What Remains in the Refrigerator

The papaya sat in the crisper drawer for three weeks after Elena died. Marcus had bought it because she'd mentioned wanting to try one — just once, she'd said, her voice already thinning from whatever was taking her. Now it sat there, a small green orb of deferred longing, softening into something he couldn't bring himself to touch.

Her padel racket hung in the garage, dust settling on the grip. They'd played together every Sunday morning at the club near their house, the court fees auto-charging to a credit card he still hadn't canceled. Their mixed doubles partner, Sarah, had texted twice: "Thinking of you," then, when he didn't respond, just: "The court Thursday at 7. No pressure." He stared at those messages while lying in bed at 3 AM, Elena's empty side of the mattress smooth and terrifying.

The cat — a surly tabby named Brick that Elena had rescued from behind a dumpster — had taken to sleeping on Marcus's pillow, directly against his ear. The animal's purring was the only sound that filled the silence of the house now. Brick had been Elena's shadow, following her from room to room. Now the cat had transferred that allegiance to Marcus, as if understanding someone needed to be anchored.

On the fourth night, Sarah showed up at his door with takeout and two beers. "I'm not leaving until you eat something that didn't come in a mourning casseroled from HR," she said, pushing past him into the entryway.

They ended up in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with their backs against the cabinets. Sarah cracked open the papaya. It was overripe now, flesh giving under her thumb like something living. The smell was cloying, musk-sweet, the scent of Elena's unfinished sentence.

"She told me once," Sarah said, digging into the fruit with a spoon, "that she was glad you two never had kids. She said you were enough. She said you were everything."

Marcus felt something crack open in his chest, something he'd been holding together with sheer force of will since the hospice nurse had finally closed her notebook.

"I was supposed to buy more papayas," he said, and Brick wound between his legs, tail brushing his wrist, demanding. "We were supposed to figure out if we liked them."

Sarah reached for his hand across the linoleum, her palm sticky with juice. "We'll figure it out together," she said. "Thursday. Padel. I already paid for the court."