Surface Tension

The pool had gone green somewhere between her announcement and his third glass of scotch. Richard stood at the edge, chlorine and algae fighting a losing battle, much like their marriage. The cat—her name was Bella, though he'd started calling her 'the shared asset' in his head—wove through his legs, purring with oblivion.

"I'm not saying I don't love you," Elena had said that morning, her hair still wet from the shower, droplets tracking down her neck like unwanted tears. "I'm saying I don't like who we've become."

Now she was in the house, probably packing. Probably crying.

Richard had done what any reasonable man would do: poured a drink and come outside to stare at the pool they'd bought two summers ago, back when they still believed possessions could fill the hollow spaces. The goldfish pond was nearby—a failed DIY project from last spring. All three fish had died within weeks. He'd never told her. Just flushed them and bought replacements, then those died too, and finally he'd stopped pretending.

Some things you couldn't keep alive no matter how carefully you fed them.

He finished the scotch and set the glass on the patio table. The cat jumped up, sniffed the rim, then looked at him with ancient judgment.

"Yeah, I know," Richard said. "You're next to go."

Bella would probably go with Elena. The cat had always liked her better anyway. Women like animals. They understand neediness.

He wondered if there was a version of this conversation where he hadn't spent the last three years emotionally absent, where he hadn't assumed her unhappiness was just something that would pass like a summer storm. The pool water rippled in the wind, small waves hitting the concrete edges with gentle persistence.

In the distance, a car door slammed.

Richard didn't turn around. He watched a leaf drift across the pool's surface, caught in something he couldn't see—current, wind, the mathematics of decay. It was all just matter in motion, wasn't it? Hearts, pools, marriages. Eventually, everything runs out of things to say.

The cat rubbed against his leg one last time, then headed toward the house, toward the open door, toward whatever came next.

Richard stayed. The sun was setting. The water had stopped trying.