What the Goldfish Knew

The padel court shimmered in the heat, the rubberized surface radiating that peculiar scent of competitive middle age. Elena adjusted her visor, palm slick against the racket handle as she watched Marco serve. They'd been playing Sunday matches for three years, ever since his promotion to regional director — the same promotion that had bought them this house with its pool and imported palm trees, the same promotion that now kept him at the office until midnight three nights a week.

"Your form's off," she said, returning the ball with a sharp crack.

"Long week." Marco's response was curt. He didn't meet her eyes.

Under the patio table, Elena's phone buzzed against her leg. Another Teams notification from the Boston office. She ignored it, as she'd ignored the previous forty-seven messages since Friday evening. The fiber optic cable running from their street to the home office — the one Marco had insisted on installing last summer — had become a pipeline to nowhere, delivering work requests into the sanctum of their collapsing marriage.

The goldfish in the garden pond, a bloated fantail named Bartholomew, drifted near the surface. Elena had won him at a company carnival five years ago, back when they still went to those things together. The woman from the Boston office had sent Marco a video message yesterday — accidentally, she'd claimed — of them laughing together at some conference. He'd been wearing the shirt Elena had given him for his birthday.

"Elena, stop." Marco's voice cracked. "Please."

She let the ball bounce past her.

"The Boston expansion," she said. "Is that why you're never home? Or is there something else on that side of the country?"

He dropped his racket.

"How did you—"

"Bartholomew knows." She nodded toward the pond. "He watches us from that window every night. You think just because he's a fish he doesn't see?"

Marco stared at her, then at the goldfish, then at his own reflection in the darkened patio door. Behind them, the palm fronds whispered in the evening breeze, indifferent witnesses to endings they'd seen a thousand times before.

"We're not playing anymore, are we?" he asked quietly.

"No," she said, already calculating how much of the settlement would go to breaking the cable contract. "We're done playing."