She parked the car and took the small pink polka-dot lunch bag out of the boot. It was easy to find an empty parking space at this hour, midday, mid-week. It was a lovely, clear day, so she decided to eat her lunch in the park overlooking the river.

That morning, before work, she had stopped by her aunt’s house to pick up the food, just as they had arranged the evening before. The scene was always the same: the cheerful, chatty aunt who had already finished a dozen things before nine o’clock, and the grumpy, permanently rushed niece with her unmistakable don’t-talk-to-me-before-noon face.

First came the exchange of food containers from the previous batch, glass jars and insulated lunch bags. Missing lids were not allowed. That had become a non-negotiable part of the arrangement after her aunt had been forced to buy replacement containers one too many times.

“I tried a new recipe for the chicken. Actually, I improved the original one. As soon as you’ve tried it, call me and tell me what you think. I packed some mashed potatoes and mixed salad as well. Don’t throw it away! Fresh vegetables are important.”

“Yes, yes. All right. Got it.”

“You only say that to get rid of me. You are what you eat, remember that. Well… and what you inherit. Our genetics are solid. On our side, at least. As for that other side of yours, of you-know-who… well, who knows.”
“Fine. I got it. It’s permanently imprinted on my brain.”
“Since you don’t live here, I don’t know what you’re eating. And judging by what I see, you’re not eating properly. It’s all because of you-know-who number two. You and your mother are fools. That’s all I’m going to say.”
“You’re right, as always, my smarty-pants auntie. And I promise I’ll eat everything you packed.”
“I didn’t have time to make dessert, so I packed some fruit instead.”
“Great. Love you, Auntie. I’ve got to go.”

She was already at the gate when she heard the familiar continuation.

“Why don’t you come back home? Instead of paying for that silly flat, you could have saved the money and travelled a bit. Go and see the world while you’re still young. You’ll regret it later. Look at me.”
“I told you, I’m not interested in travelling any more.”
“Then come back for me. I’m not getting any younger.”
“You’re doing better than I am. I’ll call you later. I really have to go.”

The new chicken recipe was quite good. Not spectacular, but comforting. She chewed slowly, bite by bite, not skipping the salad either. The view was peaceful. Birds chirped overhead. Beyond the park, the city’s constant hum drifted faintly in the background.
And the horns.
The two-star review had a short comment:
Excessive use of horn.

She smirked.
She preferred the horn to swearing. What else could anyone do with all those insolent people behind the wheel? When she first started that job, it had taken all her self-control not to unleash an avalanche of insults aloud. The horn became the solution.

Her friends often disagreed.
“You need to let the anger out. Go to the gym. Or therapy. Better yet, both.”

Maybe the gym wasn’t such a bad idea. Her weight gain no longer looked like a temporary fluctuation, but a slow, steady progression towards the next clothing size. In the meantime, the horn remained her outlet.

She opened the second container. Perfect little cubes of watermelon were neatly arranged, with a couple of toothpicks stuck into a few of them.
No seeds.
Her aunt never bought seedless watermelons. She insisted they weren’t natural and weren’t nearly as sweet. Instead, she patiently removed every single seed herself.

“What a perfect colour,” she thought. “It was always my favourite.”

They had moved into a tiny one-bedroom flat on the top floor of a shabby four-storey brick building. It wasn’t much, but it was temporary. They needed to save every penny. He would go abroad first, settle down, sort out the paperwork, and then she would join him as his wife.

He left.
At first he spent hours complaining.
Then he worked longer.
The phone calls became shorter.
Months passed.

His clothes slowly lost his smell. When he was there, she bought scented candles and fresh flowers, and the flat always smelled warm and lived in. Now there was no smell. As if she didn’t have one of her own. Occasionally the smell of fast food would linger longer than necessary, and for her this became the smell of home.

His messages became shorter. Then one day they stopped. Her last message was never delivered. She called.
“The number you have dialled is no longer in service.”

She called his sister.
“He’s perfectly fine. Why are you asking? He told me you broke up. You should stop bothering him. He has a new life now.”

The beep after she hung up echoed in the silence.

Months later, at a friend’s birthday party, she overheard people discussing a wedding abroad. His wedding. She caught a glimpse of a photograph on someone’s phone. He looked happy.

When she got home drunk that night, she collapsed onto the bed fully dressed and cried herself to sleep.

The following morning, she stared at her coffee for several minutes before suddenly jumping to her feet. Still wearing her slippers, she ran downstairs as though escaping a fire and burst into the corner shop.

“Morning, neighbour! Have you got any spare cardboard boxes?”
“Of course. What’s the occasion?”
“Annual clear-out. I want to donate some things.”
“Help yourself. I’ve got plenty out the back.”

A couple of hours later, the boxes with cheap branding for detergent were filled up. The flat looked emptier.

She drove everything to a homeless shelter. As she turned away, she noticed something sticking out of one of the boxes.

A pair of coral-red swimming trunks.

She had bought them for him for their future trips to the seaside in their new country. He had left them behind because there hadn’t been enough room in his suitcase.

The same colour as this watermelon, she thought.

The vibration of her phone pulled her back to the present. She had already decided not to accept another ride until she finished lunch.

It was a message from her aunt’s neighbour.

She couldn’t have explained how she got to the hospital. If someone had been with her, they would probably have gone deaf from the horn. With good reason this time.

“She fainted because of high blood pressure. We’ve given her fluids and we’ll keep her overnight for observation. The test results are reassuring, so try not to worry. Pick her up tomorrow morning. Make sure she rests, takes the medication we’ve prescribed, and avoids anything physically demanding. We’ll see her again in two weeks.”

The doctor’s calm voice steadied her breathing.

“Thank you. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

She stood beside the bed and looked at her aunt’s sleeping face. Under the cold hospital lights, the wrinkles seemed deeper, the shadows beneath her eyes darker. Her hair was almost the same white as the pillow.

Her mother had died when she was in preschool. Within months, her father’s family had persuaded him to remarry.

The new wife didn’t want any reminders of the old family, so she went to live with her mother’s sister. Her aunt had never married and had never had children. She adored her from the moment she first saw her tiny, wrinkled newborn face.

They had argued. They had annoyed each other. But love had never once been in question.

She quietly closed the hospital door.

When she unlocked her flat later that evening, the stale smell of last night’s takeaway hit her like a slap. Open cartons still sat on the small table.

She dropped her cross-body bag onto the sofa. Only then did she notice the damp patch spreading across her cardigan. The bag was wet too. The watermelon container had leaked.

She pulled it out and placed it on the table. The toothpick floated in the pink juice. Fully aware that she hadn’t washed her hands, she picked it up and speared a cube of watermelon. She rolled it idly between her thumb and forefinger.

A tiny spinning cube of watermelon.
Back.
Forth.
No seeds.
No trace of the rind.
Only the best part.

For the first time, she wondered who would remove the seeds when Auntie was no longer there. The pink cube, now mushy, slipped off the toothpick and landed on the bare floor. No carpet.
She looked around the room.
“This is not a home.”

She went downstairs.

“Evening, neighbour! Have you got any spare cardboard boxes?”
“For you? Always. Come and help yourself. Take as many as you need.”

The next morning she collected her aunt from the hospital. She was still a little unsteady on her feet, but just as talkative as ever.

“I told you it was nothing serious. It’s this dreadful weather. Even younger people are suffering because of it.”

It took them a while to reach the car. She helped her aunt into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. Her aunt looked into the back seat.

“What on earth are all these boxes?”

They were stacked almost to the roof.

“I’m moving back. Is my room still available?”
“If you’re only doing it because of me, you don’t have to. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
“I know you are. I just don’t want to see my room rented to some handsome younger man who’ll send your blood pressure through the roof. We’ve just established your heart can’t handle too much excitement any more.”
“Oh, is that so? Well… perhaps I should think about it.”

They both laughed.

“Let’s stop at the supermarket,” her aunt said. “They have surprisingly decent ready meals at this time of day.”
“Good idea. I’ll go in. You stay in the car.”
“Nonsense. You don’t know what’s worth buying. Now… what shall we have for dessert?”

She smiled.
“Watermelon. Let’s get watermelon.”