What Remains in Bowls

The vitamin supplements sat on the counter where Marco had left them three weeks ago—orange bottles with childproof caps, a daily regimen he'd sworn would change everything. Nothing had changed, except he was gone and I was still here, measuring out my existence in doses and milligrams.

I filled the goldfish bowl with fresh water from the tap, watching the chlorine-neutralizer drops turn the liquid clear. The fish—a comet Marco had won at a carnival last summer—circled lazily, its orange scales catching the morning light. Flashy, he'd named it, the same nickname he'd called me that first night at the bar when I'd worn that ridiculous sequined dress. Now Flashy was the only living thing left from us, drifting through his glass prison, mouth opening and closing in silent conversation.

"You're hungry again?" I sprinkled flakes onto the surface. "You and me both."

The dog walker paused outside my window—woman I'd seen before, golden retriever straining at its leash, loyal as gravity. I used to imagine us like that. Marco and me, walking through life together. But I'd been the one holding the leash, hadn't I? And he'd been the one constantly watching for something better on the other side of the fence.

The fox appeared at dusk—a vixen, really, russet coat sleek as a coat she'd stolen from someone's closet. She moved through the overgrown garden behind our building, pausing near the broken fountain where water pooled after rain. She looked right at me through the kitchen window, eyes amber and unblinking, assessing. Surviving. Whatever you needed to do to make it through the night.

I opened the back door, stepping onto the cracked concrete. The fox didn't run. Just watched me with that calculating intelligence, head tilted.

"He took everything except the fish," I said, my voice sounding strange in the cooling air. "Forgot him, like he forgot his vitamins. Like he forgot to love me right before the end."

The fox's ear twitched. She turned and slipped through the hedge, tail vanishing like a flame snuffed out.

Inside, the goldfish was still swimming, Flashy still hungry, still here. I picked up Marco's vitamins and dropped them into the trash. Tomorrow I'd buy better food for the fish. Tomorrow I'd water the plants he'd killed with neglect. Tonight I'd pour myself a glass of water and learn how to be thirsty again.