The Goldfish Funeral

The crematorium waiting room smelled of lavender and grief, a combination that made Sarah's stomach clench. She'd been sitting there for forty minutes, flipping through magazines she wasn't reading, while her mother's body burned in the next room.

"Ms. Ellison?" The director's assistant appeared, a young woman with perfect hair that couldn't possibly be natural. "Your brother's here."

Sarah's stomach dropped. Michael. She hadn't seen him in three years—not since he'd stolen their mother's jewelry to pay off gambling debts and claimed their childhood dog had eaten it.

Michael walked in looking like a ghost of his former self. The tailored suits were gone, replaced by a wrinkled button-down and slacks that hung off his frame. His hair was thinning, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion that went deeper than sleep deprivation.

"Sarah," he said, and something broke in his voice.

"Michael." She stood, her legs trembling. "Why are you here?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag containing a single goldfish, floating lazily in cloudy water. "Mom's fish. From her kitchen counter. It's been three weeks since she... I've been feeding it."

Sarah stared at him, then at the goldfish, its scales catching the fluorescent light. "You've been taking care of her fish?"

"It's the only thing she left that still needs me." Michael's voice cracked. "I know I messed up, Sarah. I know I was a disaster of a brother, a disaster of a son. But this fish—I couldn't let it die too."

The assistant's intercom buzzed. "Ms. Ellison, your mother's remains are ready."

Sarah looked at Michael, really looked at him, and saw what grief and loneliness had carved away at him. She thought about their dog Buster, who'd actually eaten nothing more dangerous than socks, and how their mother had covered for Michael's lies until the very end.

"Take the fish home with you," Sarah said. "And come to dinner on Sunday."

Michael's eyes filled with tears. "Really?"

"Mom would want us to stop being strangers." She touched his arm hesitantly. "And someone needs to teach you how to take care of that goldfish properly."

The goldfish swam to the surface of its bag, mouth opening and closing in silent observation, as two people who'd forgotten how to be family began to remember.