Goldie swims around his little plastic bag and stops to stare at me. “What am I going to do with a goldfish?” I ask no one in particular.
Drake, an obnoxious account executive from the fourth floor, stands behind me leaning over my shoulder and giving Goldie eyes. “Well if he makes it through the day, I’d suggest you flush him or take him home.”
“Flush him!” It’s a ludicrous idea. I’ve named him. I can't let Goldie die. I’ll sneak him home and hide him in my bedroom. That sounds like a reasonable plan.
**
The elevator doors are half open before I realize Ryland’s home. Past the hallway he sings along to a song playing over the speakers. So much for spending the day in Palo Alto with Finn checking out new software.
I step into the hallway and carefully place Goldie in my purse. He’s been in the bag for over three hours. I’m worried his time is running out. How much oxygen does a fish need?
Maybe if I sneak out, I’ll make it past and to my apartment before Ryland realizes I’m home.
“Is that you, Marissa?” he yells from the main living area.
I cringe — who else would it be — and keep walking with the quietest steps possible. “Yup, headed home. I have a few things to do."
Two steps past the hallway I spot Ryland on the couch. Rather than being too involved in his video game, he’s twisted in my direction wearing a smile. Some first-person shooter game is paused on the television.
“Do you need help?” He starts to stand, but I wave a frantic hand in front of me.
“Nope.”No I do not need your help breaking rule number one. It’s the first rule for fuck's sake. I’ll do it on my own, thank you very much.
His expression turns speculative. “Why are you being weird?”
“What? Me weird?” I try to laugh, but it sounds nervous. “I’m not being weird. Just a busy, busy night. You know. I’ll stop by later.”
I’ve inched toward the door as we’ve talked, each step bringing me closer to freedom, but not fast enough. My hand is on the door handle, but I stop at his next question.
“Do you want to play? I’ll switch it to DR.” He searches the couch around him, probably trying to find the remote he’s always losing.
Taking a peek in my purse, I continue to hold it open so I don’t squish Goldie. “Oh gosh. I’d love to.” I turn toward the door hopeful it might hold a magical answer. It’s still just a door. “Really I would, but I have this thing… important thing. I'll come back… later.”
Before he puts up another question, I slip out the door and make a mad dash for my apartment. With Goldie’s bag resting on the counter, I keep one hand on him so he can’t goFinding Nemoon me and search the cabinet above him.
I need something to stick a fish in as a temporary bowl until I get to a pet store. The bowls are too shallow and the glasses too small in circumference. Worried time is ticking away for my gilled friend, I spot a large tall pitcher on the top shelf.
A kitchen stool provides me with enough height to reach it and I fill it with lukewarm water from the faucet before dropping Goldie and his bag of water in. Aspen and I had a Beta fish in college our freshman year. He lived about two weeks before we came home from a frat party to find little Flipper had gone belly up. I’m determined to give Goldie the best and longest goldfish life possible…… however long that is.
“I could have grabbed the pitcher for you. Your ankle isn’t fully healed yet.”
I spin around and gasp from the scare. Shit. When the hell did Ryland get here?
I step in front of the counter in an attempt to hide Goldie behind me. “Oh…um…” My words trail off. I’ve got nothing.
Ryland steps up to the bar counter without trying to peek around me. I suspect he’s already seen Goldie. He rubs his head while shaking it from side to side, his eyes cast downward. Kind of like I’m a small child caught with my hand in the cookie jar and he's not quite sure what to do with me.
“Goldie is cute and I won him and I couldn’t just flush him. I had to bring him home with me. There was no other choice.” I rush the words out, my hands flailing in front of me, but I don’t step away from the counter.
“Jesus, you named it?” He continues with the head shaking. “It’s rule number one, Marissa.”
“Him. Yes, I named him. Goldie Bubble Flippers.” I decide a full name sounds more permanent and what a great way to honor the fallen fish of past and Scott’s suggestion this afternoon.
He raises his phone to an ear and I wonder if the screen is still cracked or if he’s had time to get a new one. “Finn? Yeah, do you know where to buy a fish tank?” They speak for a minute longer before Ryland hangs up and hands me the coat I threw over the second stool. “Come on. We can walk there.”
I jump in excitement. “I get to keep him?”
He sighs and says a little prayer to the ceiling. “Yes, but we’re throwing the pitcher out when we get back.”
I put on my jacket and follow him into the hallway not bothering to lock the door. “I hope you didn’t pay a lot for it.”
“Well probably less than what this free fish will cost me in a tank and supplies.” The elevator leads directly to the parking lot so Ryland turns toward the stairs for an exit to the street.
“Ryland, I’m totally going to pay for the tank and food. Maybe fake seaweed and of course he’ll need rocks for the bottom."
Ryland snorts as I continue to list off supplies little Goldie needs for his new home. “Much more than the crystal pitcher.”
