The Last Supper at Nino's

The baseball game flickered silently on the TV above the bar—bottom of the ninth, two outs, full count. Elena watched it instead of watching him.

"You going to say anything?" Marcus asked, his wine glass suspended midway to his lips.

"What's there to say?" Her voice was flat. "You've already made up your mind."

Behind Marcus, a goldfish glided through its tank, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. She remembered the carnival goldfish they'd won their first summer together, how it had died within a week. How she'd cried while he held her, promising they'd get another, a better one. They never had.

"It's not that simple, El."

"It never is." She pushed her spinach around with her fork. "You know what's funny? I made this reservation three weeks ago. Back when I thought we were still playing for the same team."

The waiter appeared, refilling water glasses with practiced indifference. On the wall above their booth hung a print of the Sphinx—half-lion, half-human, eyes fixed on some eternal distance. The riddle of the ages. What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening? Answer: a human being, crawling, standing, leaning. Or maybe: a marriage, starting fresh, finding its footing, falling apart.

"I'm not leaving because I stopped loving you," Marcus said finally. "I'm leaving because I don't know who I am anymore."

The goldfish turned in the water, searching for an exit that wasn't there.

"And you think you'll find him in Chicago?"

"I have to try."

She nodded slowly. Outside, rain streaked the window like tear tracks. The baseball game had ended—she could tell by the way the bartender was changing channels. Someone had won. Someone had lost. The innings kept turning regardless.

"You know," she said, placing her napkin beside her untouched plate, "I used to think the worst thing that could happen was us ending. But this—this sitting here, picking at spinach while you tell me you're leaving for a job you took three weeks ago without asking me—this is worse."

"Elena—"

"No. It's fine. Really." She signaled for the check. "The riddle wasn't that hard anyway. I just didn't want to see the answer."

The Sphinx watched them both as they stood, as he pulled on his coat, as she walked out first into the rain, not looking back to see if he was following.