Stale Water

The apartment complex pool hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Green algae skimmed the surface like a bruised film, and Elena sat on the deck in her work clothes, heels kicked off, staring at it. She was thirty-two, and this was supposed to be the year she figured her life out. Instead, she'd just been laid off from the tech startup where she'd poured three years into something that didn't exist anymore.

"You look like you're contemplating something final," said a voice behind her.

She turned. It was Marcus from 4B, the guy who always left his laundry in the dryer for hours after it finished. He held a Tupperware container.

"Just thinking about jumping in," she said. "Hoping the algae gives me superpowers."

Marcus sat beside her, not too close. "Spinach salad," he said, offering the container. "My mom's recipe. She says iron helps with existential dread."

Elena took a leaf. It was bitter, earthy. Real. "You're strange."

"I'm a nurse. I see people die alone every day. It makes you prioritize." He paused. "I saw your LinkedIn update."

"The whole world saw it. LinkedIn announces layoffs like they're wedding invitations."

Marcus laughed softly. He had nice lines around his eyes. He reached out, palm open, like he was offering something else entirely. "Come to dinner Friday. I make a mean spinach risotto. No talk about jobs or futures or what we're supposed to be doing. Just food and maybe wine and not thinking about how none of us have retirement savings."

Elena looked at his hand — work-worn, fingernials clipped short, a small scar across the knuckle. She looked at the stagnant pool, at her own reflection warped and green.

She took his hand. His palm was warm, dry, solid.

"Only if you promise to never mention LinkedIn again."

"Deal," he said, and he didn't let go.