Drifting

The pool sat still in the backyard, a blue rectangle catching the last light of October. Elena hadn't been here since the breakup, since Marcus left his hat on the diving board and never came back for it. That stupid straw hat with the frayed brim still sat there now, four months later, a monument to her poor judgment.

"You're staring at it again," Sarah said, dropping her bag on the lounge chair. They'd been friends for seven years, long enough to know exactly when the other was rotating their mistakes like prayer beads. "It's just a hat, El."

"It's not just a hat. It's the only thing he left."

Sarah sighed and pulled a papaya from her bag, slicing it with practiced ease. The fruit was overripe, the flesh yielding too easily under her knife, sweet and cloying. "Everything rots eventually. Even memories. You want some?"

Elena shook her head, watching the water. Small ripples lapped at the tile edges, the pool's surface broken only by the occasional fallen leaf. She'd spent half the summer in this water, letting it wash away days until her fingers pruned and her mind went quiet. There was something about being submerged—weightless, muffled—that made the world's sharp edges soften.

"He's getting married," Elena said.

Sarah stopped chewing. "Who?"

"Marcus. Saw it on Facebook this morning. Some girl named Jennifer. They met in April."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things Sarah could say—that it had been eight months, that Elena had been the one to end it, that some people moved on faster than others. Instead, she wiped papaya juice from her chin and said, "You want to go in?"

"It's October."

"So we'll freeze. Better than feeling like this."

Elena looked at the hat one last time, then stripped down to her underwear. The water was shocking cold, a gasp-inducing shock to the system. Sarah was right behind her, surfacing with a shriek that bounced off the fence. They treaded water as the sky darkened, the pool lights flickering on automatically, casting wavering shadows across the bottom.

"Better?" Sarah asked, teeth chattering.

"Maybe," Elena said, floating onto her back. The water held her up. "Maybe not. But at least I'm not staring at the damn hat anymore."

They stayed in until they couldn't feel their toes, until the cold made everything else feel far away and manageable. The papaya sat forgotten on the edge, sweet and rotting in the cooling air. Some things, Elena thought, you had to let decay. Others, you just had to learn to float through.