The Cable Between Us

The goldfish drifted to the surface of its bowl, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. Elena watched it while David shouted at the cable company representative on the phone, his voice cracking with frustration. Their internet had been down for three days.

"It's not the equipment, I've already reset it twice—"

She tuned him out, focused instead on the spinach wilting in the vegetable drawer. She'd bought it fresh on Tuesday, intending to make them something healthy. That was before David forgot their anniversary dinner. Before she found the receipt for jewelry she'd never received.

The fox she'd seen on their morning run darted through her memory—its rusty coat flashing through the underbrush, wild and unburdened. She'd stopped running three months ago when the mornings grew too cold, too dark, too lonely.

"They're sending someone tomorrow," David announced, slamming the phone down. "Finally."

Their cat, Barnaby, wound around Elena's ankles, purring insistently. She picked him up, burying her face in his fur. He smelled like sunlight and dust, like something that stayed even when everything else fell apart.

"David?"

"What?" He was already reaching for his phone, thumb scrolling through something infinitely more interesting than their living room, their life, her.

"The spinach went bad again."

"So throw it out. Jesus, El, it's just vegetables."

She set Barnaby down gently. The goldfish continued its endless circuit of the bowl, trapped in an ecosystem too small for anything resembling real movement. Tomorrow the cable guy would come and restore their connection to everything outside these walls. Tomorrow she would buy fresh spinach and pretend last week hadn't happened. Tomorrow she would be someone who believed in forward motion.

But tonight, watching David's face illuminated by the blue glow of his phone, she couldn't remember why that mattered anymore.