Goldfish & Greens

The orange plastic scoop clattered against the side of the aquarium. Seven years of loyal service, and Bubbles had chosen today of all days to go belly-up.

"He's not dead," Maya insisted, though the goldfish was definitely doing an impression of a floatie. "He's just... meditating."

Her younger brother Leo rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Maya. He's a goner. Mom's gonna make us flush him."

"Not yet." Maya's phone buzzed in her pocket – probably the group chat blowing up about Jordan's party tonight. The one she'd been obsessing over for literally two weeks. But here she was, having a funeral for a five-dollar fish.

"Mom's on another health kick anyway," Leo said, backing away from the tank like Bubbles' ghost might haunt him. "She bought spinach. Actual spinach. For dinner."

Maya's stomach did an uncomfortable flip. Their mom went through phases – the protein powder era, the gluten-free month, last year's unfortunate tofu incident. But ever since the doctor had mentioned her vitamin D levels were low, it was like a switch had flipped.

"It's fine," Maya said, though she wasn't convinced. "We can sneak out for pizza after."

"Cool." Leo paused at the door. "You know, you could just ask Jordan to hang instead of waiting for an invite."

Maya's face burned. She hated how perceptive her brother could be sometimes.

That evening, the dining table looked like a salad bar explosion. Spinach everywhere. Maya poked at her portion while her mom went on about antioxidants and "listening to your body" – which felt rich, considering Maya's body was currently screaming for literally anything else.

"I know it's not pizza," her mom said, softer. "I'm trying to do better, okay? For all of us."

Maya looked at her mom, really looked at her – the tired eyes, the way she kept checking her phone, the vitamin supplements lined up on the counter like little soldiers. Her mom was trying. Maybe that counted for something.

"It's not terrible," Maya lied, and took a bite.

Later, when the house was quiet and her phone screen showed Jordan's Instagram story – everyone there, everyone laughing, everyone except her – Maya crept back to the aquarium. Bubbles was definitely gone now.

She didn't flush him. Instead, she buried him under the orange tree in the backyard, between two gnarly roots, and whispered, "Thanks for the memories, buddy."

Her phone buzzed. Jordan: "hey where were u?? we missed you"

Maya stared at the screen, heart hammering. Then she typed: "family stuff. next time for sure"

She hit send before she could overthink it. Baby steps.

The next morning, there was a new goldfish in the tank. And on the kitchen counter, beside the vitamins, a single orange.

"For luck," her mom said, not looking up from her coffee. "And maybe tomorrow, we can have pizza."

Maya smiled. "Spinach on top?"

"Don't push it."