Saturation Point

So who brought the guy home, one of them would ask after returning their bodies to the calm water waiting, waiting, waiting outside for them to dip their feet back in for the morning after gathering. The water, in all its forms—solid, caustic, sparkling—remembered these hungover women here today, saw them in its own blue reflections mirrored in the sliding door’s glass. There was a sagging balloon arch dangling from the slider’s frame, blowing out into the dry sea breeze and back into the rental home’s cool gusts of circulated air. One of the arch’s pastel pink balloons—yesterday made plump and shiny from molecules of water and saliva, now duller and pruney—had strayed from its tied bunch, blowing out towards the Sea of Cortez. But the balloon stopped short and landed on the pool’s surface—around which the dehydrated women with their drinks and hangovers were gathering now. Some in sweats, others in bathing suits again. Some recently showered and lotioned, the night's sins and evidence washed hot down a drain; others still had stamps on the backs of their hands and hot tequila-laced vomit coating the backs of their throats. Some had coffee made with tap water from the sink; some mimosas, their flutes’ watermarked by the dishwasher. In the freezer full, full, full of ice the bride kept stabbing and scooping, a noise causing one to remark, Menos, Sel.

The bride-to-be, Selena, was still in the kitchen waking a tired espresso machine, pulling water from the pipes beneath the home to flush the expensive machine out, to fill its tank, to make it hot. She kept at the frozen berg in its plastic bin, scooping its shattered cubes, plunking them into another watermarked glass. Waiting for her to return, the water immersed itself in other bodies: her bachelorettes.

One of them hiccupped, her stomach’s wet bacteria fighting off Montezuma, and the bridge of her foot kicked a foam noodle away from the pool’s hungry drains. There was some laughing, then some finger painting against the water’s surface, some comparing temperatures. Then their feet, dry and cracked from all the sand everywhere, everywhere, everywhere—sand in grout, cracks, bedsheets, scalps, pools’ bottoms—their feet were dipping into the water, the water absorbing everything anew. Another hiccup, and the water swallowed the spasm now; consumed every other pulse, or flinch, or shudder it came into contact with so fluidly.

Mia and Jus—who both carried traces of the Pacific, who’d been connecting this trip—were the first to dip their toes in, with mugs of coffee on either side of the pool’s frame: Mia swallowing down hot brown water clouded with creamy half-and-half; Jus’s drink black and bitter, steaming. Christina—the one with traces of the Great Lakes, with palpable fear of oceanic bodies—dipped third. She was seated higher up near the hot tub that, if a switch was pressed, would pump gurgling water down, down, down; a feature that would saturate Christina’s dry, drawstringed boxer shorts.

Do you remember much about last night? Jus asked.

No, said Mia.

Me neither, Christina said as she kept wiping her mouth’s pulpy imprint from her watermarked rim, as she kept straining towards shade, her phone. Mia was swirling her toes in the water, half-listening, half-elsewhere. Jus’s feet dangled, her coffee mug cupped with both hands, letting the steam rise up, up, up into her cotton mouth and dried nostrils, over the gutters between her furrowed brow.

Well me three. I faded in and out. I don’t remember coming home. I’m not usually—

—Daaaay-drinkiiiing doooooes thaaaaat! Jessi could be heard saying, her cut-off reflection supine in a lounge chair beside Idgie. Mimosas clear, almost gone. Mia’s stirring stalled after the interruption, then softened again, swirling.

Something in Jus also tensed after Jessi’s delivery. Only yesterday, the water remembered, there had been buckets of icy drinks, turned to empty bottles and melted slush, as the group hopped from one beach club to another, indulging bachelor groups wanting to pull them in, in, in along the shoreline to celebrate, to cheers Selena and their own doom-to-be as they spittled, beer-breathed and saltwater-brined. There had been padding, then running, plunging, falling into the sea, laughing, some manhandling, getting pulled by the current, peeing under the surface while bobbing in the waves; keeping upright and conversant above the sea, always above, unless. Pulled under, taken, flailing, plunging, falling, then above, above, gasping above. Saltwater-filled lungs, wet-laughs. That day-drinking.

We’ll be smarter today, watch out for each other, Selena said, finally poolside, depositing her thin legs into the pool’s wetness she’d been in only hours prior in the dark of night; something about her different again. This morning, Selena’s dark shots were poured over ice, her posture as she sunk her dark legs into the water controlled, cautious not to snag her damp bikini on the scratchy grout of the pool’s edge.

What’re you looking at? Selena asked Christina. She looked up, untucking her chin that had dropped while scrolling down, down.

Nothing. And I don’t have any pics from last night, if that’s what—

—You’re still reading about it, aren’t you? Idgie could be heard asking from her lizardlike post. How the feet dangling in the pool agitated and spines erected when Idgie spoke, when Idgie’s reflection scrunched her bikini’s backside into a smaller wedge, giving more of herself to the sun. The water felt Selena pulling towards Idgie’s bare back. The water felt Jus pulling hard on an unloose hangnail. Christina leaned over into the water, running a wet palm over a patch of her stubbled knee.

And the water absorbed Mia, now calf-deep, this morning. Mia didn’t have uptight bones in her body, her respiratory system didn’t stutter. Mia’s bladder and brain were full. But her nerves, her nerves. They seemed tired, frazzled; torn perhaps.

On the first day they arrived, checking into this house, everyone swam in the pool, everyone broke ice: pencil-diving or wading; dog-paddling, floating, noodling around, sharing themselves and stories of how they knew Selena, what they were up to these days. Jus had found the ice-breaking insufferable, had said so afterwards to Mia while they walked on the beach, sand clinging to their cranking ankles. Jus confessed to Mia struggling with wanting to either evade questions or spill her guts, as the waves crashed into their bare, sand-spackled feet.

Yet on the first day, they’d all been buoyant then, lighter in the deep and shallow, in the beginning. They even feigned something, gravitational pulls, perhaps, listening to one another in the pool, to Idgie particularly. Idgie shared about her life in Hollywood, but Selena swam away when Idgie stroked over details; Christina kept her body chin-deep when Idgie emerged to mount a floatie, Idgie’s skin tanning atop slippery PVC, her belly button overflowing with chlorine. On that first day only Mia—the one who put her head under with her nose unplugged and her eyes open, who truly swam, disturbing the sand settled on the pool’s floor—didn’t seem taken to Idgie. No, today the others' shoulders felt heavier somehow, perhaps with envy-adjacent sensations as they gave Idgie their attention: their ears, sure; but mostly their eyes, their eyes they all kept above water, straining in the sunlight. Only the water knew Idgie had never put her feet in an ocean, despite all her staring—longing to dive, drown maybe—into the Pacific she caught smoggy glimpses of.

So, better question, Idgie could be heard starting to ask. Jus’s stomach, legs, and toes tensed, her full body bracing. Mia kept swirling her limbs in the pool water, something in her absent from this place, the gathering, the moment. Hers was the body most full of the Pacific’s brine, half made too of this country’s blood. Selena spread her legs out in the water, brushing a wide v, then back again, almost flapping, fluttering. She let out a satisfied sound, the water feeling the expanse of a contented sigh.

What’s your question, she asked Idgie.

Who brought the guy home last night?

Who brought a guy home. That’s the question, Selena echoed, turning away from the chairs over in the sun, towards her other gatherers seated around her, parts submerged.

There was a guy? Here? Christina asked, her fuzzy knees locking. Then she laughed, a hiccup spasming underwater. Clearly it wasn’t me, Christina added, rubbing her heels, palming her joints. None of them responded. But the water had heard Christina only yesterday, in a moment where she’d been laying out, talking to Jus, still inside the pool with Mia, wrestling the calming water as the sun began to set.

Do you think she’s making a mistake?

Sel?

Yeah, I mean, in college, I would have sworn she was, you know…

And Jus wiped the water dripping from her hairline, shaking her head—her ribs even—in Christina’s direction. Then Idgie had walked out, freshly showered, holding a cocktail rattling with ice. The conversation went out; stalled, dried.

This morning again Christina’s body caught itself. She unscrunched her shoulders, sat up taller. She pointed her toes like the others, elongating her short legs.

Who brought the guy home last night? The water felt the question echo, echo, echo unrepeated aloud.

Christina barely tapped the surface towards Jus, but Jus’s focus was in whatever her coffee mug was reflecting, the steam now gone.

The pool was quiet. The water realized a change. A change in temperatures, in tension. Selena took one foot out, dripping, then put it back. An air conditioning unit’s fan could be heard rattling itself, sending wet coolant into the house, the house with the wide-open slider doors. Mia kept swirling, submerging more parts of herself under, under, under. The day before while breaking ice, Mia told the others—wrapped around noodles or inflatables, bobbing in their self-made tide—that she knew her cousin Selena was going to be something. Ever since Selena left for school in New York, announced she’d become a professor there, was marrying a soon-to-be doctor, Dan, the son of non-doctor-doctors like they’d both be in wedlock too.... But Mia’s body turned kelplike when asked about herself, if Mia’d ever been here before. She first swallowed Mexico’s water when ordering a margarita at the airport’s curbside bar, the frosty drink soothing her insides, balming her nerves after being stamped, welcomed by immigration, customs; liquids she released into the chlorine while breaking ice, while answering, No. She’d never been here before.

It wasn’t me, Mia said, lowering her whole body into the water. I’m with Dave, I don’t cheat. One of you… She added, before going under completely, kelplike again.

I was just saying I blacked out. I can't remember anything after Mandala, Jus said, and she pressed her ankles and shins and knees tight, tighter, tight, pulsing up and down in tiny motions, making little ripples. I remember Christina and you, Jus turned her head towards the chairs, kept getting that other group to buy us more bottles there. But I couldn’t tell you what happened next. Jus’s core was pulled so tight, her effort tugged all the way down to the tips of her appendages, into the ripples, like ellipses.

Selena smiled, relaxing her legs—greasy with the rental’s lotion—for the first time. Christina, Selena said, it’s too bad if it wasn’t you getting laid last night, you were practically begging for it, I remember that. Laughter could be heard over in the chairs.

Jus moved over towards the ladder, lowering herself in without splashing the others. Sel, she warned.

Christina just wishes she’d been one of those girls at those parties, flown on a plane, bedded by billionaires, Selena said, then something in her clenched. Selena stopped fanning her feet, adding, Only kidding. Sorry Chris, that came out shitty. Stilling herself, Selena took a slow pull from her melting drink.

The fuck Sel, Jus whispered, treading.

Christina, meanwhile, her body was vibrating; no hiccups, just pulsating heat. She kicked water towards the bride-to-be, and turned her face towards the hottub, holding defensively. Selena’s ice could be heard shrinking in her glass, Mia’s and Jus’s bodies heard making the water flood over the infinity edge, the AC motor thrumming along. Christina let out, You shouldn’t joke like that. Besides, she said, bending her toes, I'm pretty sure I have repressed something from when I was a kid, I have like no memories from before nine.

Mia and Jus slowed their swimming movements at the same time, looked at each other, something syncing under the surface.

Maybe that’s why I’m so affected by these stories, Christina shrugged, scratching her cracked, flexed heels against the porous underwater walls.

Okay kettle, Idgie could be heard saying. Christina’s body showed no indication of hearing the words, but only the water could detect otherwise as fuzzy knees wobbled. Barely.

I mean, one of you brought him home, whoever he is. Sorry I care about the news. Sorry I was so good at getting us free bottle service, being a good bridesmaid for Sel. And had it been me, I’d have known and told you all so, like a fun bridesmaid.

Selena looked down. She placed her open palm under the water, her ring sparkling sun glitter under the shallow blanket. Under the surface, all the flittering light and reflections and everything shimmered, but Selena’s stomach was sour; her ring muddied with film and scratches. Under the surface, Jus’s stomach churned acidic, Mia’s milky and creamy. Christina's, fighting something off, hiccuping.

Well, you don’t always know what happened unless, you know, there’s enough evidence, Jus said, her legs barely touching the bottom, her hands treading the surface. Like, if it happened in your room, there’s a condom wrapper in the wastebasket, or the other side of your bed…

—There’s a naked person laying there next to you, cut in Sel, releasing her ringed hand to grip the pool’s edge, its metal, moon-shaped band scraping against the grout. Her body yawned, outstretched towards her friends, her bachelorette party, this view; she was warmer now in the sun, in the caffeine intake, in the conversation about strangers.

Anyone ever tell you you sound like an attorney? Christina said to Jus, her heels going raw. Jus didn’t respond, instead treading towards the pool’s infinite edge. Mia kept swimming in the deep, grazing the bottom with her hands, scaling the wall up; nose-breathing bubbles, heart-rate steady.

I mean, Jus added, her elbows grounding into the edge she leaned over, her voice carrying: It could’ve been me hooking up, but I don’t think so. She turned around, stroking the water’s wavy surface. I tend to remember some thing, even if nothing else. And I've been trying to, Jus paused, her muscles searching, I've been trying to be more careful lately.

So no one’s gonna cop to it then? Idgie asked, a chair being readjusted, a muffled whatever heard.

Christina hiccupped, then froze. A sudden loudness, an unexpected burst of motion, startled them all; even Mia, eyes open under, blinked.

Secrets secrets are no fun, unless you tell everyone!

It had been Jessi who said, shouted, hurtled it; who cannonballed into the pool, a meteor strike, a blasted bomb. The entire pool displaced, disturbed, momentarily ungathered, even its heavy grains of sand at its bottom were shocked by the disruption.

Selena, just before it happened—before yanking her legs out, raising her arms, before the splash—had cupped her hands full, flinging the water up to her chest, rubbing where she was sweating. The wet dripped down her chest, each dripping drop knowing something. The water knew her, beneath and inside her, the bride-to-be. The water knew everyone gathered suspected Selena’s marriage to Dan-the-Man wasn’t what she longed for; they’d been whispering, talking around the subject, around and in the pool, in the seawaves, in the club bathrooms, flushing and swirling the truth. Except Idgie. And Selena herself. Or so the water remembered. The two just did, dove, direct; then washed the doing all away in the shower, letting pipe water cascade down, around, over them, rinsing away their bodies’ wet, liquid proofs of some thing, something, something that happened. The two brought a man over last night, the water remembered. Their three bodies: quiet, naked, excited in its blue-lit glow, against its walls, gripping the pool’s edge, awash in the darkness of night, of morning, of middleness; the water absorbed what was happening in the pool, when the three gathered, when the humid breeze from the sea came in and around and came out with the tide; it ebbed with their hushed, satisfied sounds. But there had been another man, a second one. The water remembered, and Idgie remembered too. A man who’d made his way out from the slider, the back hallway, the spare bathroom after washing hastily. A man who’d jumped into the pool—not unlike how Jessi had just done: loud, wild, crashing—and he’d jumped in with the three when they were only swimming and playing quietly, half-naked, half-sober; a second man saying he didn’t know who he’d just been with, he didn’t remember her name, but this was a great pool, wasn’t it? Better than his pool, this pool had seen some good times, hadn’t it? And Selena’s body had floated, and floated away, and floated in the dark in all the moments another slippery body wasn’t in, in, in proximity to hers.

Floating.

And this morning, the same water regathered itself, and heard this group of women preparing to disperse, to shower, to ready themselves for the rest of their day, Selena’s bachelorette; to drink more water today, and to remember to have fun, they were here to have fun, this was supposed to be fun, right?

The pastel balloon, finally free, finally displaced by Jessi’s cannonball, flew up from the water, over the infinity edge, and made its way towards its heaven, towards the sea, the ocean, the great beyond, all but forgotten in a blurry, wet weekend.

But the water remembered. It remembered, it remembered…