Your Newly Divorced Neighbor Calls You Over Her Pool Wall
Hey, neighbor. Your AC quit on you too?
[Ten on a summer night in Scottsdale, Arizona. It is forty degrees, and the wind smells of dry desert air. You moved in two months ago and work from home. You and Diane, the real estate agent next door, usually exchange only a nod in the driveway. Tonight your AC fails. You step outside, and blue light from her pool reaches your face across the low wall.]
[She leans on the pool’s edge, arms folded, wet blonde hair slicked back. Water runs down her shoulder as she lifts a champagne flute and waves it at you.]
The divorce papers came this afternoon. Nineteen years, officially over. …I opened a good bottle of champagne and realized drinking it alone is damn stupid.
[She tips her chin toward an empty glass beside the pool, a self-mocking smile on her lips.]
The water’s perfect. There’s a gap at the end of the wall. Climb over and fill that glass first.
What do you do?
Diane laughs, the sound rippling across the water. She fills the empty glass and holds it out to the pool's edge.
Freedom. Sounds like I just got out of prison.
She clinks her glass against yours and tilts her head back for a big gulp. Droplets run down her neck and slip into her shirt collar.
Honestly, it's pretty close. …Come sit a little nearer. I don't bite. Not tonight, at least.
You climb down the ladder, and the cool water rises over your waist at once, the forty-degree heat finally fading. Diane swims over and stops in front of you, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders.
Whoa, you didn't even take your clothes off. You're more impulsive than I thought.
She presses a glass of champagne into your hand and leans against the pool wall beside you, her shoulder brushing your arm now and then.
I like impulsive people. My ex-husband took three months to make any decision.
Her smile holds for a second, then fades. She looks down at the bubbles in her glass.
What's it like… It's like winning the final of a five-set match at last, only to look up and find the stands empty.
She lifts her head and puts that carefree smile back on.
So right now there should be at least one person in the stands. Come on down, neighbor. Drinks are on me.
What do you do?
Diane rolls her eyes, leans back, and floats on the surface, her white shirt fanning out in the water.
A man who went to bed at nine every night, on the dot. Nineteen years, and we never once swam in this pool together.
She gazes at the night sky, her voice softening a little.
He said the pool was there to boost the property value. …I've sold houses for twenty years, and this is the first time that line has sounded this stupid to me.
She hasn't expected you to do this. As you pull her toward the middle of the pool, she laughs so hard she swallows a mouthful of water.
Hey, are you stealing a drink from a newly divorced woman?
The water isn't deep. She steadies herself on her toes, her hand still on your shoulder, not moving it away. The pool lights shine up from beneath, making her blue eyes even brighter.
…Fine. That move works better than champagne.
She raises an eyebrow, swims a little closer, close enough that you can make out the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
Not like that? Then tell me, what kind of woman do I seem like?
She doesn't wait for your answer. She reaches up and brushes the wet hair off your forehead.
Don't lie to me, neighbor. I've sold houses for twenty years. I'm the best at telling when someone's being honest.
The lights in the house next door suddenly come on, and someone pulls back a curtain on the second floor. Diane glances over and curls her lip.
That's Mrs. West. By tomorrow the whole street will know: divorced Diane, in the pool at midnight with the new neighbor.
What do you do?
Diane looks at you, then slowly backs away until she reaches the darkest corner of the pool, the water barely reaching her collarbones.
Tone it down? I've toned it down for nineteen years.
She crooks a finger at you.
From this angle, she can't see us. …Come here. Let's go somewhere else and keep talking.
Diane freezes for a second, then bursts out laughing, so hard she nearly sinks. She has to grab your arm to stay up.
Oh my god… you're crazy. I like it.
The curtain snaps shut in a hurry. She still holds your arm. Her laughter slowly fades, but her eyes stay bright.
Nineteen years, and I've never been this happy. …Don't go home tonight. Your air conditioning's broken anyway.
She thinks for a long while, tracing circles on the water with her finger.
I used to care. I cared so much that after every fight, I'd force a smile and go answer the door for the package.
She lifts her head, her gaze fixed on you, not a flicker of evasion.
Not anymore. Now I only care about one thing: will you climb over this wall again tomorrow night?
“Your Newly Divorced Neighbor Calls You Over Her Pool Wall” is an interactive AI story on HiWish. The lead character is Diane: reply in your own words by typing or speaking, and Diane answers in their own voice. Genres: Urban and Drama. Available in 16 languages. Opens with a short intro video in English.
On a forty-degree summer night in Scottsdale, your AC is broken. Diane, the real estate agent next door whom you know only from driveway nods, calls to you from her pool. Her divorce papers arrived this afternoon. Nineteen years are over, and drinking champagne alone feels ridiculous. The water is perfect. Come over.
Starring
Diane, thirty-nine, a real estate agent in Scottsdale, Arizona.
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