Dead Things Float

The pool had gone still sometime around midnight, the water a flat black mirror reflecting the party lights strung overhead. Elena sat on the edge, her legs dangling in the chlorinated water, nursing her third orange soda of the evening. The bubbles had gone flat, just like everything else.

"You look like a zombie," Marcus said, dropping beside her. He smelled like expensive whiskey and poor decisions. "That's what Carla called you. Said you've been dead inside since the layoffs."

Elena laughed, a dry sound. "Carla wouldn't know genuine emotion if it slapped her across her Botoxed forehead."

"She's got a point though." Marcus stared at his reflection. "We're all just walking around, pretending this company gives a shit about us while they prep us for the slaughter. The bull market's been good to them, though."

The bull—the corporate mascot mounted in the lobby, its bronze horns gleaming—had dominated their work lives for fifteen years. Elena had given this place her twenties, her thirties, her best years. And now they were discussing "restructuring."

"Remember when we started?" Elena said quietly. "We actually thought we were building something."

"We were." Marcus touched her shoulder, his fingers warm. "We built this. Just not sure what we're going to do when they finish taking it apart."

The orange glow of the security lights made everything look sickly. Elena thought about the life she'd never lived—the kids she'd never had, the marriage she'd postponed for "just one more promotion," the creative writing class she'd signed up for three times and never attended.

"I met someone," Marcus said suddenly. "Online. She's a kindergarten teacher. She writes poetry."

Elena's chest tightened. They'd had this conversation a dozen times in their heads, but never aloud. "That's wonderful, Marcus."

"I could introduce you to someone," he offered. "Or we could—"

"Or we could keep pretending we don't know what we're pretending."

A splash disturbed them—a drunken executive had fallen in. They watched him flail, something that should have been funny but wasn't.

"Dead things float," Elena said. "That's why they stay on the surface."

"What sinks?"

"The things that were never alive to begin with."

Marcus's hand found hers in the dark. For the first time in fifteen years, neither of them pulled away.