papaya for the first time? You said it tasted like sunset."

"I was twenty-three and drunk on expensive wine."

"You were beautiful," he said softly. "You still are. But beauty doesn't fix what's broken."

The thunder came, rattling the windowpanes. I looked at the spinach, now slick and dark against the white ceramic. It had started out so crisp, so promising, like we had.

"I bought papaya yesterday," I admitted. "It's in the fridge. I was going to surprise you, make that breakfast you like. But then I remembered—you don't like surprises anymore."

Marcus set the bowl down carefully. The same hands that had once traced the curve of my spine now curled into fists on the counter. The lightning flashed again, and in the harsh white light, I saw what I'd been refusing to acknowledge: we were two people who had loved each other once, desperately, but now were just strangers who shared a lease and a history.

"We should eat," he said finally. "Before the storm takes out the power."

But we both knew the power had been gone for months. The spinach lay untouched between us as the rain began to fall, washing away whatever either of us had still been holding onto.