The Morning After

I woke up to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Another notification from the brokerage app. Bull market rallying again. Three thousand dollars gained while I slept. It should have felt like a victory.

Instead, I thought about David. It had been six months since the funeral, and the grief still moved through me like water—sometimes calm, sometimes pulling me under.

At the club, the padel court was already crowded. I stretched my shoulder, wincing. Carlos waved from across the net, grinning that competitive grin that used to excite me and now just felt exhausting. We were all forty-something professionals, chasing points we didn't need, pretending this was exercise and not just another arena to prove something.

"You're distracted," Carlos said after my fourth unforced error.

"Didn't sleep well."

He nodded, but I could tell he didn't really care. None of them did. We weren't friends—we were people who occupied the same spaces.

After the match, I drove to the community center. The pool was nearly empty at 11 AM on a Tuesday. The lifeguard was a teenager with headphones, scrolling through his phone. I pulled off my shirt and dove in.

Swimming was different. The water didn't care about your portfolio or your divorce or the things you'd left unsaid. It just held you, or it didn't.

I thought about the last conversation I'd had with David. We'd been swimming at this same pool, late night, like we used to do in college. He'd told me he was sick—really sick—and I'd changed the subject. Talked about the market, about the bull run, about anything but the thing that actually mattered. Because that's what I did. That's who I was.

I surfaced, gasping. The lifeguard was watching me now, head tilted. I waved him off, treading water in the deep end.

I could call my sister. I could call Carlos and ask if he wanted to get coffee, talk about something real for once. I could stop waiting for the grief to pass and just let it wash over me, learn to swim in it instead of fighting to stay above the surface.

Instead, I swam to the edge and pulled myself out. The phone in my locker buzzed again. Another notification. I didn't look.