What We Keep

The goldfish was dying, had been dying for months. A sluggish, translucent thing that hung near the surface of the bowl, its gills moving with the terrible slowness of something that had forgotten why it bothered.

Marcus watched it from the kitchen table while Elena sorted through her vitamins—little plastic coffins of supplements that promised everything except forgiveness. Vitamin D for bones that didn't ache yet. B-complex for energy she couldn't access. Omega-3 for a heart that had already hardened toward him.

"You're going to be late for padel," he said, not looking up from the fish.

"I know." She swept the vitamins into her bag, a gesture that looked like violence but wasn't. "Are you coming?"

"You know I hate padel."

"Right. The game of people who enjoy things."

She was at the mirror now, examining a strand of her hair. She'd started dyeing it last month—something darker, more severe than the honey-blond he'd fallen in love with twelve years ago. The new color was a choice, he knew, but it felt like an accusation.

"It's just a game, Elena."

"It's not just a game. It's what people do. They do things together."

The dog whined at the back door, wanting to be walked, wanting things to be simple again. Marcus stood up and grabbed the leash. His hip caught—a sharp reminder that they were both aging, just at different speeds.

"I'll be back before you leave," he said.

"Don't hurry on my account."

He walked the dog through the neighborhood they could no longer afford, past houses with driveways full of cars that went places. The goldfish would die soon. It would die and he would flush it and she would come home from padel, flushed and victorious, and she wouldn't notice it was gone. Maybe not for days. Some things were easier to lose than others.

He looked down at the dog, who looked back with an optimism that felt almost cruel.

"Yeah," Marcus said. "I know."