“She and Pete are very close,” Claire says, clasping her hands hard over her stomach. “Rita always has something to say about how I’m doing as a wife.”
Jackie hums. “Sounds like my mother.”
“Does she also critique your cooking and your body and the fact that you haven’t had children yet?” Claire says. She tries toraise an eyebrow—one of Jackie’s trademark expressions, and one Claire isn’t sure her face can fully manage.
Jackie laughs. “The last point, definitely. Along with every other life choice I make.”
“You don’t deserve that,” Claire says, much more softly.
“Neither do you.”
Claire hums. She leans back, turning her face towards the sky again and closing her eyes. “I lied, earlier. I do have a bathing suit. Just one. But it’s…” Claire pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Rita made it for me. It doesn’t fit very well.”
“So she made you wear her wedding dress, and she controls what you swim in?” Jackie asks, not bothering to hide her incredulity.
“She makes most of my clothes. Pete says it saves us money.” Claire toys with her pearls. Maybe she’s getting too honest now, a little too comfortable in revealing the more embarrassing parts of her life. But if she can’t share everything with Jackie, who can she share with?
“Why don’t you borrow one of mine instead?” Jackie says suddenly.
Claire’s eyes fly open.
Jackie looks a little surprised at herself for suggesting it, but she schools her expression quickly.
“Your…clothes?” Claire says.
“Bathing suits. I have a few. They’re all clean,” Jackie says, standing up quickly and gesturing for Claire to follow. “You can just wear whichever one fits.”
Which is how Claire finds herself in Jackie’s bathroom with a selection of suits laid out, trying to find one that will cover everything it needs to.
It’s not an easy task. She and Jackie are wildly different sizes—Claire has none of Jackie’s curves—but she manages to find atop and bottom set that she can tie tight enough to not fall down immediately.
Claire has never worn so little fabric in her life. Her underwear covers more than this—it at least sits at her bellybutton, where Jackie’s bikini feels like nothing but a few tiny scraps of material strung together with twine. Claire’s hipbones are jutting out. Without her usual layers she can’t hide her wide shoulders, her narrow hips and tiny breasts.
Rita has told her a hundred times while taking her measurements—clothes create an illusion. With the minimal fabric she has on right now, Claire might as well just be baring herself to Jackie’s eyes completely naked.
Claire takes the pins out of her hair, wraps one of Jackie’s big, fluffy towels around herself, and heads out to the pool.
Jackie is underwater when Claire emerges from the house. Jackie cuts through towards the stairs and then rises up to meet her, water streaming down her body, and for a moment as Jackie emerges from the pool Claire is so overcome by the similarity to the Jackie that she sees in her dreams that she’s rooted to the spot.
She can smell the chlorine. She can hear Jackie’s voice, low in her ear.
Not so unbuttoned now, are you?
Jackie is so soft. Sofeminine. She’s all shapely curves and swells, where Claire is sharp angles. Something about the way Jackie looks right now feels dangerous, like the glowing red spiral of a hot stove element, and a part of Claire that’s getting louder by the minute wants to slap her hand onto it to feel the burn.
“The water’s nice and warm,” Jackie says, in her actual real-life voice. On the patio table is a bottle of soda with a straw in it. Jackie takes a sip, blissfully unaware of how Claire’s traitorous eyes track every drop of water that runs down her skin. Thebow that ties Jackie’s bikini top cuts slightly into the softness of her upper back, leaving divots in the soft flesh, and something swoops low in Claire’s belly.
“Just—um, just give me a second,” Claire stammers. She pulls the towel tighter. Faced so up-close with Jackie’s perfect body, she doesn’t want to reveal her own.
Jackie sets her soda down. “You can’t swim in a towel, silly.”
“I know, I—I need sunblock, first,” Claire says, grabbing at the open bottle sitting next to Jackie’s drink. She holds it out like a shield, but Jackie only steps closer.
“Sure. Do you need help with your back?”
The idea of Jackie’s hands on her body, spreading warm lotion over her skin, is even worse than the exposure of the bathing suit.
“No!” Claire yells.
