What the Goldfish Knew

The spinach was stuck between Marcus's front teeth — a tiny green flag surrendering what remained of our appetites. Seven years together, and I still couldn't tell him. Maybe that's what love became: swallowing everything you wanted to say.

We were at that Italian place on 4th Street, the one with the checked tablecloths and the waiter who never wrote anything down. Marcus was talking about his promotion again, the corner office with windows that actually opened. His hands moved when he talked, animated and confident, while I sat there nursing my orange soda, watching the ice melt into something diluted and sad.

"You're not really listening, are you?" Marcus said suddenly.

"I am."

"You're staring at the goldfish."

He was right. In the center of the restaurant, an enormous bowl sat on a pedestal, three goldfish swimming in endless circles. They'd been doing it since we started coming here, before we got engaged, before we bought the house, before we started trying for a baby that never came. Still swimming. Still circling. Still waiting.

"Do you ever think about running?" I asked.

"Running? Like, exercise?"

"Like — away. From everything."

Marcus laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. He thought I was being whimsical. That was the problem with being the girl who made jokes during uncomfortable moments — eventually, no one believed you when you stopped being funny.

The goldfish nosed the glass, its mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. I felt suddenly certain that it knew something we didn't.

"There's spinach in your teeth," I said.

Marcus's hand flew to his mouth. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I looked at the goldfish, at the orange sunset bleeding through the window, at the man I'd loved for half my life who still couldn't see what was right in front of him.

"I was waiting for you to notice," I said.

Outside, a jogger passed the window, running nowhere, running everywhere, running because if she stopped moving, she might have to feel something.

"I think I need to leave, Marcus. Not the restaurant. Everything."

The goldfish swam on, indifferent and wise, carrying the whole terrible truth of us in its endless, patient circles.