What Remains in the Bowl

The papaya sat on the counter, its mottled yellow skin softening in the afternoon heat. Elena had bought it three days ago, before the phone call, before the flight to Ohio, before the funeral. Now it was overripe, its flesh turning to mush, much like everything else in their apartment.

"You should eat that," Marcus said from the couch, where he'd been lying for hours, the dog curled against his legs like a comma he couldn't finish. "She would've hated waste."

"She's not here to care about waste anymore."

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been. This was how it had been for weeks—small comments that landed like blows, neither of them quite able to stop themselves.

Marcus sat up, disturbing the dog. Luna whined and padded into the kitchen, nails clicking on hardwood, expecting something Elena couldn't give her.

"I'm making dinner," Elena said, though it was already eight o'clock. She pulled a bag of spinach from the refrigerator. The leaves were wilting, blackening at the edges. Nothing in this house stayed fresh anymore.

Marcus appeared in the doorway. "El, can we—"

"What? Can we what? Pretend we're not both thinking about her last words? How she looked at us like we were strangers she couldn't quite remember?" She threw the spinach into a pan, oil hissing violently. "She didn't even know who I was, Marcus. That's the part you won't talk about."

"She knew. She knew at the end."

"She called me Maria, Marcus. Her sister who's been dead for fifteen years."

The dog scratched at the back door, wanting out. Neither of them moved to open it.

"I'm going to bed," Marcus said finally.

"Dinner's almost ready."

"I'm not hungry."

Elena watched him walk away, then turned off the stove. The spinach lay wilted in the pan, reduced to nothing, all its volume gone. She thought about slicing open the papaya, scooping out its seeds, but what was the point? Some things, once opened, couldn't be closed again.

Instead, she opened the back door. Luna bounded into the yard, barking at something in the darkness. Elena followed her out, standing on the porch as the dog circled and sniffed, finding what she needed among the overgrown garden beds. Some things were still simple. Some things still made sense.

The papaya remained on the counter, softening in the silence between their separate rooms.