The Last Pool Party

Maya stood at the edge of the infinity pool, clutching her iPhone like a lifeline. The screen glowed with a message she'd read twelve times already: *Can we talk when you get home?* Behind her, the engagement party for her younger sister continued in full swing—laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, her mother's overly enthusiastic voice describing wedding venues.

She watched a lone goldfish circling in the decorative pond nearby, trapped in its artificial ecosystem, completely unaware that in three days, the entire garden would be demolished for a swimming pool expansion. The fish kept swimming, kept expecting food at the same time every morning, oblivious to the impending destruction of its entire world.

The metaphor was not lost on her.

"You look like you're plotting murder," said a voice behind her.

Maya turned to find Daniel, her sister's fiancé's brother, holding two beers. He was thirty-two, recently divorced, with the kind of weary cynicism that usually repelled her but tonight felt like company.

"Just contemplating the goldfish," she said. "Did you know they have a three-second memory? Imagine that. Every lap around the pond is a fresh discovery."

Daniel leaned against the railing. "I think that's a myth. They actually remember things for months."

"Of course you'd know that."

"I looked it up during my divorce. Spent a lot of time wondering if ignorance would be preferable."

A charging cable snaked across the patio stones, connected to the outdoor speakers someone had set up. The soft jazz that had been playing all evening suddenly cut to someone's forgotten playlist, and Frank Sinatra's voice drifted out: *And I can't give you anything but love, baby.*

Maya's phone vibrated again. Another message from Liam: *I didn't mean to hurt you. I never meant to.*

"Your husband?" Daniel asked, not looking at her.

"Fiancé." She corrected automatically. "We're supposed to get married in six months."

"Let me guess. Found someone else? Or fell out of love in that slow, agonizing way that takes years to notice?"

"He's been having an affair with his assistant. Since October."

Daniel whistled softly. "That's not slow. That's efficient."

The goldfish broke the surface, gulping air. Maya watched it sink back into the murky water.

"My sister," she said, gesturing toward the party, "has been planning this wedding since she was twelve. She has a Pinterest board with three thousand pins. She cried when I suggested she might want to date other people first."

"Some people know what they want."

"And some people are living with their college boyfriend because they never questioned the narrative. Some people are lying on a therapist's couch right now realizing they married their mother."

"Ouch." Daniel handed her a beer. "Want to hear something worse? My ex-wife is marrying the guy she left me for next month. My mother still sends me their registry link."

"Why?"

"She thinks it'll bring me closure. Mothers love closure."

Maya laughed, and it surprised her. She looked at her phone one more time, then deliberately placed it facedown on the stone ledge. The screen would stay dark for now.

"Do you think the goldfish knows the pond's being destroyed?" she asked.

Daniel watched the fish make another loop. "Probably not. But maybe that's the mercy of it."