Whatever We Were

The hotel pool shimmered with that artificial blue that only exists in places where people pay to forget themselves. Elena sat on the edge, her legs dangling in the chlorinated water, watching him serve. Another perfect shot into the corner of the padel court.

"You're not even trying," she said, her voice flat.

Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's 7 AM, El. Give me a break."

"You've been up since 5. Checking emails. Again."

He didn't deny it. Just grabbed his water bottle and looked away, toward the mountains that framed this absurdly expensive couples retreat. A place where they were supposed to rediscover whatever they'd been before the promotions, before the commute, before the silent dinners where the only sound was silverware against plates.

The overhead cable of the ski lift—dormant in summer—cast a shadow across the court like a jagged tear in the sky. Elena thought about how she'd wanted to come here. How she'd begged. How the travel agent had promised rediscovery, reconnection, reawakening. Everything started with re- as if you could go backward.

"I saw you on the balcony last night," she said quietly. "When the cable went out. You were upset."

"The WiFi was down, El. I had a call."

"You were pacing. For forty minutes. Like the world had ended."

Marcus tossed his padel racket onto the bench. It clattered against the concrete. "What do you want me to say? That I'm obsessed? That I can't fucking disconnect? That you were right when you said I love my phone more than you? Is that the breakthrough you paid three thousand dollars for?"

His voice cracked on the last word.

Elena slid into the pool. The water shocked her cold. She surfaced, slicking her hair back, watching him through the ripples. "I wanted you to miss me," she said. "When the cable cut out. When the WiFi died. For one hour, I wanted you to turn to me and say, 'Guess we'll have to talk to each other.' Instead you paced. Like I wasn't even there."

Marcus sank onto the bench, head in his hands. The pool quiet around them, that manufactured blue reflecting a sky that looked too perfect to be real.

"I don't know how to be the person I was before," he muffled into his palms.

"Neither do I."

They sat like that—him on the bench, her treading water in the shallow end—as the resort woke up around them. Somewhere, a phone pinged. Then another. The world rushing back in, relentless as the tide.