The Johnsons' house had too many rooms. Marcus counted them again while Yuki unpacked their overnight bag in the master bedroom. Six bedrooms, four and a half baths. The half bath alone was bigger than their apartment's entire bathroom. Through the window, he could see the pool, its underwater lights already on though it was barely dusk, making the water glow an unnatural blue.
"They said not to use the pool," Yuki said, coming up behind him. "The filter's acting up."
"I wasn't planning on it."
She moved past him to check her phone on the nightstand. Three years ago, she would have pressed against him, maybe made a joke about skinny-dipping. These days, they moved around each other like magnets with matching poles, maintaining careful distances.
"Brad left instructions for the fish," she said, reading from her screen. "Jesus, Marcus. Listen to this. 'The koi need to be fed twice daily, morning and evening. Use only the specialty food in the blue container. Hakuto—that's the white one with the orange spot—is particularly sensitive to overfeeding.'"
"They named their fish?"
"All seven of them, apparently." She scrolled down. "There's a whole paragraph about water temperature."
Marcus took the phone from her and skimmed the message. At the bottom, Brad had written: "Thanks again for doing this! Steph and I really needed this getaway. You two are the best!!!" Three exclamation points. Everything in Brad's life seemed to warrant three exclamation points.
They went downstairs to the kitchen, which had two dishwashers and a refrigerator that looked like it belonged in a restaurant. Yuki opened it and laughed, but not in a way that sounded happy.
"They left us a cheese plate. And champagne."
"That's nice of them."
"Veuve Clicquot." She held up the bottle. "This costs more than our copay for the last IUI."
Marcus didn't know what to say to that. The math was always there between them now, every expense measured against medical procedures, hormone shots, consultations with specialists who used words like "unexplained" and "keep trying."
His phone buzzed. Brad calling on FaceTime.
"They're checking in already?" Yuki said. "It's been three hours."
Marcus answered anyway. Brad's face filled the screen, tanned and grinning. Behind him, Marcus could see what looked like a hotel suite, all white furniture and ocean views.
"Marcus! My man! How's everything? House okay?"
"Everything's fine, Brad. We just got here."
"Great, great! Hey, is Yuki there? Steph wants to talk to you both."
Stephanie's face crowded into the frame. She was holding a tropical drink with an umbrella in it. "You guys! Thank you so much for doing this. I know it's last minute."
"It's no problem," Yuki said, leaning in so the camera could see her. "Your house is beautiful."
"Oh, stop. It's such a mess. I didn't even have time to properly clean. Listen, I should mention—" She paused, looked at Brad, then back at the camera. "We have some news. We weren't planning on telling anyone yet, but since you're watching the house and everything..."
Marcus felt Yuki's body tense beside him.
"We're pregnant!" Stephanie squealed. "Completely unexpected. We weren't even trying. Actually, Brad was about to schedule his vasectomy. Can you believe it?"
"That's..." Marcus started.
"Wonderful," Yuki finished. "Congratulations."
"Number three," Brad said, taking the phone back. "We're officially outnumbered now!" He laughed. "Anyway, we should let you go. The feeding instructions for the koi are on the counter. They're worth a fortune, so, you know, don't let them die or anything!" More laughter. "Kidding! But seriously, they're expensive."
The call ended. Marcus set his phone down carefully, like it might explode.
"I'm going to feed the fish," Yuki said.
"I'll come with you."
"I can do it myself."
But he followed her anyway, out through the sliding glass doors to the backyard. The pool took up most of the space, kidney-shaped and pristine. Beyond it, in a raised pond lined with black stones, the koi swam in lazy circles. They were huge, some almost two feet long, their bodies thick and muscular. In the fading light, their scales caught the reflection from the pool, making them glow.
Yuki read from the instructions, measuring out precise amounts of food from the blue container. The fish rose to the surface, their mouths opening and closing like they were trying to speak.
"Hakuto," she said, pointing to the white one with the orange spot. "That one's worth eight thousand dollars, according to this."
"For a fish?"
"It's from Japan. A special bloodline or something."
They stood there watching the koi feed. The automatic pool lights had turned on, along with strategic landscape lighting that made the whole backyard look like a resort. Through the windows of the house, Marcus could see their reflection in the glass—two people standing by a pond, looking like they belonged there.
"We should eat something," he said.
"I'm not hungry."
"You didn't eat lunch."
"I said I'm not hungry, Marcus."
He went inside alone and assembled a plate from the cheese selection. Manchego, aged cheddar, something soft and French he couldn't pronounce. There were crackers that looked homemade and three types of olives. He ate standing at the counter, looking out at Yuki, who was still by the pond.
When she finally came in, her eyes were red.
"I'm going to shower," she said.
"Yuki—"
"I'm fine. I just need a minute."
The master bathroom had a rainfall shower and a separate soaking tub. Marcus could hear the water running while he cleaned up the kitchen, putting the cheese back in the refrigerator, wiping down counters that were already spotless. He found a bottle of Scotch in the cabinet, something Japanese he'd never heard of. The Johnsons wouldn't miss a drink or two.
He was on his second glass when his phone rang. His mother.
"Marcus, anak, how are you?"
"I'm fine, Ma."
"You don't sound fine. Are you eating?"
"Yes, Ma."
"Is Yuki eating? She's too skinny."
"She's eating."
There was a pause. He could hear his father in the background, watching what sounded like a game show.
"Your cousin Maricel is pregnant again," his mother said. "Number four."
"That's great."
"You know they didn't have money for the first three. Now a fourth? But God provides, anak. In His time."
"I have to go, Ma."
"Are you still trying? The treatments?"
"Ma—"
"I'm just asking. Your father and I pray for you every day. Light candles at church."
"I know."
"Maybe if Yuki converted—"
"I have to go."
He hung up and poured another drink. Outside, the pool filter made a grinding noise, then stopped. The water continued to glow, undisturbed.
Yuki came down in pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts, her hair still damp.
"Your mom?" she asked, noticing his phone.
"Yeah."
"Maricel's pregnant?"
"How did you know?"
"It's all she talks about. Her grandkids, her future grandkids, everyone else's grandkids." She took the glass from his hand and took a sip. "God, that's good."
"It's probably worth two hundred dollars a bottle."
"Then pour me one."
They took their drinks to the living room, which had a sectional couch that could seat ten people and a TV that took up most of one wall. Yuki found the remote and started scrolling through Netflix.
"We could watch their shows," she said. "See what the Johnsons are into."
"Reality TV and documentaries about serial killers," Marcus guessed.
She laughed, a real laugh this time. "Don't forget the British baking shows. Stephanie loves those."
They settled on an old movie they'd both seen before, something that didn't require attention. The Scotch was smooth, with a subtle smoke flavor that lingered. Marcus felt his shoulders start to relax for the first time in weeks.
"Number three," Yuki said suddenly. "And they weren't even trying."
"I know."
"Brad was going to get a vasectomy."
"I know."
"It's not—" She stopped, took another sip. "It's not fair."
"No, it's not."
She pulled her legs up under her, curling into the corner of the massive couch. On the TV, actors moved through their scripted lives, every problem resolved in under two hours.
"Do you remember," Yuki said, "when we first started trying? How excited we were?"
"You bought those ovulation test strips in bulk."
"And you read all those articles about optimizing sperm count. No hot baths, no tight underwear."
"Boxers only. I looked ridiculous."
"You looked fine." She was quiet for a moment. "We were so sure it would happen right away."
"Young and healthy," Marcus quoted. "That's what everyone said."
"Your mom said we'd have a honeymoon baby."
"We weren't even married yet."
"Details."
They watched the movie, not really watching. The house made small sounds around them—the ice maker, the air conditioning, some kind of automated system humming to life and then cutting off.
"I should check the fish again," Yuki said when the movie ended.
"They're fine."
"The instructions said to check the temperature before bed."
Marcus followed her outside. The desert air had cooled, and the contrast between the heated pool area and the night beyond the property line was stark. The koi pond had its own temperature gauge, digital numbers glowing green in the dark.
"Seventy-two degrees," Yuki read. "Perfect."
The fish were less active now, drifting rather than swimming. Hakuto floated near the surface, its orange spot looking like a wound in the artificial light.
"Do you think they know?" Yuki asked.
"Who?"
"The fish. Do you think they know they're worth more than most people's cars? Do you think they feel special?"
"They're fish, Yuki."
"But they're perfect fish. Champion bloodlines. Everything about them deliberately selected for generations." She knelt by the pond's edge. "We can't even randomly have a baby, and these fish are genetic masterpieces."
"Don't compare us to fish."
"Why not? It's all biology, isn't it? Good genes, bad genes, compatible, incompatible." She dipped her fingers in the water. The koi scattered, then slowly returned. "The doctor said there's nothing wrong with either of us. Unexplained infertility. Like we're failing at something that teenagers do by accident."
"We're not failing."
She stood up, wiping her wet hand on her pajama pants. "Aren't we?"
Back inside, she went straight upstairs. Marcus stayed in the kitchen, finishing his drink and looking at the instructions Brad had left. There were three pages, single-spaced, covering everything from the alarm system to the pool maintenance to the care of the house plants. At the bottom of the last page, almost as an afterthought: "Help yourself to anything in the fridge or bar! Our house is your house!"
Our house is your house. Marcus wondered if Brad had any idea what that meant, to stand in someone else's perfect life and pretend it was yours.
He was about to go upstairs when he heard Yuki calling his name, her voice sharp with panic.
She was standing by the pond, pointing. One of the koi—not Hakuto, but a gold and black one—was floating sideways, its body bent at an unnatural angle.
"It's dying," she said. "Oh God, we killed their fish."
"We didn't do anything. We followed the instructions."
"Maybe I overfed them. Or the water temperature—"
"You checked everything twice."
The fish made a weak attempt to right itself, then rolled again, its gills working frantically.
"We have to do something," Yuki said. She was already pulling out her phone, typing frantically. "There has to be a 24-hour vet or something."
"For fish?"
"For eight-thousand-dollar fish, yes." She scrolled through search results. "Here. There's an aquatic veterinary specialist in Scottsdale."
"That's an hour away."
"Then we better hurry."
"Yuki, we can't—"
"We can't what? Let it die? These aren't our fish, Marcus. We're responsible for them."
She was already heading inside, presumably to get dressed. Marcus looked at the struggling koi, then at the others, which seemed oblivious to their companion's distress. The sick fish made another attempt to swim, managing a half-hearted circle before listing again.
He found a large plastic container in the garage and filled it with water from the pond, trying to match the temperature. The fish didn't resist when he scooped it up with the pool net, transferring it as gently as possible. It was heavier than he expected, its body solid and muscular despite its distress.
Yuki came back down in jeans and a sweater, her car keys in hand.
"I'll drive," she said.
They put the container in the back seat, securing it with towels from the pool house. The fish floated in its temporary home, occasionally twitching. Under the car's dome light, Marcus could see its scales more clearly—intricate patterns of gold and black that looked painted on.
"What's this one's name?" he asked as Yuki pulled out of the driveway.
She glanced at the list on her phone. "Kenta. It means healthy and strong in Japanese."
"Ironic."
"Don't."
They drove in silence through the Denver suburbs, past identical housing developments and strip malls. The container sloshed gently with each turn. Marcus kept looking back to check on the fish, which seemed to be getting worse.
"It's not going to make it," he said.
"Don't say that."
"I'm just being realistic."
"Since when are you realistic? You're the one who keeps saying we should try one more round of IVF."
"That's different."
"Is it? Throwing money we don't have at something that might not work?"
"We're talking about a baby, not a fish."
"We're talking about hope," she said, her voice tight. "And apparently, I'm the only one who still has any."
"That's not—" He stopped. They were pulling into the emergency vet clinic, a low building with too-bright lights in the parking lot.
The waiting room was nearly empty—just them and a woman with a carrier that kept making unhappy cat noises. The receptionist, a young man with gauges in his ears, looked skeptical when they explained why they were there.
"A koi?" he repeated.
"It's valuable," Yuki said. "And it's not ours. We're house-sitting."
"I'll see if Dr. Patel is available."
They sat in the plastic chairs, the container on the floor between them. The fish had stopped moving entirely, though its gills still fluttered weakly. The cat in the carrier had gone quiet.
"This is insane," Marcus whispered.
"What else were we supposed to do?"
"It's a fish."
"It's a living thing that we're responsible for."
"We're not responsible for everything, Yuki."
She looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. I just—"
"Mr. and Mrs. Santos?" A woman in scrubs stood in the doorway. "I'm Dr. Patel. Let's see what we have here."
They followed her to an examination room that looked like any other vet's office, except for the large tank in the corner. Dr. Patel transferred the koi to the tank with practiced efficiency, adjusting something on the filter system.
"How long has it been like this?" she asked.
"Maybe an hour," Yuki said. "We found it floating sideways after feeding."
"What did you feed it?"
"The specialty food the owners left. We followed the instructions exactly."
Dr. Patel examined the fish, shining a light on its scales, checking its gills. "It looks like swim bladder disease. Common in koi, especially ones that are overfed or fed too quickly."
"But we were careful—"
"I'm not saying you did anything wrong. Sometimes it just happens. The good news is, it's treatable." She pulled out a syringe. "I'm going to give it an antibiotic injection and adjust the water pressure to help it stay upright. You'll need to keep it separated from the other fish for a few days."
"How much will this cost?" Marcus asked.
"The emergency visit is three hundred. The treatment is another two hundred."
Yuki was already pulling out her credit card. "We'll pay."
While Dr. Patel worked on the fish, they sat in the waiting room again. The woman with the cat had gone, replaced by a man with a German Shepherd that wouldn't stop panting.
"Five hundred dollars," Marcus said quietly.
"Brad said they were worth thousands."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point, Marcus? That we should have let it die?"
"I'm saying we can't save everything."
"I'm not trying to save everything. I'm trying to save this one fish."
"Because you couldn't save—" He stopped, but too late.
"What? Because I couldn't save our baby? The one that didn't even exist?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Yes, it is." She was crying now, not bothering to hide it. "You think I don't know that I'm being crazy? That I'm projecting onto a fish? But at least I'm feeling something. You just shut down. You go through the motions—the appointments, the shots, the tests—like it's a math problem you can solve if you just find the right equation."
"I'm trying to be strong for you."
"I don't need you to be strong. I need you to be here. Really here, not just... present."
The man with the German Shepherd was pretending not to listen, scrolling through his phone with intense concentration.
Dr. Patel emerged with the fish in a smaller container, swimming upright though still wobbly.
"Much better," she said. "Keep it isolated for three days, then it can go back with the others. I've adjusted the water with some salt solution—the instructions are here. Any questions?"
They drove back mostly in silence, the fish between them like a bizarre peace offering. It was past midnight when they pulled into the Johnsons' driveway. The house looked different in the dark, less welcoming, all its perfect edges sharp.
Marcus carried the container while Yuki figured out what to use as a temporary tank. She found a large cooler in the garage, clean and barely used.
"This'll work," she said.
They set it up by the pond, close enough to use the same water source but separate from the other fish. Kenta seemed stronger already, swimming in small circles, testing his boundaries.
"We did it," Yuki said. "We saved it."
"Yeah."
She sat down on one of the pool chairs, suddenly exhausted. Marcus sat beside her. The pool filter was making that grinding noise again, rhythmic like a broken heartbeat.
"I'm sorry," he said. "About what I said."
"Which part?"
"All of it."
She pulled her knees up to her chest. "Did you know that koi can live for over a hundred years? Some of them get passed down through generations. Imagine that—your great-grandfather's fish, still swimming around."
"I didn't know that."
"The Johnsons probably didn't either. They just thought they looked nice." She laughed bitterly. "Everything comes so easy to them. The house, the kids, even the fish. They'll never know what it's like to fail at something everyone else does naturally."
"We haven't failed."
"Haven't we? Three years, Marcus. Forty thousand dollars. Four IUIs, two rounds of IVF. And nothing."
"The doctor said—"
"The doctor says a lot of things. Keep trying. Stay positive. It only takes one. But what if there isn't one? What if this is it—just us, in our tiny apartment, getting older while everyone else moves forward?"
Marcus wanted to argue, to offer some platitude about patience or faith or modern medicine. But sitting there in someone else's backyard, watching someone else's fish swim in circles, he couldn't find the words.
"Do you still want this?" Yuki asked suddenly. "A baby, I mean. Or are we just doing it because we've come this far?"
"Of course I want it."
"But do you want it with me? Or do you sometimes think you chose wrong? That maybe with someone else, someone younger or healthier or just... different, you'd already have kids?"
"Yuki—"
"Because I think about it. Late at night, when you're asleep, I lie there and think about you with someone else. Someone who could give you children easily, naturally. Someone who wouldn't turn sex into a scheduled chore or cry every time her period comes."
"Stop."
"Someone who could give your mother the grandchildren she prays for."
"Stop." He turned to face her. "I don't want someone else. I never have."
"Even if it means never having children?"
"We don't know that yet."
"But if. If we knew for sure, would you stay?"
The question hung between them like the chlorine smell from the pool. Marcus thought about their apartment, the second bedroom they'd optimistically designated as a future nursery, now full of Yuki's design equipment. He thought about Sunday dinners at his parents' house, the pitying looks from his aunts, his mother's increasingly desperate prayers. He thought about Brad and Stephanie, their casual announcement, their third unplanned miracle.
"Yes," he said. "I would stay."
Yuki was quiet for a long time. Then: "I don't know if I believe you."
"You don't have to believe me. Just... let me prove it. Over time."
She stood up, walked to the edge of the pool. The underwater lights made her reflection waver and split.
"The thing is," she said, "I'm tired of waiting for time to fix things. For the next cycle, the next treatment, the next miracle. I'm tired of putting our life on hold for something that might never happen."
"So what do you want to do?"
"I don't know. Maybe that's the problem—I've forgotten how to want anything except this one impossible thing."
Marcus joined her by the pool. The filter had stopped grinding, and the water was still, reflecting the desert stars you could barely see from the city.
"Remember when we first started dating?" he said. "You were working on that series of paintings. The ones with the birds."
"Those were terrible."
"They were beautiful. You were so passionate about them. You'd stay up all night painting, then show up to our dates covered in oils."
"You ruined one of your shirts."
"Worth it." He paused. "When's the last time you painted? Not design work—real painting?"
"I don't know. Before we started trying, I guess."
"Maybe you should start again."
"I can't just replace a baby with art, Marcus."
"I'm not saying replace. I'm saying... remember. Remember who you were before this became everything."
She turned to look at him. In the strange light, he could see the girl he'd fallen in love with—twenty-five, fierce and funny, arguing about contemporary art in a coffee shop in Capitol Hill.
"Who were you?" she asked. "Before all this?"
"I don't know. Younger. More optimistic. Better at calculus."
She laughed, a real laugh. "You're still good at calculus."
"Not according to my AP students."
They stood there for a moment, then Yuki said, "We should check on the other fish. Make sure they're okay."
The koi in the pond seemed fine, gliding through the dark water like nothing had happened. Hakuto was near the bottom now, its orange spot barely visible. Marcus counted them—six, not seven.
"They don't even notice he's gone," Yuki said, meaning Kenta.
"Maybe that's better. No point in them worrying about something they can't change."
They went back inside. The cheese plate was still out, the expensive Scotch still open. They took both to the living room, eating and drinking in comfortable silence while searching for something else to watch.
"No more movies," Yuki said. "Something mindless."
They settled on a reality show about people renovating houses, turning disasters into dreams with enough money and expertise. It was exactly the kind of thing the Johnsons would watch.
"We could do that," Marcus said, pointing at the screen where someone was installing a kitchen island. "Buy a fixer-upper, make it nice."
"With what money?"
"The IVF money. If we stopped."
Yuki was quiet. On the screen, the renovation was complete, the couple crying with joy at their transformed home.
"Is that what you want?" she asked. "To stop?"
"I want you to be happy. I want us to be happy."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
They watched another episode, then another. Outside, the automatic systems of the house continued their cycles—pool lights dimming, landscape lights adjusting, sprinklers coming on with a soft hiss. Everything programmed, predictable, perfect.
"I'm going to bed," Yuki said finally.
Marcus stayed downstairs, finishing the Scotch, flipping channels without watching. At some point, he must have dozed off, because he woke to his phone buzzing. A text from Brad: "Hope everything's great! Forgot to mention—pool guy comes Tuesday. Thanks again!!!"
Three exclamation points.
He went to check on Kenta. The fish was swimming normally now, as if the night's drama had never happened. In a few days, it would rejoin the others, and no one would know the difference.
Inside, he climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Yuki was asleep, or pretending to be, curled on her side of the massive king bed. Marcus slipped in beside her, careful not to touch, maintaining the space they'd learned to live with.
But then she rolled over, pressing her back against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her, feeling her breathe. They stayed like that, awake in the dark, in someone else's bed, in someone else's house, in someone else's life.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I know," she said. "That's never been the question."
In the morning, they woke to sun streaming through windows they'd forgotten to close the blinds on. The pool was sparkling, the desert sky cloudless and sharp. Marcus made coffee in the elaborate espresso machine while Yuki fed the fish—both the ones in the pond and Kenta in his temporary home.
"He looks good," she reported. "Almost normal."
They ate breakfast on the patio—eggs from the Johnsons' refrigerator, toast from their artisanal bread. Everything tasted better than it should have, seasoned with someone else's money.
"We should talk," Yuki said. "About what happens next."
"With the fish?"
"With us."
Marcus set down his coffee. "Okay."
"I want to stop," she said. "The treatments. All of it. I want to stop."
He waited for the grief to hit, the sense of failure. Instead, he felt something like relief.
"Okay," he said again.
"You're not going to argue?"
"Is that what you want? For me to argue?"
"I want you to be honest."
"Honestly? I'm tired too. Tired of the appointments, the hope, the disappointment. Tired of sex being a medical procedure. Tired of not being able to plan anything because we might be pregnant, but probably won't be."
"Your mother will never forgive us."
"She'll learn to live with it."
"And if we regret it? In five years, ten years?"
"Then we'll regret it. But at least we'll regret it together."
Yuki was crying again, but differently this time—softer, like rain instead of storm.
"I feel like such a failure," she said.
"You're not."
"We're giving up."
"We're choosing something different. That's not the same as giving up."
She reached across the table, took his hand. Her fingers were cold from holding her coffee mug.
"What do we do now?" she asked. "Without this to organize our lives around?"
"I don't know. Travel? Take up hobbies? Save money?"
"Have sex for fun?"
"Radical idea."
She smiled, squeezed his hand. "We could get a dog."
"Our apartment doesn't allow dogs."
"So we move."
"With what money?"
"The IVF money. Like you said."
They sat there planning a hypothetical future—a house with a yard, a dog, maybe chickens. Vacation to Japan to see Yuki's grandmother. Marcus back in school for his master's. Small dreams, achievable ones.
Brad texted again: "Pool guy rescheduled to Wednesday. Sorry for the confusion!"
"He seems nervous," Yuki said.
"Wouldn't you be? Leaving strangers in your perfect house?"
"It's not perfect. The pool filter's broken."
"And they have too many bathrooms."
"And their fish get sick."
"And they're having a third kid they don't want."
"They didn't say they don't want it."
"They didn't have to."
The day passed slowly. They swam in the broken pool, despite the instructions not to. They watched more TV, read the Johnsons' magazines, snooped gently through drawers and closets, finding nothing interesting—just the detritus of a normal, successful life.
That evening, while feeding the fish, they found another one struggling—not dying, but listless, floating near the filter intake.
"Oh, come on," Yuki said.
But this time, she just adjusted the filter flow, added some of the salt solution Dr. Patel had given them, and watched. The fish recovered on its own, swimming away like nothing had happened.
"See?" Marcus said. "Sometimes they fix themselves."
"Don't make this a metaphor."
"I'm not."
But they both knew he was.
That night, they made love in the Johnsons' bed—not because Yuki was ovulating, not because the app said it was time, but because they wanted to. Afterward, they lay tangled in the expensive sheets, looking up at the ceiling fan that probably cost more than their monthly rent.
"This is weird," Yuki said.
"Which part?"
"All of it. Being here, in their space. Making huge life decisions in someone else's house."
"Maybe that's what we needed. Neutral territory."
"Or maybe we're just drunk on their Scotch and seduced by their lifestyle."
"That too."
She rolled onto her side, facing him. "Are we really doing this? Stopping?"
"If that's what you want."
"I need it to be what you want too."
Marcus thought about it, really thought about it. The image he'd carried for so long—teaching his kid to ride a bike, helping with homework, the whole suburban dream—flickered and faded. In its place, something else, less defined but maybe more real: just them, older, hopefully wiser, still together.
"Yes," he said. "It's what I want."
They flew back to their lives two days later, after the pool guy had come and gone, after Kenta had been successfully returned to the pond, after they'd cleaned every surface and replaced everything they'd eaten or drunk. The Johnsons texted their thanks, said the house looked perfect, promised to have them over for dinner when they got back.
They never followed through on the dinner, which was fine. Some boundaries shouldn't be crossed twice.
Six months later, Yuki sold a painting—one from a new series she'd started, abstract landscapes that looked like views from airplane windows. It wasn't much money, but it was something. They celebrated with takeout from their favorite Thai place, eating on their fire escape, watching the city lights.
"I heard from Stephanie Johnson today," Yuki said, twirling her pad thai. "On Facebook."
"And?"
"They had the baby. Another boy. She posted a thousand photos."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I mean, it stings a little. But not like before." She paused. "She also posted about their koi. Apparently, they're breeding now. Baby fish everywhere."
Marcus laughed. "Of course they are."
"She said they're going to sell them. Start a little side business."
"Because they need the money."
"Right."
They ate in comfortable silence. Below them, the city went about its Friday night—sirens, music from bars, someone arguing about an Uber charge.
"Do you ever think about that weekend?" Yuki asked. "At their house?"
"Sometimes."
"Me too. It feels like something that happened to other people."
"Maybe it did."
She looked at him, curious. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, we're not the same people we were then. For better or worse."
"Better," she said, without hesitation. "Different, but better."
Later, getting ready for bed in their small bathroom with its temperamental faucet and cracked tile, Marcus thought about the Johnsons' house—all those rooms, all that space, all that perfection. He thought about the koi, swimming their endless circles, worth fortunes but oblivious to their value. He thought about Brad and Stephanie, their three kids, their easy abundance.
Then he thought about Yuki in the next room, working on a new painting even though it was late, even though she had client work in the morning. The sound of her brushes on canvas, the soft music she played while she worked, the way she'd hum along without realizing it.
This was their life. Not perfect, not easy, but theirs.
When he came out of the bathroom, Yuki was standing by her easel, studying her work with that intense focus he'd fallen in love with years ago.
"Come look," she said.
The painting was all blues and grays, like water seen from below, or sky from above. In the corner, barely visible, a flash of orange—like a koi's spot, or a sunset, or something else entirely.
"It's beautiful," he said.
"It's not finished."
"Still beautiful."
She leaned back against him, paint on her fingers, her hair smelling like turpentine and shampoo.
"I love you," she said.
"I know. That's never been the question."
"Then what is the question?"
Marcus thought about it. "I guess... what comes next?"
"Does it matter? As long as we're together?"
"No," he said, and meant it. "I guess it doesn't."
Outside their window, the city went on—people living their lives, dealing with their own struggles, their own imperfect solutions. Inside, they stood together, looking at a painting that might sell or might not, in an apartment they'd eventually leave, in a life they were still figuring out.
It was enough. More than enough.
It was theirs.