Stagnant

The pool hadn't been drained in months. Greenish film skimmed the surface like a bruised eyelid, and Elena stood at the edge, clutching her wine glass so hard her palm went white around the stem. The backyard was full of people she didn't recognize anymore—Sarah's new friends, Sarah's successful friends, people who talked about venture capital and ketamine therapy with the same casual enthusiasm.

"You're blocking the spinach dip," someone said behind her.

Elena turned to find a woman in a white linen dress, holding a paper plate piled high with green stuff. "Sorry."

"It's actually kale," the woman said. "Sarah's doing this whole anti-inflammatory thing. Says spinach makes her retain water."

Elena laughed before she could stop herself. A sharp, ugly sound. "Sarah hated spinach. We used to order spinach artichoke dip every Thursday at that dive bar downtown—the one that closed last year—and she'd complain the entire time but still eat half of it."

The woman's smile froze. "Oh. You must be the friend."

"I'm Elena."

"I'm Sarah's fiancée, Jamie."

The water in the pool caught the light, throwing fractured reflections across Jamie's face. Elena thought about the night Sarah told her she was marrying someone she'd met four months earlier—how she'd said, "You'll always be my best friend, E, but you don't believe in happiness anymore, and I need someone who does."

"She told me about you," Jamie said, her voice carefully neutral. "Said you two went through something hard together."

"Something hard," Elena repeated. "That's one way to put it."

"She also said you almost drowned once. In a lake, when you were kids? That you've been afraid of water ever since?"

Elena looked down at the stagnant pool. "I'm not afraid of water."

"But you're standing as far from the pool as physically possible while still being at the party."

A child screamed somewhere behind them. Someone jumped into the pool with a cannonball splash, sending green water sloshing over the concrete.

"Sarah saved me," Elena said, surprised by her own honesty. "When I drowned. She was twelve, I was thirteen. She pulled me out and gave me CPR until the ambulance came. I think that's when she started thinking she could save people."

Jamie set down her plate. The spinach-kale dip sat between them like a peace offering. "She thinks she saved me too. From my divorce, from my drinking habits. She's very into saving things."

"Does she know you're still drinking?" Elena nodded at the wine glass.

Jamie's expression didn't change. "I have sparkling cider in this. But no, she doesn't need to know everything about me to love me. That's something I had to learn."

The band started playing inside—some cover of a song they'd both loved in college. Elena felt something cracking open in her chest, something that had been sealed shut for three years.

"She told me once," Elena said quietly, "that she couldn't be my friend anymore because I reminded her of what she used to be. And she hated that version of herself."

Jamie studied her for a long moment. Then she reached out and took Elena's free hand, pressing their palms together like they were comparing futures. "Maybe she's not saving us," she said. "Maybe she's just running away from the parts of herself she sees when she looks at us."

Elena looked at their joined hands, then at the pool where someone's lost sunglasses floated near the filter intake. She thought about the way Sarah had looked the last time they'd spoken—exhausted, terrified, smiling too hard.

"Your dip," Elena said. "You should get it before it gets warm."

Jamie squeezed her hand once, then let go. "You should come inside. Dance with us. I think she's been waiting for you to make the first move."

Elena stood at the edge of the stagnant water for another moment. Then she walked toward the house, leaving the pool behind, carrying nothing but an empty glass and the sudden, terrifying possibility that she might actually be happy again.