Chrome Reflections

The iphone lit up her face like a ghost — third time this hour she'd checked. Nothing from him. Of course.

She pulled her hat lower, the wide brim creating a shadow that mercifully hid the dark circles under her eyes. Around the corporate retreat pool, her colleagues moved in synchronized patterns — cocktail in hand, practiced laugh, strategic glance toward the VP of Sales. They were all professionals of performance, and she'd forgotten her lines weeks ago.

"You look intense," said Marcus, sliding into the lounge chair beside hers. He was one of the few people she could stand, mostly because he seemed to hate these weekends as much as she did. "Earth to Sarah."

"Sorry," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Just thinking."

"About work? Because it's Saturday, and that's literally why we're here, to not think about work."

"No. Not work."

Her thumb hovered over his name in her messages. Three months since he'd walked out, and she was still playing conversations they'd never have again. The zombie apocalypse show they'd binged together — he'd loved picking apart the plot holes, the tactical mistakes. She'd just liked holding him on the couch.

"You know," Marcus said, following her gaze to the iphone glowing between them, "my therapist says we're all zombies now. Dopamine-dead, scrolling ourselves into oblivion. She says we need to touch grass."

She snorted. "Does touching grass by a chlorinated pool count?"

"Technicality."

The pool's surface rippled as someone dove in, shattering the reflection of luxury resort and desperate professionals. For a second, she saw something unfamiliar in the water — her own face, but different. Calmer. Like she'd actually been through the apocalypse she feared and found something alive on the other side.

Her phone buzzed. Not him. Just the team chat. Next week's Q2 projections.

She flipped it over on the table, screen-down.

"My ex and I used to watch this zombie show," she said, surprising herself. "He'd make fun of how slow the zombies were, how they'd obviously die in seconds. But I kept thinking — what if they were the lucky ones? No more taxes, no more quarterly projections, no more checking a device that won't give you what you actually want."

Marcus was quiet for a moment. "You want to be a zombie?"

"I want to not care so much about who's not texting me back."

She stood up, kicked off her sandals. The pool water was cold against her skin, shocking her into the present. Her hat tumbled onto the concrete. Her hair plastered to her face. She didn't check the phone.

She swam.