Swimming Circles

Marcus watched the goldfish circle its bowl on the kitchen counter, the same loop it had been making for three years. He wondered if it remembered yesterday from today, or if the plastic castle looked new every morning.

"You're staring at it again," Elena said, slamming a bag of spinach onto the counter. "It's not going to grow legs and walk out."

The spinach was for the smoothies they'd started drinking after her diagnosis. Pre-cancerous cells. The doctor had said "lifestyle changes" and Marcus had heard "your life is changing whether you like it or not."

They were supposed to play padel at the club at six.

At the court, the glass walls reflected everything—the fluorescent lights, their tired faces, the perfect couples laughing at the neighboring court. Elena's serve hit the net again.

"For fuck's sake," she muttered, gripping her racket so hard her knuckles turned white.

Marcus walked to the net to retrieve the ball. "Elena, we don't have to do this."

"Do what? Play padel? Or pretend everything's normal?"

She threw her racket onto the artificial grass. The sound echoed against the glass walls, sharp and final.

"I'm tired," she said. "I'm tired of the spinach smoothies and the pretending and the way you look at me like I'm already dead."

Marcus stood at the service line, the yellow ball in his hand. He thought about the goldfish, swimming its endless circles. He thought about the way Elena had looked when the doctor showed them the scans—how she'd squeezed his hand so tight it left bruises.

"I look at you like that because I'm scared," he said, his voice cracking. "Because I don't know how to do this without you."

Elena's shoulders dropped. The anger drained out of her, leaving something smaller and more fragile in its place.

"The goldfish died, you know," she said quietly. "Last night. I flushed it this morning."

Marcus stared at her. The goldfish that had been swimming in their kitchen for three years.

"I didn't want to tell you," she said. "Because you'd be sad. And I'm tired of sad."

They stood on opposite sides of the padel court, the glass walls vibrating with the sound of laughter from the next court over. Marcus set down the ball and walked to her side.

"We don't have to play," he said. "We can go home. We can order takeout. We can eat nothing but spinach if that's what you need."

Elena looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed. "What I need is for us to stop swimming in circles."

She picked up her racket.

"Your serve," she said. "But don't you dare let me win."