Chrome Solstice

The **iphone** lay face down on the marble counter, its black screen reflecting nothing but Maya's exhausted expression. Six missed calls from David. She watched the condensation from her iced coffee pool around the base, thinking how easily a device could hold an entire marriage's worth of silence.

"You going to get that?" The bartender gestured with his chin. He was young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of unmarked face that made Maya feel ancient.

"No." She slid the phone into her **palm**, feeling its warmth, the way it had become a fifth limb over fifteen years. David's last text had been three days ago: *Need space. The new vitamin supplements aren't helping.*

The absurdity of it still caught her breath. Not an affair, not a midlife crisis, but vitamins. That was the thing about being forty-seven — you could watch your marriage dissolve over something as mundane as nutritional deficiencies.

Outside, the heat was already oppressive. Maya walked toward her sister's house, where Buster, their golden retriever, waited behind the fence. His tail thudded a familiar rhythm against the wood. She'd always wanted a **dog**, but David had been allergic. Or that's what he'd said. Now she wondered if he'd just been allergic to the mess of living.

"He left this morning," her sister said, handing her a margarita. "Packed his things while you were at work. Said he couldn't do it anymore."

"Do what?"

"Be happy. Be married. Be anything at all."

They sat by the **pool**, watching the water shatter light into impossible geometries. Maya thought about the bottle of vitamin D on her nightstand, how she'd started taking them after David moved out. How she'd hoped they might fix something fundamental.

"You know what's funny?" Maya said, slipping into the water. The pool was colder than she expected, shocking her skin awake. "He always said I was the one who needed to be fixed. That I was too much, too emotional, too everything."

"And now?" Her sister's voice was gentle.

Maya floated on her back, watching the sky turn that particular shade of purple that only existed in the moments between things. "Now I'm wondering if I ever needed fixing at all. Maybe I just needed to stop trying to be small enough for someone else's pockets."

Her phone buzzed from the poolside. David again. She let it ring, watching the vibrations ripple through the condensation on the table, feeling something loosen in her chest that had been tight for fifteen years.

"Are you going to answer?" her sister asked.

Maya closed her eyes, letting herself float. "No. I think I'm done being available."