What We Leave Behind

The bathroom faucet drips. Water pools in the white porcelain sink, reflecting the orange glow of sunrise through frosted glass. I should turn it off — conservation, always — but my hands are full.

In one hand, the goldfish bowl. Copper, as he named her, swims in frantic circles, oblivious to the fact that she's the last asset being divided from a six-year marriage that died slowly, then all at once. In the other hand, my iphone vibrates again.

Dana: I didn't mean for it to happen like this

Dana: Can we talk? Please?

I watch my friend's name appear on the screen, each notification a small betrayal. She was my maid of honor. She held my hair back when I drank too much champagne at our engagement party. She listened to me vent about Mark's working late, his emotional distance, the way he'd started looking at me like I was a problem he couldn't solve.

Apparently, she'd been listening a little too closely.

The bedroom is empty now. Mark's clothes are gone. His side of the closet yawns dark. The only sign he existed is the goldfish — an anniversary gift, third year, paper anniversary but he'd insisted on something living, something that required care. We'd kept her alive through moves and job changes and arguments about whether we wanted children. The fish, he'd say, is enough responsibility for now.

I set the bowl on the passenger seat. Copper adjusts to the motion, her scales catching morning light like tiny copper mirrors.

My iphone lights up again. Not Dana this time.

Mark: She didn't mean to fall in love with me either

Mark: But she did

I peel an orange from the center console, bitter juice stinging my cuticles. The citrus scent cuts through the stale closeness of the car. I should respond. I should scream. I should throw the phone into the gutter outside our — my — apartment complex.

Instead, I start the engine. Water beads on the windshield. Copper swims in her small portable world, unaware that the containers around her have shattered.

Some things, I realize, are too fragile to survive being moved.