The Sphinx Knew Better

Maya should have known better than to wear the fedora to the museum gala. But it had been David's—a slow, deliberate theft from his closet three days after he left, like taking small bites of something you knew would make you sick.

The sphinx statue in the center of the exhibition hall watched her with limestone eyes. *What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?* The riddle of grief, she thought. You crawl through the morning after. You walk through the afternoon angry. You lean on whatever's left in the evening.

"That's quite a hat," said Elena, standing beside her with two champagne flutes. Her boss's perfume smelled like vanilla and bad decisions. They'd kissed once, in the archives room, surrounded by boxes of dead people's letters. Neither had mentioned it since.

"It belonged to someone," Maya said, accepting the glass. "I keep meaning to throw it out."

"But you don't."

"No. I don't."

Outside, the city hummed with Friday night energy. A baseball game was letting out at the stadium nearby—she could hear the distant swell of the crowd, the collective exhale of thousands of people who'd spent three hours caring about something that ultimately didn't matter. God, she missed having things that didn't matter.

Her phone buzzed. David. *Can I come by? Pick up the rest of my stuff?*

Maya looked at the sphinx. The creature's face was eroded, half its mouth gone, like it had started saying something and thought better of it.

"You okay?" Elena asked, closer now, their shoulders brushing.

"He wants to come over."

"Do you want him to?"

"That's the wrong question."

"What's the right one?"

"Whether I'll let myself want what I can't have. Again." Maya turned toward Elena. The space between them felt charged, heavy with three months of unspoken everything. "I should go home. Buster's probably waiting."

"Your dog?"

"The only male in my life who doesn't lie to me."

"Dogs are like that." Elena's hand hovered near Maya's arm, not touching. Not quite. "I could walk with you."

The sphinx kept its eternal silence. Some riddles answer themselves.

"Yes," Maya said. "I think I'd like that."

Outside, the streetlights flickered on. Somewhere, a baseball stadium emptied out, thousands of people walking home under the same April sky. Maya adjusted the hat on her head and stepped forward, not away.