I’m sure Bailey is like any human I’ve met since the hotel started this “pet” thing—quiet, annoying, and won’t take his hands out of my tank. The look on his face says he feels the same about me, so yeah. There’s no way a goldfish and a human can become friends. I learned this the hard way through 20+ guests.
I wash myself in my kelp plant and swim to my pirate skull house nestled in the pebbles on my tank’s base. I’ve learned to stay clear of humans after one too many kids injured my fin.
“Yeah, you go in your house, and I’m going to bed.” Bailey strips without warning before me until he’s only in his socks and boxers. Gosh, that’s TMI, buddy.
I hurry into my pirate house and turn my back to Bailey, ducking my head into the pebbles.
“What, have you never seen a human strip before?” Bailey jokes. “Well, too bad, dude—you’re stuck with me for eight hours.”
He’s a bit mad, isn’t he? I wonder what’s on his mind, but I won’t involve myself. I’m not a therapy fish.
I try to fall asleep, but Bailey bangs around and refuses to turn off the light. I then hear his phone ring and groan, burying myself deeper.
“Hey, Bai,” a female voice soon says over my tank’s bubbles. “I heard you had trouble getting to New York today.”
Bailey’s voice eases (I guess he likes the girl he’s speaking to). “Snowstorm. There goes my dream to get published.”
Published? Bailey’s a writer? I know little about them, but from what I have heard, they live tortuous lives—especially for an original author filled in a world of Romance books.
“Don’t say that, Bailey,” says the woman. “You’ll get published.”
“In a world where clichés are the norm?” Bailey scoffs. “I think it’s just a dream, Murielle. No one wants to read original stories nowadays. I have tried for ten years, and Romance writers are always prioritized over me.”
“It’s all money, Bailey. People want sex. It’s as simple as that.” Murielle sighs and then chuckles. “I know what will cheer you up. Annalise walked for the first time today.”
Before I stop myself, I swim out of my house, and my big eyes land on Bailey, who runs his long fingers through his wavy, black hair. Only here do I realize that while he’s not the tallest man, he’s buff like a bodybuilder.
“She did?” A small smile crosses Bailey’s face, but melancholy replaces it. “I wish I was there to see that.”
“I took a video, so I’ll send it to you. She’s also beginning to say ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy.’”
“Oh my God,” Bailey squeals. “And how’s the second one coming?”
“Good. OB says that she’s one of the healthiest babies they’ve seen. Well, good night, Bailey. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Murielle.” Bailey hangs up and places his phone on the dresser. He meets my eyes and asks, “What?”
Are you a daddy, buddy? I wanted to be one, but the hotel took me from the store before I could.
Does Bailey read my deadpan expression because he explains, “Annalise was an accident out of college, but the second one’s planned.”
And he’s upset about Romance books?
Bailey pulls his blanket to his chest. “It’s not that I don’t like Romance; it’s just so overrated. I want to see more diversity in the literature world—like the books we saw in the 1800s. But no—everyone wants sex, and it pisses me off.”
Dang, this man’s got a tude, but I understand… I think.
A sudden tear runs down Bailey’s cheek, and he growls. “I just want my original stories to get recognized.” He clenches his fists and picks up my bowl, holding it before him. “What should I do, Oscar? I’ve given up.”
Wow, he’s got a lot on his plate—a kid, another one on the way, a flight cancellation, and Struggling Writer Syndrome.
“Wait, what am I doing?” Bailey sets me down. “You’re a fish. How would a fish understand?”
You’d be surprised, buddy, but wait. I’ve never considered myself a therapy fish. All we do is swim around in our tanks all day. I don’t believe we feel emotions like humans. At least, I’ve never felt emotions. Then again, I’ve been stuck in a tank for six years.
I lower my head and tighten my pectoral fins.
“Quit staring at me. It’s freaky,” Bailey admits.
I’m merely reading you, buddy.
Bailey plops down on his white pillow and covers his face. His elbow nearly misses my bowl, and I swim to the back.
Please, do not break my bowl.
Bailey’s arm relaxes, but he remains behind his pillow for the remainder of the hour, leaving me to study him from afar and make conclusions myself.
Bailey needs a therapy fish, and it looks like I’m that one.
68Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡplZDqXsFds
End of Hour One: The Unexpected
Current Word Count: 1,680
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