He’s floating on his back too.
Maybe I should be embarrassed that I’m twenty-seven, and he’s two decades younger, but floating is peaceful.
I’m going to enjoy it.
I’m going to learn to swim, dammit.
Whether you’re seven or twenty-seven, swimming is one of those skills a human should probably possess.
Good on him.
And good on me.
When I flip over, taking a break, I give the kid a few claps and cheers. “Good job. You’re getting the hang of it.”
“Thanks!” he shouts.
“You too,” his mom calls out.
I laugh and give her a thumbs up.
I float some more, and after, Jesse and I move on to putting my face in the water and rolling it to one side to pull in a breath. Next, we add long pulls of my arms while Jesse supports my legs, and then I try kicking while he holds my hands, guiding me through the waves. He tries to teach me the breaststroke, but we get distracted making breast-stroking jokes and making out, and decide we had better stick to the crawl.
Midafternoon, we break for sandwiches, but stick to iced tea for drinks so we’re 100 percent safe to go back into the water.
I haven’t swum on my own yet, but I’m ready.
Or . . . nearly ready.
I suck in a deep breath, facing Jesse across the fifteen feet or so of open ocean between us. The water only comes up to Jesse’s waist—my ribs—and if I get in trouble, all I have to do is put my feet down and stand up. This is completely safe, but I’m still . . . terrified.
But also determined.
I can do this.
I can take back this lost part of myself. Fear doesn’t get to keep me in a cage anymore.
That’s what this part of the list is about.
Only I should get to decide my potential. Not fear. Not the ugly or sad or scary things in my past. Just me.
The knowledge swells inside my chest, and for a second I swear I can see thirteen-year-old Claire standing beside Jesse, willing me to keep swimming, the way she did all those years ago.
And I’m not about to let her, or myself, down.
Sucking in a breath and holding it, I dive into the water. Seconds later, I emerge from the waves and pull toward Jesse. And even though my flutter kick is anything but smooth and I end up craning my entire head out of the water for a breath instead of using the graceful, side-sip method we practiced, I make it the entire distance without any major mishaps.
It’s almost . . . easy.
“Hell yeah, woman,” he says, brushing my wet hair from my forehead as I swipe the saltwater from my cheeks. “You did it!”
“It wasn’t even that hard,” I confess, my breath coming fast. “All those years, and being so scared, and missing beach trips with Gigi and . . . it wasn’t that bad.”
He laughs, but then sobers as he reads the angst in my expression. He bends, bringing his face closer to mine. “Hey, it’s okay that you were afraid. Almost drowning is scary shit. And don’t be so hard on yourself. You definitely worked for this.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I . . .” I force a smile. “You’re right. I did have to work for it. It’s just frustrating that I let fear call the
shots for so long.”