The Goldfish at the Funeral

Maya smoothed her flyaway **hair** for the third time, catching her reflection in the funeral home's glass doors. At forty-two, she hadn't expected to be **running** away from her own wedding rehearsal dinner, but here she was, standing outside her childhood home where her mother's wake was being held.

Inside, the air was thick with cheap lilies and unresolved things. Her sister Clara sat by the buffet table, clutching a crystal bowl containing her mother's prize **goldfish**—an absurd creature that had outlived three husbands and now, apparently, its owner. The fish's orange scales caught the light as it swam in endless circles, unaware that the woman who'd fed it flakes every morning at 7 AM was lying in a casket ten feet away.

"She loved this fish," Clara said, not looking up. "Remember how she'd talk to it? 'Hello, Goldie. You're the only man who never disappoints me.'"

Maya felt something break inside her chest—a laugh or a sob, she couldn't tell which. Their mother had been many things: brilliant, volatile, devastatingly lonely. A woman who'd taught them that love was a battlefield and marriage was a surrender.

The minister was droning on about **water** and rebirth, something about rivers and peaceful shores. Maya thought about the text she'd received from Richard just an hour ago: *I don't think you're ready for this. Maybe we should wait.* He was probably right. She'd spent her whole life **running** from one commitment to another, seeking the safe exit before anyone could leave her first.

Her father's old **hat** sat on a chair near the casket—a fedora he'd worn the day he walked out, thirty-two years ago. Her mother had kept it all these years, claiming she was using it to store grudges. Now it looked like a dark mouth, swallowing the light.

"I should call Richard," Maya said suddenly.

"No," Clara said, feeding the fish. "Let him wait. Let yourself be selfish for once. Mom would hate it, but that's kind of the point, isn't it?"

The goldfish broke the surface, its mouth opening and closing in silent commentary. Outside, rain began to fall against the windows, and Maya realized she wasn't going back to the rehearsal dinner. She wasn't running away anymore—she was finally staying put.