Ripe

The avocado looked perfect.

Isla turned it in her hand, thumbing its pebbled skin. Dark, almost black. Squishing in just slightly when she pressed near the stem. Eight quid's worth of messages for brunch sat on the counter behind her, and this was the keystone. The thing that would make Fraser say wow, you really put this together, in that voice she'd been replaying since Tuesday.

She'd watched a YouTube video. Three videos, actually. A ripe avocado gives gently to gentle pressure. This one gave. Gently. To gentle pressure. She was certain.

The knife went in. Or rather, the knife went on. It sat atop the avocado like a big shiny hat. She pressed a bit harder. The blade skited sideways and clanked against the chopping board.

"Aw, come on..."

She tried again, two-handed, leaning her weight in. The skin dimpled. The skin resisted. Somewhere beneath that yielding-near-the-stem promise was a core of pure geological refusal, a pit wrapped in concrete wrapped in a lie.

The buzzer went.

Isla looked at the clock. Looked at the avocado. Looked at the toast already cooling, the eggs already poached and going rubbery in their wee ramekins, the chilli flakes she'd decanted into a bowl like a person who decants chilli flakes.

She sawed. She actually sawed at it like a mad woman. A pale green wound opened along one side, revealing flesh the colour and texture of a bar of soap.

The buzzer went again.

"Just a sec!"

She grabbed a fork and mashed. The fork started to bend. She got the big fork and mashed harder, resulting in wee chips of avocado flying off and skiting across the counter like shrapnel. Some landed in the sink, some on the floor, and at least one ended up in her hair.

The buzzer went a third time.

Isla stared at the bowl. At the eight quid. At the morning of mental rehearsal. She picked the bowl up, walked it to the bin, and tipped it in.

Then she went to the door, smoothed her hair (dislodging a wee green missile she did not see) and opened it with a smile she had also rehearsed.

"Hope you're hungry," she said. "I've made toast."