Chlorine and Regret

The pool at the Hawthorne Apartments had lost its azure brilliance, now resembling something closer to a neglected martini—olive brine and despair. Arthur sat on the rusted lounge chair, nursing his third drink, watching the Saturday afternoon crowd pretend their lives were as perfect as their carefully curated social media presence.

She arrived at 4:17 PM. He'd checked his watch compulsively since noon. Sarah, wearing that ridiculous orange bikini that had once made him feel like the luckiest man alive, now made him feel like a ghost haunting his own memory. She was laughing at something a man in expensive sunglasses said, her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat that he used to trace with his fingers while they lay in bed on Sunday mornings, discussing their future over coffee and whatever organic nonsense they'd bought at the farmer's market.

Spinach. It was always spinach stuck in her teeth on their first real date. He'd spent the entire evening wondering whether to tell her, paralyzed by the terror of being that guy—the awkward, pedantic man who pointed out flaws instead of falling in love. When he finally worked up the courage, she'd laughed so hard she'd snorted wine across the tablecloth. "That's why I like you," she'd said, wiping her mouth. "You're terrified of everything, but you still do the right thing."

That was seven years ago. Now she was swimming laps in the pool, her body cutting through water with athletic grace, while he sat on the sidelines, a collection of missed opportunities and what-ifs, nursing a drink that had gone warm in the sun.

The orange bikini, the spinach, the pool where they'd first met—these weren't memories anymore. They were evidence. Proof that he'd once been brave enough to love someone, and cowardly enough to let them walk away when things got difficult.

Sarah emerged from the water, shaking droplets from her hair like a wet dog. She spotted him, paused, then offered a small, tentative wave. Arthur lifted his glass in response, the orange slice on the rim catching the light, briefly brilliant before sinking beneath the surface of his drink.

Some things, he realized, were better left submerged.