Tropical Decay

The papaya sat on the white ceramic plate, its orange flesh already beginning to oxidize at the edges. Maya watched the decay with a detached fascination that matched the hollow feeling expanding in her chest.

For twenty years—twenty years—she had ordered papaya at resort restaurants because Richard loved it. Now, alone at the breakfast table, she finally tasted it without the performative enthusiasm. The fruit was bland, slightly musky, entirely unremarkable. Like their marriage.

Her iphone buzzed against the table. Richard's name. Again.

She didn't pick up.

Beside her untouched coffee, a stray dog wandered up from the pool area. A Golden Retriever mix, matted fur and hopeful eyes. Maya had always wanted a dog. Richard was allergic. Or at least that's what he'd said, between conveniently timed sneezes whenever she brought up the subject at shelters.

"Hey there," she said softly, offering the papaya.

The dog sniffed, considered, then ate it with more genuine pleasure than Richard had ever mustered for anything she'd done in the last decade.

From the pool came laughter. A group of twenty-somethings, drunk on vacation and optimism. One of them—a man in a ridiculous straw hat—kept looking over at her table. Probably wondering why the older woman sat alone in resort paradise, ignoring her phone.

Let him wonder.

She picked up the iphone. Four missed calls. Two texts: "We need to talk." "Please, Maya."

They'd met at a pool party like this one. She'd worn a hat too—a wide-brimmed thing she thought made her look mysterious. He'd said she looked like a movie star. He hadn't taken his eyes off her all night.

Last night, she'd found the receipt in his wallet. A hotel room. Two bottles of champagne. A gift shop purchase—some cheap perfume that wasn't her scent.

The phone buzzed again.

The dog nudged her hand with its wet nose, and Maya realized she was crying. Silent tears that disappeared into the humid tropical air.

"You're better than he is," she whispered to the dog. "You're honest about what you want."

She ordered another papaya. This time, she ate it herself.