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We have a small backyard, which isn’t so much of a backyard as a little patch of dirt and grass behind our house, although that’s a haven in Manhattan where nobody has outdoor space. I had imagined Krista and I might eventually set up a small table and chairs to dine outdoors in the fall, although we haven’t gotten around to it yet. Instead, the first use of our backyard will be to serve as Goldy’s final resting place.

I fished Goldy out of the bowl, stuck her in the baggie, and then went upstairs to change into actual clothing, because apparently an undershirt and boxer shorts are not “appropriate attire” for a goldfish funeral. I contemplate putting on a pair of jeans, but the last thing I want is for Krista to get upset that I’m not taking this seriously, so I put on some nice khaki slacks and a dress shirt. I draw the line at putting on a tie for a fish funeral. On the plus side, the itchy rash seems to have disappeared since Krista started doing my laundry.

When I return to the living room, Whitney has come home from a half shift at the diner. My heart sinks at the sight of her and Krista talking quietly while Krista wipes her eyes. I wonder what Whitney is saying about me—definitely nothing good. I especially don’t like it when she seems to be pointing emphatically in my direction. I can only imagine what they’ll talk about during their next lunch together. But then Krista waves up at me, and she doesn’t seem angry, only sad.

“Whitney wants to join us for Goldy’s funeral,” she tells me.

I didn’t think there was anything that could have made this funeral less appealing, but there it is. “Wonderful,” I say.

Whitney’s mild brown eyes stare back at me. “It’s so sad about Goldy. She really felt like part of the family.”

“She really did,” Krista agrees.

I glare at Whitney. You killed our fish, you bitch.

Whitney turns her head in the direction of the fishbowl. “Let me store that somewhere for you. It must be hard to look at it now that it’s empty.”

“Yes,” Krista says. “You’re right. Thank you so much.”

I don’t want Whitney to get rid of the bowl and the water inside it. I want to prove that there is bleach inside—there must be a way to test for it. But if Whitney gets rid of the evidence, Krista will never believe me.

So before Whitney can get to the bowl, I touch Krista’s arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t. We don’t want to just throw away Goldy’s memory, right? We should, you know, preserve it as long as possible.”

Krista looks at me like I have lost my mind. “It’s dirty fish water. I think we can pour it out.”

I start to protest again, but Whitney has already grabbed the fishbowl, and all I can do is watch her disappear with it to the kitchen. There’s the sound of splashing water, and any evidence that our fish was poisoned has literally gone down the drain.

Whitney emerges from the kitchen empty-handed. I don’t know where she put the fishbowl, but she looks awfully proud of herself. She winks at me so quickly, I’m sure Krista misses it.

The three of us head out to the small backyard for the goldfish funeral. Krista located a large rock to serve as the gravestone, and I grabbed one of the large metal spoons from the kitchen to dig the grave.

“How deep should I make this?” I ask.

“Well,” Krista says thoughtfully, “for a person who is about six feet tall, you’re supposed to make the grave six feet deep. So for a fish that is about two inches long… I don’t know? Just a few inches, I guess.”

That’s great, because I’m not excited to dig through dirt with a spoon.

After I’ve dug out a few inches of dirt, Krista tenderly lays Goldy inside. She kisses her fingers, then lays them on the plastic-encased fish. I then use the spoon to cover Goldy’s body with dirt, and Krista places the rock on top. As Krista is tearfully kneeling beside the fish grave, I look over at Whitney, who is smirking. I want to reach out and strangle her.

“We should say a few words about Goldy,” Whitney speaks up.

Krista gets back to her feet, wiping her eyes. “That would actually be really nice.”

“Blake,” Whitney says, “would you like to begin?”

I really, really hate her. But I can’t screw this up. If I want Krista to continue to see me as husband material, I have to be able to step up in times of tragedy.

“As we gather here today, we would like to say goodbye to Goldy.” I bow my head. “We got her at the pet store and…she was the fastest of all the goldfish. She liked to eat little pellets, and she liked to swim in circles and…” I sneak a look at Krista, who is looking at me expectantly. “And she was a good fish.”

Was that enough? I can’t tell. Krista seems a bit disappointed. But I mean, come on . How much can you possibly say about an animal that’s been inside a bowl for the entire time we’ve had her?

“I’ll miss Goldy,” Whitney says. “Whenever I was in the living room, it felt like Goldy was keeping me company. There were times when it felt like she was smiling at me. When I got home from work, no matter how tired I was, there she was, entertaining me by swimming around. And on the nights I couldn’t sleep, she was with me. Even though she’s gone, it still feels like her spirit is here. With us.” She takes a shaky breath. “And we will certainly never, ever forget her.”

Krista’s eyes well with tears. “That was so beautiful, Whitney. I agree—it does feel like her spirit is here.”

Is she kidding me? We will never, ever forget her? I liked Goldy and all, but she was a fish . I’m furious with Whitney for upstaging me. Especially since she is the one who killed her. Krista might not believe it, but I know it’s true.

“I really needed to hear something like that,” Krista goes on, looking at Whitney. “Thank you so much for those kind words about Goldy. You’re such a good friend. I know this all might seem a bit silly…” She looks pointedly in my direction. “But it really does help.”

Whitney holds out her hand, and Krista takes it. A vein throbs in my temple—a dull headache is coming on. The headache only escalates when Krista starts crying again, and instead of reaching for me, she turns to Whitney , who puts her arms around her. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.

“All right, enough of this horseshit,” I blurt out. “I know you were the one who killed Goldy, Whitney.”

Whitney and Krista simultaneously swivel their heads to look at me. Amusement flickers in Whitney’s eyes, but Krista is furious.

“Blake!” she snaps at me. “What is wrong with you?”

“It’s true though,” I shoot back. “She murdered Goldy, and now she’s pretending to be sad about it. Look at her. She’s obviously faking it!”

Krista turns to look at Whitney, who is now miraculously tearing up like she’s actually sad about that stupid goldfish. Give me a break.

“Blake is just upset over Goldy’s death,” Whitney says gently. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“He’s not upset!” Krista cries. “He wanted to flush her down the toilet!”

“Blake!” Whitney gasps. “How could you?”

Again, there’s that laughter in Whitney’s eyes. She’s enjoying this. She loves that Krista believes her over me.

This is exactly what she wanted to happen. I played right into her hands.

“Fine, yes, I wanted to flush the fish down the toilet.” As the words leave my mouth, I wince at the expression on my girlfriend’s face. “But I didn’t hurt Goldy! At least I’m not some psychopath who poisoned our fish with bleach ! Stop being so naive, Krista!”

Krista seems traumatized by my comments, while Whitney is clearly suppressing laughter. How does Krista not see this?

Krista flashes me a hurt look. “I…I need to be alone right now. I’m going to go out for a walk.”

We were supposed to see a movie this afternoon, but I’m going to assume that’s off the table since we’re in mourning. Whitney and Krista return to the house together, while I am left behind in the newly christened goldfish graveyard. But just as they are disappearing into the house, Whitney turns to look at me, and the smile on her face makes me want to do to her what she did to my fish. I wish I could bury her in the ground.