Drowning in the Shallow End

The corporate retreat was Marcus's idea. His way of reminding us why we stay married, or maybe just why we haven't divorced yet. So here we are at the boutique hotel in wine country, staring at each other across the rim of the infinity pool.

"You're doing it again," I say.

Marcus blinks, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. "What?"

"Looking through me. Like I'm not even here."

He sighs, sinks lower until the water reaches his chin. "I'm sorry, Elena. The merger—"

"I know. The merger. Always the merger." I trace patterns on the water's surface with my toe. "You've been a zombie for six months, Marcus. Six months." The word feels sharp in my mouth, like a stone I've been carrying.

He looks away, toward the vineyards rolling into fog. "I have to bear this alone. The board doesn't—"

"Bullshit." I stand up, water streaming off my body. "You don't have to bear anything alone. That's literally what marriage is. But you'd rather drown in spreadsheets than talk to me."

"Elena—"

"No. I'm done." I grab my towel, my wrap. "I ordered spinach smoothies for breakfast tomorrow because I'm trying to be healthy for you. For us. But I think I'd rather just be alone than married to someone who's already gone."

I'm halfway to the cabanas when he catches my wrist. His grip is desperate.

"I'm scared," he says, voice cracking. "I'm scared I'm going to fail, and you'll see me differently."

I turn. Really look at him. "Marcus. I already see you differently. I see you disappearing. What I don't see is the man I married."

He flinches. Then he laughs—this broken, ugly sound. "God. The spinach. You hate spinach."

"I hate a lot of things lately."

"Stay," he says. "Please. Let me try. Let me—I don't know. Let me be here. Actually here."

The sun is setting behind the hills. His hand is still on my wrist, his fingers pruning. I could leave. I should leave.

"Tomorrow," I say. "You're actually here. Or I'm gone."

He nods, swallows. "Okay."

I don't pull away. Not yet. The pool reflects the first stars, and for the first time in months, we're both in the same place at the same time. It's not enough. It might never be enough. But it's something.