The Fish in the Garden

Elena hadn't been my friend in three years, not since the night I found her in bed with Marcus, not two hours after she'd helped me pick out his anniversary gift. But there she was at the funeral, wearing black like she'd invented it, holding my hand like nothing had changed.

"She loved papaya," Elena whispered, gesturing at the fruit platter. "Remember that summer in Mexico?"

I remembered. I also remembered Elena ordering room service with my husband while I was at the hospital getting tests.

The catering station wilted in the heat—spinach salad turning to slime, deviled eggs gathering flies. A bull of a man, Brian from accounting, pushed past me toward the shrimp, his sweat-stained shirt already clinging to his back. He'd been the one to find her, they said. Found her floating face-down in the garden pond.

"She always said those goldfish brought her luck," Elena murmured, staring at the pond where orange shapes still darted beneath the lily pads. "After the divorce, she'd sit out here for hours, feeding them. Said they were better company than men."

I'd bought the fish for her sixth anniversary. A dozen of them, darting jewels in a ceramic bowl she kept on her desk. They'd died one by one, she said. Accidents. Chlorine in the water. Too much food, not enough. Just like marriages, she'd laughed, brittle wine-soaked laughter at her fortieth birthday party.

Now I stood by the pond, watching them feed on mosquito larvae, and thought about chlorine. About how easily things can be poisoned. About how some people collect friends like they collect fish—beautiful, disposable, replaceable.

"She talked about you," Elena said, squeezing my hand. "Said you were the one who got away."

I pulled my hand free. "She talked about everyone like that."

Brian returned, shrimp cocktail in hand, staring at Elena with something that looked like hunger. Behind us, the goldfish rose to the surface, mouths opening and closing in silent accusation, waiting to be fed again.

Some fish, I thought, never learn.