The Garden Party

The spinach was stuck between Elizabeth's front teeth, a tiny green flag announcing her inadequacy to the room. She could feel it with every word, sharp and persistent, but she wouldn't excuse herself to the bathroom. Not yet. Not while Clare was watching her with those assessing eyes, calculating Elizabeth's net worth like she was inventory at an estate sale.

"You and Richard seem... settled," Clare said, swirling her wine. The estate's infinity pool stretched behind her, a perfect blue ribbon against the twilight. "Must be nice, having someone to split the mortgage with these days."

Elizabeth's husband was across the room, laughing too loudly at their host's joke. He hadn't looked at her since they'd arrived.

"Richard's very focused on his startup right now," Elizabeth said. The spinach had worked loose. She swallowed it, tasteless. "We're both very focused."

The gathering moved outside to the pool deck, where catered fish sat limp and neglected on warming trays. Somewhere beyond the edge of the garden, she heard her phone vibrating. Richard had told her to turn it off. He said it made her seem unavailable, that successful people were present.

She found herself alone at the pool's edge, staring into water so clear it seemed absent. A single goldfish floated near the surface, its orange scales almost luminous in the underwater lights. Someone must have dumped it from a bowl, a child's party favor abandoned to chlorine and neglect. It rose lazily to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition, then drifted down again.

Richard appeared behind her, glass in hand. "There you are. Clare was asking about our portfolio."

"Do you remember the goldfish we won at that fair?" Elizabeth asked, without turning. "In our first apartment. The bowl was too small. We never cleaned it. It just... faded away until it was gone."

"Jesus, Elizabeth." His voice dropped. "We're at a networking event. Could you not?"

She turned to face him. The pool lights caught the angles of his face, the same ones she'd woken beside for six years, and suddenly she couldn't remember the last time she'd truly seen him.

"I'm not doing this," she said. "I'm not pretending anymore."

The goldfish broke the surface one final time, gasping, then sank beneath the reflection of the moon. Richard's phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't answer it. Neither did Elizabeth.