The Goldfish at the End

Maya hadn't spoken to Elena in three years, not since the funeral where they'd both stood awkwardly in black suits, pretending not to remember how they'd once promised to grow old together. Now here she was, standing outside Elena's apartment building at sunset, clutching a plastic bag with a single orange goldfish swimming in frantic circles.

Elena opened the door looking exhausted, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing oversized pajamas that swallowed her frame. She didn't ask why Maya was there. She just stepped aside.

"He's sick," Elena said, gesturing toward a murky aquarium in the corner of her living room. The larger goldfish inside floated near the surface, barely moving.

Maya set the bag on the floor. "The pet store guy said this one might keep him company. Sometimes they get lonely."

Elena laughed, a dry, rusty sound. "Since when do you know anything about fish?"

"Since I realized I might lose my last link to him."

The fish—named Bacon, because David had been absurd like that—had been his prize possession. After David died, Elena had inherited it along with his boxes of unread books and his mother's china. She'd wanted to throw everything away, but she couldn't bring herself to flush the fish. Some days, Maya thought Elena hated that fish more than she'd ever loved David.

They sat on the floor watching the orange newcomer swim alongside Bacon, barely disturbing the water. The last light of day filtered through the window, casting everything in a hazy glow that made the room feel suspended in time.

"I'm moving to Portland," Elena said quietly.

Maya's chest tightened. "Oh."

"I can't stay in this apartment anymore. Can't stay in this city." Elena traced patterns on the hardwood with her finger. "I keep expecting him to come home."

"I know," Maya said. "I keep expecting you to call."

Elena looked at her then, really looked at her, for the first time since the funeral. "I'm sorry I shut you out."

"You were grieving. You're allowed."

"I was terrified," she corrected. "David was the glue. I didn't know who I was without him, and I didn't know who you'd be to me without him."

Outside, the last orange streaks of sunset were surrendering to twilight. The two goldfish moved together through the water, synchronized in their small world.

"I'm still your friend," Maya said. "That didn't die with him."

Elena's eyes filled. "I don't want to lose you again."

"Then don't."

They sat there as darkness gathered, two friends who'd survived losing the person between them, watching fish swim in circles, beginning again.