The Last Night We Were Alive

Mara poured the second glass of wine, watching the red liquid catch the kitchen light. David would be home any minute. Another day of him coming home hollowed out, eyes glazed like he'd been wandering an office dungeon for eight hours, a corporate zombie in an Italian suit.

She remembered when they first met — how he'd moved like a fox through the crowded fundraiser, quick-witted and dangerous, making her laugh until her ribs ached. They'd spent that entire weekend in bed, tangled in sheets, neither of them acknowledging that their companies were competing for the same defense contract. She'd felt like a spy in her own life, stealing moments between conference calls, each text from him feeling like classified intelligence she couldn't share with anyone.

"How was your day?" she asked when he finally walked through the door at 8:14 PM, exactly as late as he'd been every night for three months.

David shrugged, loosening his tie. "Same. Harris is riding us about the quarterly projections. He's been a bear all week."

Mara nodded. In the bathroom, their goldfish circled its tiny castle, orange fins flickering in the filtered light. She'd bought it on impulse during their first anniversary, believing the saleswoman who claimed goldfish brought good luck to relationships. Now it just seemed tragic — that brilliant flash of life trapped in five gallons of recycled water, endlessly circling nothing.

"David," she said softly. "Do you remember what we were like before?"

He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in weeks. "Before what?"

"Before we became this. Before we started waking up and checking emails before kissing each other. Before we forgot who we were when we weren't being employees."

David's shoulders dropped. Something flickered behind his eyes — the fox again, sharp and alive. "I thought I was doing it for us. For the house, the future."

"We forgot about the present," she said. "We forgot that we're supposed to be living, not just surviving until the weekend."

They sat in silence for a long moment. The goldfish continued its endless orbit. Outside, the city hummed with millions of other people, half of them probably just as hollow, just as hungry for something they couldn't name.

David took her hand. "What if we sold it? The house, everything. Started over."

Mara squeezed back. "Tomorrow," she said. "But tonight, let's remember how to be alive again."

The wine was warm by the time they finished it, but neither of them cared.