The Last Drink at Cleo's

Marcus adjusted the brim of his father's fedora, the worn felt absorbing the sweat gathering at his temples. The bar at Cleo's felt suffocatingly warm, or maybe it was just the company.

"You're wearing that hat again," Elena said, sliding into the booth across from him. She set down two glasses of sparkling water like they were peace offerings. "It's been three months, Marcus."

"It was his favorite." Marcus ran his thumb along the hat's frayed edge. "Besides, it's better than that pyramid scheme you're still trying to sell me on."

Elena's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It's not a pyramid scheme. It's network marketing. And I'm trying to help you—you're drowning in medical bills."

"By recruiting more people into your downline?" Marcus picked up his glass, watching the bubbles rise and pop. "That's not help. That's desperation disguised as opportunity."

The tension between them had been building since the funeral, since Marcus had discovered Elena was secretly pitching their grieving friends at the reception. Something about essential oils and financial freedom, she'd said, while Marcus was still numb from eulogizing his father.

"I lost my friend three months ago," Marcus said quietly. "But I think I lost you years ago and just didn't want to notice."

Elena reached for his hand, but Marcus pulled away. Outside, thunder rumbled, and the first raindrops began to streak the window.

"The water's rising, Elena," he said, standing up and smoothing down the hat one last time. "And this time, I'm not going to let you drag me under with you."

He walked out into the storm, fedora pulled low, leaving Elena alone with two untouched glasses of water and the realization that some losses, unlike the ones you can recruit others to replace, are permanent.