Riddles by the Pool

The pool at the Stardust Hotel was empty, save for me and a bronze sphinx that watched from the garden edge, its wings folded as if judging my life choices. I'd been here three hours, nursing a gin and tonic that had long since gone watery, waiting for Elena to show up.

She messaged at sundown: 'Running late. Order whatever. Don't wait up.'

Typical. Elena had always operated on her own time zone, while I lived by the clock. That was the problem, wasn't it? The unspoken thing between us, the riddle neither of us wanted to solve.

I poked at my room service salad—wilted spinach, goat cheese, walnuts—a fancy attempt at self-care that mostly tasted like regret. The concierge had called it 'wellness cuisine.' I called it punishment for turning thirty-seven without a proper retirement fund.

We'd been friends since college, back when we shared a studio apartment and dreams of changing the world. Elena actually had. She ran a nonprofit that provided legal aid to undocumented immigrants. I wrote marketing copy for a hedge fund.

'Mind if I join?'

I looked up. Elena stood there, hair wet from the pool she must have just slipped into fully clothed, or maybe from rain I hadn't noticed. She'd aged beautifully—laugh lines around eyes that still saw everything.

'You're swimming in your dress,' I said.

'The pool looked lonely.' She sat down, dripping water everywhere, and stole a walnut from my plate. 'How's corporate America treating you, Mara?'

'Same as always. Selling my soul in exchange for good dental.'

She laughed, and something in my chest unknot. 'Remember that sphinx riddle we studied in sophomore year? What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?'

'Humans,' I said. 'Oedipus. The curse of knowledge.'

'The riddle's wrong,' Elena said, dipping a finger in my drink. 'It should be: what crawls, then walks, then runs, then realizes they've been running in circles the whole time?'

She pulled a small velvet box from her wet dress pocket and slid it across the table. 'I'm leaving. Mexico City. I need you to come with me. The spinach there is actually fresh, and I think we both could stand to stop running in circles.'

The sphinx watched from the garden, its bronze face inscrutable. I'd spent thirty-seven years solving everyone else's riddles.

'When do we leave?' I asked.

Her smile was the answer I'd been looking for.