What We Leave Behind

The papaya sat on the counter, its skin freckled with brown spots, growing softer by the hour. Just like us, Mara thought, watching the fruit they'd bought together at that farmer's market last Saturday—back when they still made weekend plans.

'I'm taking the cat,' Daniel said, his voice flat. He stood by the door with his coat already buttoned, his knit cap pulled low. The hat hid the gray that had started creeping into his hair at the temples—a change they'd both pretended not to notice, just like they'd pretended not to notice the distance widening between them like a slow tide.

'You hate cats.' Mara didn't look at him. She looked at the goldfish bowl on the shelf instead, its solitary inhabitant drifting in lazy circles. 'Barnaby's old, Daniel. He doesn't like new places.'

'She likes me.' He paused. 'Liked.'

Mara's chest tightened. There it was—the past tense, a door closing.

They'd met at a work happy hour five years ago. She'd been wearing that ridiculous hat with the pom-pom, drunk on cheap sangria, laughing too loud. He'd bought her a drink and said he liked her hair, wild and unruly, framing her face like a dark halo. Now she wondered what else had been a line.

'I found the messages,' she said, and the room went silent except for the filter's hum.

The goldfish surfaced, gulped air, sank back down.

'Daniela. Not Danielle.' Mara tested the name. 'HR manager from the Chicago office.' She laughed, short and sharp. 'I should've known. She has that same hair you always said you liked—straight, blond, manageable.'

'Mara—'

'Take the cat.' She cut him off. 'Take the papaya. Take your half of the bed we stopped sharing months ago.' She finally looked at him. 'Just go.'

Later, when the apartment was quiet, Mara sliced the papaya open. The flesh inside was still bright orange, still sweet. She ate it standing at the counter, juice running down her chin, feeling like she was swallowing something that had already started to rot. The goldfish watched her through the glass, opening and closing its mouth, saying nothing at all.