What We Drown In
Maya stood at the edge of the pier, rain plastering her hair to her skull like dark seaweed. Three years since she'd seen Elena, and here she was, drowning in the same old patterns.
"You look tired," Elena said, stepping out of her sedan with that careful smile—the one she'd used since Maya's husband left, since the miscarriage, since everything fell apart.
"I am tired." Maya wrapped her coat tighter. "The water looks angry today."
"That's just reflection." Elena moved closer, her hair still perfect, still the same blonde cascade that made Maya feel like the frumpy, forgotten friend. "How's therapy?"
Maya laughed, sharp and bitter. "How's your perfect life? How's David?"
Elena's smile faltered. "We're divorcing."
The words hit harder than the cold spray from the churning water below. Maya turned, really looked at her friend for the first time. The fine lines around Elena's eyes. The way her hands trembled as she lit a cigarette.
"He had an affair?" Maya asked softly.
"I did." Elena exhaled smoke into the rain. "With his brother. It's been going on for two years."
Maya's mouth opened, then closed. All this time, she'd envied Elena. Had thought her friend had everything—while Maya was drowning in grief and anger, Elena had been quietly self-destructing too.
"The water," Maya said finally, "doesn't look angry anymore."
"What does it look like?"
"Just deep. And dark. And like it might pull us both under if we're not careful."
Elena's shoulders sagged. She looked out at the gray horizon. "I missed you. I didn't call because I didn't want you to see me like this."
"I spent three years thinking you had it all figured out," Maya said. "While I was the one falling apart."
Elena reached out, her fingers cold and tentative. "We're both falling apart. That's why we need each other."
Maya hesitated, then took her friend's hand. Standing there in the rain, watching the water crash against the pilings, she realized they weren't drowning after all. They were just learning how to swim in the same dark sea.