The Goldfish's Last Supper

The night Marcus left, a lightning storm cracked the sky open. I stood at the kitchen counter forcing myself to eat cold spinach from the container, watching our goldfish—Sir Gilbert—swim lonely laps in his bowl. Marcus had taken the cat. He'd always loved Bear more than me, anyway.

"It's not you," he'd said at the door, suitcase in hand. "I just can't do this anymore."

What this was: seven years of two people who'd forgotten how to be anything but tired together.

The spinach tasted like defeat. I dumped it down the garbage disposal.

Bear was Marcus's cat originally, a Maine Coon who'd deem me worthy of attention only when hungry. Marcus had scooped him up like a child, saying, "I'll come back for the rest of my stuff next week." He meant his books, his records, the espresso machine. Not me. Never me.

Sir Gilbert bumped against the glass. I dropped a pinch of food into his bowl. At least someone still needed me.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: "Forgot to tell you—Bear has a vet appointment Thursday. Can you still take him?"

He wasn't coming back for the cat. He was leaving me with his responsibilities, his leftovers, his half-finished life. I typed back: "He took the cat. You have the cat."

Then deleted it. Typed: "I'll take him."

The vet's office on Thursday smelled like antiseptic and fear. Bear yowled in his carrier the whole way. I answered questions about his diet, his habits, his recent behavior—none of which I actually knew. The vet looked at me strangely when I couldn't remember if Bear was indoor or outdoor.

"You're his owner?"

"His owner's ex-partner."

Her face softened. "That explains it."

She gave Bear a clean bill of health. I drove him back to Marcus's apartment, left the carrier on his doorstep, and drove away.

That night, I bought a new goldfish. His name was Gilbert II. I also bought fresh spinach, wine, and a frozen pizza—the kind Marcus hated. I ate on the couch, feet up, wine glass staining the coaster.

The storm had passed. Outside, the world was quiet. I fed my fish and finished the wine, feeling, for the first time in years, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.