What Goldfish Dream Of

Maya pressed her **palm** against the cold glass of the fish tank. Inside, the last **goldfish**—a carnival prize from three years ago—swam in lethargic circles, its scales dulling in the blue LED light. It had outlasted her marriage by six months.

"You're going to be late," Eric called from the bedroom. He was taking his **vitamin** supplements again—that new regimen meant to boost energy, libido, ambition. Anything but the actual problem.

Maya walked to the bathroom, brushed her **hair** with mechanical strokes. In the mirror, she saw the woman Eric had stopped really looking at months ago. The woman who had stopped looking back.

"Did you call the cable company?" she asked through the open door.

"They're coming Tuesday."

Tuesday. Everything was Tuesday. Date night was Tuesday. Sex was Tuesday (when it happened at all). The deep conversations they'd promised to have weekly—those were Tuesday too, until they weren't.

The coaxial **cable** lay exposed along the baseboard, severed when she'd kicked it during their last fight. She'd told herself she was aiming at the wall. She'd told herself a lot of things.

Eric appeared in the doorway, fully dressed except for one sock. "You look nice."

"I'm wearing the same skirt I wore to dinner with your mother."

"Right." He jammed his foot into the shoe. "Was that when she asked about—"

"Don't."

"Maya."

"We're going to be late." She grabbed her purse, avoided his eyes, avoided the bedroom where the bed they'd bought together sat neatly made, untouched for three nights running.

The goldfish rose to the water's surface, mouth opening and closing in silent observation.

At the front door, Eric's hand brushed hers—a reflex, automatic as breathing. She didn't pull away. She didn't lean in. She thought of the fish, swimming its endless circles in its crystal prison, and wondered if it remembered the carnival booth where everything had felt possible, or if it only knew the glass walls closing in.

"See you tonight," he said.

"Tonight," she echoed, and the word felt like a promise she'd already broken.