The Last Swim

Ellen sat at the edge of the apartment complex pool, legs dangling in water that felt too warm for November. The maintenance crew had forgotten to turn off the heater again, just like Richard had forgotten to call on their anniversary three years running.

A movement in the darkened courtyard caught her eye — a calico cat, the same one she'd been feeding secretly for months. Richard was allergic, or so he claimed. Ellen wondered what else he was allergic to. Intimacy, perhaps. Or difficult conversations.

The cat approached the glass bowl on the patio table. Inside, a single goldfish circled endlessly, its orange scales catching reflected light from the pool. She'd won it at the carnival last summer, the night Richard had announced he was "taking space" — the same euphemism he'd used when he moved into the guest bedroom.

"You're going to freeze out here," Richard said from the sliding door. He was silhouetted against apartment light, holding a tumbler of something amber. The cat bolted.

"I'm fine."

"Ellen, please. The lawyers said we should avoid conflict."

She laughed, a sound that surprised her with its bitterness. "Conflict requires engagement, Richard. We haven't engaged in months."

The goldfish surfaced, gulping at air. Ellen felt like doing the same.

"I'm meeting someone tomorrow," Richard said. "For coffee. Someone from work."

Of course. The billing coordinator. The one with the gentle laugh and no allergies.

"That's fast," Ellen said. "Even for you."

"It's been over for a long time, El. You know that."

She did. What she didn't say was that she'd met someone too — a woman who fed cats that weren't hers, who cried during commercials, who made Ellen feel something again. But the apartment was in Richard's name. The furniture, his. Even the goldfish was technically his, won with tickets from his pocket.

"Take the fish," she said, standing. Water dripped from her legs onto concrete. "And the cat. She's yours too."

"Ellen —"

"The lease ends December first. I'll be gone by then."

She walked past him toward the guest room, toward boxes she'd started packing at 3 AM, toward a phone that held a single unsent number. Behind her, the pool's surface rippled in the wind, disturbed by nothing but the night air.

Somewhere, the cat watched them both, waiting to see who would leave something worth keeping.