The Palace of Lost Bets

Elena sat at the sportsbook counter, nursing her third vodka tonic. The Luxor's black glass pyramid loomed outside like a tombstone for lost wages, its light beam stabbing the desert sky. Beside her, David was explaining why the baseball analytics spreadsheet on his phone was going to save their marriage.

"It's about variance management, El. Like how goldfish have no memory of being sad, so they keep swimming. That's us. We need to be the goldfish."

She almost laughed. They'd come to Vegas for their tenth anniversary, ostensibly to reconnect, but mostly because David had convinced himself that his new algorithm could beat the sports betting system. Three days in, they'd lost eight thousand dollars that wasn't theirs to lose. It was her mother's inheritance, sitting in a joint account they'd sworn never to touch.

"I'm going to the pool," she said, standing up.

"But the game starts in twenty minutes. The model says—"

"The model said the Cubs would cover yesterday, David. The model said the mortgage was a better investment than therapy."

She walked through the casino, past rows of zombie-eyed pensioners feeding machines. Outside, the artificial lake reflected fake palm trees and an even faker sunset. She lay on a lounge chair, watching a man release goldfish into the water—one for each year of his deceased wife's life, his daughter explained to someone nearby. The fish clustered at the surface, orange flashes in the blue water, completely unaware they'd just been part of a ceremony.

"Excuse me," the daughter said, approaching Elena. "Would you like your fortune told? My mother taught me before she... I read palms."

Elena extended her hand before she could think better of it. The girl traced the lines with practiced fingers.

"You have a long life line," she said softly. "But there's a break here. A fork. You're standing at it right now."

"What happens if I choose wrong?"

The girl looked up, and her eyes were ancient. "There's no wrong. There's just what comes next. The fish don't know they're in a pond, do they? They just swim."

Elena went back upstairs. David was staring at his phone, pale. The Cubs were down by five in the fourth.

"I think I'm done swimming," she said, dropping her room key on the table. "I want a divorce."

He didn't look up. "But the model says they come back in the seventh."

Elena walked out into the neon night, goldfish memory be damned. Some things, she realized, you have to forget. And some things you finally have to remember.