The Last Swim

The goldfish had outlived them all. Seven years of marriage, two apartments, and now this—Mara sitting on a box of his books while David stood by the door with his jacket already on.

"You're keeping him?" David asked, gesturing to the bowl on the windowsill. The fish, an unremarkable orange comet someone had won at a company picnic and foisted upon them, swam its endless laps.

"His name is Gerald, David. Not 'it.'" Mara hadn't meant to snap. But her hair was falling out of its bun, and she'd forgotten to eat again, and somewhere beneath the anger was the terrible knowledge that she was keeping the fish because it was the only living thing that still needed her.

The goldfish circled, mouth opening and closing in silent computation.

"We said no kids," David said, not looking at her. "We said we'd travel. We'd build our careers first."

"We said a lot of things."

He stepped closer. For a moment she thought he would reach for her—his fingers had always known their way through her hair, finding the tension at the base of her skull. Instead, he picked up his keys.

"I'm staying at the Hilton. Call me when you're ready to list the place."

The door clicked shut. The silence rushed in like water filling a sinking ship.

Mara found herself at the fish bowl. Gerald swam to the surface, mouth working, expectant. She shook the food container—just a few flakes. They'd stopped having sex six months ago. They'd stopped talking about anything real a year before that.

The orange afternoon light hit the glass, casting refracted rainbows across the boxes, across the divorce papers waiting on the counter. Somewhere in the building, another couple was laughing.

"Well, Gerald," she whispered. "It's just us."

The fish swam on, indifferent and enduring. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and wept—for the years they'd faked it, for the life she'd pretended to want, for the stupid orange fish who would probably outlive this marriage, and maybe, if she was very lucky, eventually teach her how to want something real.