Drowning in Paradise

The hotel pool was supposed to be paradise—a turquoise oasis fringed with towering palm trees that swayed in the tropical breeze. Instead, it felt like a stage set for the final act of our twelve-year marriage.

Margaret sat on a lounge chair in her oversized straw hat, sunglasses hiding eyes that used to look at me with something like joy. Now, I couldn't tell if she was asleep or just pretending to be. The hat had been my anniversary gift last year—another thing she'd accepted with that polite, exhausted smile that had become her default expression.

A resort cat wound between the chairs, its ribs showing through matted orange fur. I tossed it a piece of my croissant. It ignored me, just like everyone else lately.

"You know what's funny?" I said, breaking our three-hour silence. "I caught Jackson feeding the pond goldfish his protein bar yesterday. He said he was saving them from loneliness."

Margaret finally looked at me. "Why is that funny?"

"Because I keep thinking about those goldfish. Swimming in circles. Thinking they're going somewhere."

"That's incredibly profound," she said, her voice flat. "Did you come up with that while contemplating the meaning of existence by the pool bar?"

"I came up with it while you were in the spa. Yesterday. And the day before."

"Well," she said, standing up and adjusting her hat. "Some of us are trying to relax. This was supposed to be our second honeymoon. Remember?"

"I remember," I said. "I also remember you stopped wearing your wedding ring three weeks ago."

She walked away toward our room without another word. I watched her go, the orange cat finally deigning to eat my croissant offering. A group of goldfish in the nearby ornamental pond broke the surface, their mouths opening and closing in silent circles, swimming endlessly toward nowhere.

The bartender slid another drink toward me. "Rough day?"

"Just living the dream," I said, and realized I actually believed it. Some dreams just happen to be nightmares you've gotten used to.