Pete holds the rings in his palm, staring down at them with a furrowed brow.
Claire has never felt lighter.
“Claire, this is—this is absurd,” Pete says. He tries to shove the rings back into Claire’s hand, and when she doesn’t take them he slips them in the front pocket of her dress. “You’re getting overexcited. Go home and get some sleep. We’ll talk about this properly in the morning, when you aren’t feeling so hysterical.”
Uncharacteristically, Pete leans in to kiss Claire’s cheek. He smells of familiar aftershave and hair oil. His whiskers are scratchy. He pats her awkwardly on the shoulder, and then he heads back into the party. Back to the judgement and the snippy comments and the boring conversations.
Ordinarily, that would be that. Claire wouldn’t have anywhere to go, or any money to get her there. But things have changed.
She goes first to her own house—she digs the clothes Jackie bought her from the bottom of her bag, the only outfit she owns that didn’t come from Pete or Rita, and changes into it. She washes the makeup from her face, and shakes her unruly hair out of its updo. She leaves behind her jewelry and her beauty products. And in the middle of her vanity, on top of one of Pete’s handkerchiefs, she sets her rings.
The person who looks back at her from the mirror is brand-new. It’s the first time she’s been brave enough to shed every vestige of her old life without clinging to something. Without the makeup, her freckles are prominent in the bathroom light. She feels taller, even though she’s abandoned her chunky heels—she’s wearing the loafers Jackie bought her. Everything she used to be is scattered across her vanity like a discarded snakeskin.
Claire marches back outside to stand on the front lawn with the bag slung over her shoulder, contemplating what to do. It’ll be hours before the bus routes start that can get her out to Anita’s. She could call a cab, but she doesn’t want to spend up her cash too quickly, and who knows if they even run at this hour? She’s never really called one before.
The vomiting Dracula on Jackie’s front lawn has disappeared, but the woman who comforted him is still there. By the tiny orange glow near her face, she’s smoking. Now that Claire is closer she can see the woman is tall. Maybe even taller than herself.
“Going somewhere?” the woman calls out. Only it’s not a woman’s voice. The cigarette is flicked away. When the person steps into the light of a streetlamp, Claire’s confusion shifts into relief.
“Theo?”
Theo grins. He’s got a full face of makeup on, and he’s decked out in women’s clothing—heels, a white off-the-shoulder dress, and a towering ginger wig with what looks like a paper mâché bone stuck through it—but he’s unmistakable. And, oddly, very beautiful. In Claire’s opinion, he suits women’s clothing more than she does. “I heard your little argument with the husband. I was wondering if you were going to get up the courage to follow through.”
Claire laughs a little. Some of the boiling tension in her chest eases off. “So was I. Nice dress, by the way. Wilma?”
“Indeed. Made it myself,” Theo says, winking. “This is my favorite time of year. Nobody questions a little fruitiness on Halloween.”
Claire shifts her bag to the other hand. “And you’re not afraid to wear it in public? Here?”
“It turns out Sacramento has more of an underbelly than Jackie thought,” Theo says. He gives Claire a long look, up and down. “And I should be asking you the same thing. That doesn’t look like a ladies blouse to me.”
“It isn’t,” Claire says. Behind Theo, two people spill out of the front door, giggling as they stumble towards a car parked on the street. “Jackie got it for me.”
Theo nods. He crosses the lawn to where Claire is, his voice low and much softer than Claire is used to. “Where are you off to? You do have a place to stay, right?”
Claire really isn’t sure about anything right now, but she nods. “A friend. I’m just not sure how I’m going to get there at this hour.”
“Come on. My car is just down the street,” Theo says. Before Claire can insist otherwise, he holds up a hand. “I feel somewhat responsible for this, if I’m being honest. It’s the least I can do.”
“Haven’t you been drinking?”
“Tragically, no,” Theo says, heading off down the road and clearly expecting Claire to follow. “I’ve been taking care of Jacks all night after she drank herself into a stupor.”
Claire’s stomach lurches. She takes off after Theo, jogging to catch up. “Is she alright?”
“Depends on your definition of the word,” Theo says. He doesn’t elaborate, and Claire isn’t sure how to politely ask the question that’s on her mind—is it because of me? Does she miss me? Does she hate me?
Will she ever want to see me again?
Theo climbs into his car in full costume. It’s smaller than Jackie’s, and his wig presses against the roof as Claire buckles herself in and he zooms out of the cul-de-sac.
“How are you feeling?” Theo asks, once the sign for Acacia Circle has disappeared in the side mirror.
“Better,” Claire says. And she means it. She feels lighter as the brighter lights of Sacramento start to appear ahead of them. “It’s funny, I should be terrified. I have twelve dollars to my name, and I’m going to be sleeping on a couch for the foreseeable future. But it’s on my terms, for once.”
Theo hums quietly. The radio is playing an energetic song that reminds Claire of the song she and Jackie danced to, once. The Supremes. If she closes her eyes, she can still feel Jackie’s body against hers. Their hands clasped together. The bright, eager look in her eyes as Claire spun her around. She’d been so beautiful that day, still in her pajamas with messy hair and visible blemishes.
It must say something that Claire feels sadder thinking of that moment than she does about leaving her husband.
