What We Keep in Water

The fertility clinic had that same sterile smell, like a swimming pool emptied of everything except chemicals and possibility. Elena sat in the waiting room, her hand absently twisting a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun. She'd stopped dyeing it six months ago, and now silver threaded through the dark brown like river silt.

You're thinking about the goldfish again, David said, not looking up from his magazine.

I wasn't.

You always twist your hair when you're thinking about them.

The goldfish had been the first purchase for the nursery they'd never furnish. They'd bought them on the anniversary of their first positive pregnancy test, three comet goldfish that darted through the tank like orange sparks. They'd lived longer than the pregnancy. They'd lived longer than the second one too. Sometimes Elena sat and watched them for hours, their endless laps in their small glass world, and David couldn't tell if she found it peaceful or cruel.

Their dog, Barnaby, lay at her feet. He was old now, his snout whitening, hips stiff. He'd been with them since before they started trying, back when children were something they'd have eventually, when they got around to it. Now he pressed his warm side against her leg and she buried her fingers in his fur, his solid living weight anchoring her to this room, this moment, this particular failure.

We could try the IVF again, she said.

Her name was called before David could answer. The nurse held the door. Dr. Chen would deliver the news with careful professional sympathy, the same news they'd heard three times before, and they'd walk out into the afternoon like survivors of something no one could see.

Barnaby stood up and shook himself, his tags jingling. David looked at Elena's hand still twisted in her hair, at the pulse beating in her temple, and thought about swimming. Not in chlorinated pools but in dark water, holding your breath until you have to surface, until you have to choose between drowning and breathing.

Come on, she said. She stood up, smoothed her skirt. Let's go hear whatever they have to tell us.

She didn't let go of his hand.