Orange Hour

The museum was nearly empty when Elena found herself standing before the glass case containing the small limestone sphinx, its lion body and human face worn smooth by three thousand years of patient waiting. Beside her, David checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

"We're going to miss our reservation," he said, not looking at the artifact, not looking at her.

"The sphinx asked riddles," Elena said, her voice echoing strangely in the dim hall. "Devoured those who couldn't answer."

"Now you're the one with the riddles." His tone was gentle, exhausted. "What do you want from me, El?"

She thought of their orange tabby cat, Prometheus, who had spent the morning vomiting on the carpet they'd bought together, then curled purring in David's abandoned armchair like nothing had happened. She thought of her sister's golden retriever, who still waited by the door every evening for an owner who'd died six months ago. Loyalty as reflex, or loyalty as choice.

David's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then away. "I can keep cancelling if you need more time."

The question was whether there was enough time left in the world for all the things they needed to say to each other, or if they'd become like the sphinx—something that spoke in mysteries, something that only made sense from a distance, in retrospect, with the help of scholars who'd never actually know them.

"I don't need more time," Elena said. "I need you to stop pretending you don't know what I'm asking."

Orange light filtered through the skylights above them, dust motes swimming in the last beams of sunset. Outside, the city was making its evening sounds, but here everything was suspended in amber.

"I can't be what you want," David said finally, not meeting her eyes. "I've never been that person."

"I know," she said. "I just needed you to admit it."

They left the museum separately. He walked north toward the restaurant, alone. She walked south toward their apartment, where Prometheus would be waiting, indifferent to endings, and where she would pack her things before the orange light faded completely into something like night.