“You didn’t,” Claire says, as Jackie steps past her and into the entryway with the box in her arms. “That’s not for me, is it?”
“Open it,” Jackie says, thrusting it into Claire’s hands.
The package is heavy, and Claire holds it against her body nervously. “I can’t possibly accept this. I didn’t get you a gift for your birthday.”
“Mine isn’t until November. Open it,” Jackie says, grinning wide.
It takes some convincing—at one point Jackie threatens to open it herself—but finally Claire is persuaded to rip the paper off. Beneath it is a cardboard box, and inside that box is—
“Art supplies?” Claire says, hardly believing her eyes as she pulls out a fresh set of watercolor paints. Underneath it is a cup of new brushes, a real sketchbook with charcoal pencils, and a stack of heavy painting paper. The brushes are good quality. Claire runs them over her fingers, and the sense memory chokes her up again. The smell of the linen paper brings her back to her childhood room, learning to find the colors of a sunset in a simple set of twelve watercolor pucks.
“It’s a start,” Jackie says. “Eventually I’d love to get you some oils.”
“Oh, Jackie, this is—it’s too much. I don’t even paint anymore. I couldn’t possibly accept this.”
“Anita only let me pay for half of it, so don’t go feeling guilty,” Jackie says. “You said it used to make you happy.” Jackie picks up the sketchbook, pressing it into Claire’s hands. “If that’s true, you should see if you can’t find that happiness again. Don’t let it go.”
Claire’s battle against tears has been a losing one from the start, but she had hoped to delay it until Jackie leaves. It does, however, give cause for Jackie to hug her.
Since the day they shared a joint and Claire stupidly ran her fingers through Jackie’s hair without asking, Jackie’s physical affection has been a fleeting gift. It always comes as a surprise and ends just as abruptly, like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky, and it usually leaves Claire similarly buzzing with electricity.
The hug Jackie pulls Claire into as she tries not to cry feels like the best birthday present she could ask for. It’s tender and comforting, and it lasts long enough for Claire to file the details away in her memory. The smell of Jackie’s hair. The warmth of her body. The way Jackie rocks back and forth slightly, almost imperceptibly, and rubs little circles on Claire’s back.
“Do you have anything at all planned for yourself?” Jackie asks, pulling back from the embrace as Claire hurriedly wipes her eyes. “Even one little birthday treat?”
Just you, Claire nearly says.Just this one indulgence.She bites down on her tongue to keep the words inside.
When Claire shakes her head silently, Jackie sighs. “All right. It’s your birthday, Martha is out, the weather is gorgeous, and your house is immaculate. Do you know what that means?”
“That I should weed the gardens today?”
“No,” Jackie says, already heading to the door. “It means you should go shopping today. Come on.”
“But…I don’t have any money,” Claire says, to an empty kitchen.
Claire isn’t sure how, but despite her vehement protests she’s sitting in Jackie’s convertible heading downtown within ten minutes.
She’s only been to the department store a handful of times since she and Pete married. There isn’t anything for her here—she doesn’t shop. Rita makes her clothes, for a fraction of the cost of a brand-name store. Pete gives her an exact amount of money per week for groceries. If they need a piece of kitchen apparel or an appliance, Pete has her order it from the Sears catalogue.
Jackie strolls through the store like she owns the place. She’s confident in the crowd, where Claire is nervous. Jackie flicks through racks of clothing and boxes of shoes with the eye of a seasoned shopper, while Claire trails behind her.
The section they end up perusing for the longest time is completely unfamiliar to Claire, not to mention entirely out of a normal price range. The mannequins are dressed in bright colors, polka-dots and stripes and loud prints, a far cry from her own muted palette of dresses. Jackie seems right at home.
Claire feels out of place in comparison. Uneasy. Dowdy. Boring.
“Even if I had money with me, I couldn’t possibly afford anything here,” Claire whispers, feeling as if every eye in the store is on her as she follows Jackie through the racks.
Jackie has a bundle of outfits already, dresses and blouses and skirts slung over her shoulder and forearm. She grabs Claire’s hand, pulling her into the men’s section. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not paying.”
“What?” Claire gasps. The price tags she’s seen so far are absolutely sky-high for a gift, especially on top of the artsupplies. “That’s absurd, that’s utterly—why are we looking at men’s pants?”
Jackie rolls her eyes affectionately, grabbing a pair of navy corduroys and a light blue button-down. “Trust the process, okay?”
Jackie paces the aisles, grabbing at garments until her arms are full, and then gestures imperiously for an employee to get them a private changing room. The space they’re led into is huge, with a large mirror, a cushioned bench, a coffee table strewn with fashion magazines, and a large folding privacy fan to change behind.
Still, Claire is shocked when Jackie closes the door behind the employee and doesn’t leave herself. Instead she guides Claire towards the privacy fan with her armful of clothes, and takes a seat on the bench to wait just out of sight.
This must be what girlfriends do. Claire is simply unfamiliar with it—Jackie is in her element, idly leafing through one of the magazines, and the fan is positioned to give Claire total privacy. Jackie clearly wants to see Claire in each of the outfits she’s picked.
