Zombies by the Pool

The swimming pool at the Sunset Tower Hotel shimmered with an artificial blue that Maya had come to recognize as the color of empty promises. She sat on a lounge chair, her BlackBerry somewhere in the depths of her designer bag, though she checked its phantom vibrations every three minutes.

The palm trees lining the pool cast long shadows across the party — a celebration she'd organized for her firm's newest acquisition, though the champagne in her glass had gone warm an hour ago.

"I feel like a zombie," Sarah had whispered to her earlier in the restroom, fixing mascara that didn't need fixing. "Just going through the motions, you know?"

Maya had laughed, the sound hollow even to her own ears. "We all feel like that sometimes."

Now she watched Sarah's husband David across the pool, his iPhone pressed to his ear, conducting what appeared to be an urgent business negotiation in the middle of their own celebration. His free hand gesticulated wildly, and Maya wondered if he even remembered which city they were in.

Her own phone chimed — not a work email, but a text from Michael, the man she'd been sleeping with for six months, the one she couldn't quite bring herself to introduce to her friends. "Missing you. Dinner tonight?"

Maya stared at the screen, the white letters blurring. The truth washed over her with the force of a wave: she was forty-two years old, successful by every metric she'd been taught to value, and she didn't know if she'd ever actually been present in her own life.

"More champagne, ma'am?"

A server hovered over her, his smile professional and meaningless. Behind her sunglasses, Maya's eyes filled with tears. She wasn't a guest at this party anymore. She was staff. She was scenery.

"No," she said. "No thank you."

She stood up, the phone heavy in her hand, and began walking toward the exit. Behind her, the party continued — beautiful people performing happiness, while the pool reflected a sky that was beginning to darken, unaware that anyone had left at all.