The Colors of Drowning

The spinach salad sat untouched on her plate, wilted under the midday sun—much like their marriage, she thought bitterly. Elena smoothed the fabric of her dress, watching Richard laugh at something the young blonde said. His head tilted back, throat exposed, that familiar joyous crinkle around his eyes that she hadn't seen directed at her in years.

She forced a smile and took a sip of her drink, the orange slice garnish floating against the ice. Citrus and bitterness. How appropriate.

"You okay, El?" Richard appeared at her elbow, sliding an arm around her waist. His touch felt performative, scripted. "You've barely eaten."

"Not hungry," she said, moving away from his hand under the pretense of adjusting her sunglasses. "Think I'll go swimming."

The pool glittered turquoise, an artificial oasis in the backyard of his boss's California estate. Couples in various stages of inebriation dotted the perimeter. Elena stepped to the edge and slid into the water, its cool embrace a momentary relief from the suffocating heat of pretense.

She began to swim laps, back and forth, the rhythmic stroke of her arms clearing her mind with each length. This was the only honest thing about her life now—the straightforwardness of moving through water, the physics of buoyancy, the undeniable fact that if you stopped moving, you began to sink.

When she finally pulled herself from the pool, Richard was gone. The blonde was gone too.

Elena wrapped herself in a towel and walked toward the house, past the spinach salad that had grown even sadder in her absence. Through the sliding glass door, she saw them in the kitchen—he was feeding her a piece of orange, his fingers lingering on her lips.

The sight didn't shock her. What shocked her was the relief.

She walked back to the pool and sat on the edge, feet dangling in the water, watching the sunset bleed orange across the sky. For the first time in fifteen years, she didn't have to pretend to be happy. She could finally stop swimming against the current and just let herself drown, or perhaps—just perhaps—learn to breathe underwater.