Chlorine and Gelatin Capsules

The morning sun hit the surface of the pool at exactly the wrong angle, turning the water into something blinding and violent. Sarah lay on the lounge chair, counting the gelatin capsules in her hand—one vitamin D, one B-complex, one omega-3, two for anxiety that she told herself were just supplements. Her sister's golden retriever, Buster, nudged her knee with a wet nose, leaving a dark smear of chlorine on her linen shorts.

'He likes you,' David said from the adjacent chair. He wasn't looking at her. He was watching his phone, thumb scrolling through something that required more attention than she had received in months.

'The dog or the vitamins?' Sarah swallowed them dry, her throat catching on the B-complex. 'Because both are artificial forms of affection.'

David finally looked up. His sunglasses made it impossible to read his eyes, but the set of his jaw told her everything. 'Jesus, Sarah. It's a weekend at your sister's place. Can you not do this here?'

'This what? Exist in the same space as you?'

She stood up, the heat already rising through the soles of her feet. The pool beckoned—blue and seductive and impossible. Three years of fertility treatments, and here they were at her sister's baby shower, the one her sister had 'accidentally' planned for the same weekend as their latest failed attempt. The vitamins were supposed to help. The vitamins were always supposed to help.

Buster barked, a sharp sound that cut through the tension. He bounded toward the pool's edge and stopped, tail wagging, waiting for someone to throw the tennis ball that floated on the water's surface like a forgotten hope.

'You're going to jump in with your clothes on,' David said, not a question.

Sarah stepped onto the first tile. 'Maybe I just want to feel something real.'

'The water's cold, Sarah. That's all you'll feel.'

She dove anyway. The shock of it stole her breath, the chlorine stinging her eyes, the silence underwater absolute and perfect. For a moment, she stayed under, weightless and suspended, watching the distorted sunlight ripple above her like something she might once have believed in.

When she surfaced, gasping, David was standing at the edge. Buster sat beside him, both watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

'Throw the ball,' she said, treading water. 'Just throw the damn ball.'

And for the first time in months, David smiled. It wasn't enough. But it was something.