Memory's Aquarium

The real estate agent said nothing about the aquarium when Maggie signed the lease. Now she stood in her new living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes, watching a single goldfish drift through murky water in a tank the previous owners had abandoned. The fish was listless, its orange scales dull in the afternoon light filtering through the palm fronds beyond the window.

She'd fled California with nothing but clothes, books, and a broken heart. David had kept the dog—Barnaby, their golden retriever who'd slept between them for seven years. The cat had been hers: Luna, who'd died six months before the breakup, as if somehow sensing the end. Maggie had buried Luna in the backyard under the lemon tree, wondering even then if she'd ever see the fruit ripen.

The goldfish surfaced, gulping at the thin layer of air between water and glass.

"You too, huh?" she whispered. "Left behind."

Her phone buzzed. David, again. Three missed calls, twelve texts. He wanted to know if she'd taking his climbing gear. He wanted to know if she'd ever loved him, truly loved him, or if it had all been some long performance she'd finally grown tired of staging.

Maggie turned off the phone and knelt before the aquarium. The goldfish watched her with its expressionless eye. In Japanese culture, they said goldfish represented good fortune. In Chinese mythology, they symbolized abundance and harmony. She'd learned these facts once, in another lifetime, when she'd still believed in symbols and signs and the possibility of forever.

The real estate agent's number was still on the kitchen counter. She could call. Complain. Demand someone come take this fish away.

Instead, she opened the box marked KITCHEN and found a glass jar, then used her palm to test the water temperature—lukewarm, stagnant. The fish needed fresh water, food, light. It needed someone who wouldn't forget it existed.

"Okay," Maggie said aloud, surprised by the tears gathering in her throat. "Okay. We'll figure this out."

She texted David back: Keep the gear. I'm done climbing.

Then she went to find pet food, the goldfish watching her go, and for the first time in months, something in its silent swim looked like hope.