Riddles by the Pool

The pool at the Avalon Apartments reflected the October sky like a bruised mirror. Maya sat on the edge, legs submerged in water that had grown too cold for swimming, watching Daniel pace the deck with his phone pressed to his ear.

"The cable company says they can't send anyone until Tuesday," he said, ending the call with a frustrated sigh. "Another week without internet. I'm working on that proposal, Maya. I need to be online."

"You've been working on that proposal for six months," she said, not looking at him. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something."

"Oh, so now the universe is my career counselor?" Daniel stopped pacing and leaned against the wrought-iron fence. The complex's centerpiece—a grotesque fiberglass sphinx with the head of a poodle, installed by the previous owner—loomed behind him like a bad joke. "What is it this week? Am I supposed to find myself? Abandon the corporate life and become an artist?"

"I meant what I said on Thursday." She finally turned to face him. Water dripped from her calves onto the concrete. "I'm not saying you need to become someone else. I'm asking if you're happy."

"Happy?" He laughed bitterly. "You sound like those articles you're always reading—'Ten Signs You're a Corporate Zombie.' I'm building something here. A future."

"Are you?" Maya stood up, water streaming down her legs. "Or are you just going through the motions? You come home at eight, you eat whatever takeout I've ordered because you never learned to cook anything more complicated than spinach, you fall asleep on the couch, and you do it all again the next day. That's not building something, Daniel. That's existing."

The sphinx seemed to grin at them both.

"So that's it?" Daniel's voice cracked. "You're leaving because I don't cook enough spinach? Because the cable's out?"

"I'm leaving because I asked you a question on Thursday, and instead of answering it, you made a joke about corporate zombies and ordered pizza." She wrapped her towel around herself. "That's not the worst part, though. The worst part is that you didn't even hear me ask it."

The pool lights flickered on automatically, sensing the dying light. In the artificial blue glow, Daniel finally stopped moving. He looked at Maya—really looked at her—for the first time in months.

"What was the question?" he asked quietly.

"Maya stood by the gate, her hand on the latch. "When was the last time you felt alive, Daniel? When was the last time anything made you feel something real?"

The water lapped gently against the pool's sides. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. The sphinx kept its secret.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Neither do I," she said, and let the gate click shut behind her.