Vitamin O Deficiency

The goldfish swam in endless circles inside its bowl on Mara's nightstand, unaware that its owner was leaving. David watched it through the doorway of the bedroom they'd shared for seven years, its orange scales catching the morning light like tiny coins.

"You're really going?" Mara asked, not turning from her vanity. She was applying vitamin C serum to her face, pressing it into her skin with the same methodical care she'd applied to their marriage.

"The contract came through," David said. "San Francisco. I leave Tuesday."

She nodded slowly. The silence between them felt like the bottom of the ninth, two outs, full count. Baseball had been their thing — Sunday afternoons at the park, beer and hot dogs, debating stats. But lately, even that had felt like going through motions.

"I bought oranges," she said suddenly, turning. "At the farmer's market yesterday. They're supposed to be in season. Good ones. Sweet."

David felt something crack in his chest. Oranges had been his mother's thing — she'd eaten one every day until the cancer took her appetite. Mara knew this. She was reminding him of something real, something that couldn't be outsourced or automated or emailed from a cubicle three thousand miles away.

"I'll take them with me," he said, and immediately wished he could swallow the words.

Mara laughed, but her eyes stayed dry. "Sure. Pack them in your carry-on. Between your vitamin D supplements and that baseball bat you haven't swung since 2019, there's probably room."

The goldfish rose to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent appeal. David thought about how it would live its entire life in that bowl, never knowing it was swimming in circles, never suspecting there was an ocean.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.

"Me too," she replied. "For both of us."

He walked to the nightstand and sprinkled fish food onto the water's surface. The goldfish darted upward, grateful for the sustenance, unaware that the hand feeding it was walking away.

In the kitchen, he found the oranges in a ceramic bowl on the counter. He took one. Just one. The rest would stay here with her, with the goldfish, with the ghost of who they'd been together.

Some things, he realized as he peeled it in the hallway, you couldn't take with you. Some deficiencies no vitamin could fix.