What We Left Behind

The goldfish, indifferently, and I stared at each other across the break room table. His name was Bubbles — because Marcus, always the clever one, had insisted on the most unoriginal name possible. Now Marcus was gone, three weeks gone, and I was left with a fish that seemed to judge my life choices with each bored swirl around his bowl.

"You're not eating your spinach," Sarah pointed out, sliding into the chair opposite me. "Again."

"Spinach tastes like sadness and effort," I muttered, pushing the salad around with my fork. "Also, didn't you break up with what's-his-face like two days ago? Why are you lecturing me on self-care?"

"Because at least I'm eating." She gestured at my untouched phone, face-down on the table. "Are you ever going to turn that back on?"

My iPhone had been off for four days. No social media, no Marcus's drunk texts at 2 AM, no accidentally seeing his new life unfold in real time. The silence had been delicious. Lonely, but delicious.

"Cable's out at my place again," I said, changing the subject with the subtlety of a brick through a window. "Third time this month. The repair guy keeps promising to fix the line, but I'm starting to think he's just coming over to stare sadly at my single-woman apartment and leave."

Sarah laughed, but it was the kind that acknowledged the truth in it. "You know what your problem is?"

"I have abandonment issues and I anthropomorphize my fish?"

"You expect things to stay connected. The cable, the phone, Marcus." She reached across the table and took my hand. "Some things fray. Some things disconnect. You can't keep paying for service they're not providing."

I looked at Bubbles, who was now doing that thing where he pressed his mouth to the glass like he was trying to escape. Or maybe he was just kissing his own reflection. I couldn't tell anymore.

"So what," I said finally, turning my phone back on, "I should cancel everything? Start over?"

"I'm saying the cable guy isn't coming back. And Marcus moved to Portland. And that spinach is going to wilt if you don't eat it." She squeezed my hand. "Also, you're talking to a fish again. We need to get you out of the house."

The phone lit up with seventeen notifications. None from Marcus. The spinach was still there, waiting. And Bubbles, that traitorous bastard, looked at me like he agreed with her.

"Fine," I said, picking up my fork. "But I'm keeping the fish. He's the only male in my life who doesn't talk back."

"Baby steps," Sarah said.

Outside, the cable repair truck finally pulled up to the curb. Some things, apparently, did get fixed. Eventually.