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—...and once again, Mr. and Mrs. Kramer: you’re doing better than you think, — the family therapist smiled, snapped his folder shut, and stood up. — Remember the homework? Tactile trust practice. And no drama until next Wednesday.
The door with the sign “Office No.4” clicked shut, leaving them standing in the narrow gray hallway. He, Robert Kramer, tall, in a dark sweater with two light stripes, a yellow shirt underneath, and a coat hanging over his arm. His hand rested on her shoulder, his gaze fixed somewhere off to the side. She, Vanessa Kramer, half a head shorter, in a green blouse with the collar undone and tight black pants. She crossed her arms over her breasts and felt the soft weight, wrapped in a still-unfamiliar and just as uncomfortable bra, shift, and she heard the faint creak of fabric under her fingers.
— “No drama,” — she repeated aloud, her voice ringing a little higher than she wanted. — Maybe you could take your hand off already?
Robert, just a month ago Angela, slowly pulled his hand from her shoulder, as if dragging out the moment, as if that touch was the only thing holding them back from complete disaster.
— Sorry, — he said quietly, leaning toward her a little. — I just… I’m trying to somehow fit in.
Vanessa — or rather, the one who had been Mark, married to Angela before all this chaos with witness protection and the body mix-up — snapped her face toward him. In the gray hallway, her eyes burned with irritation, and yet there was a flicker of confusion in them.
— Fit in with what? — she pressed her arms tighter over her breasts, the blouse stretching, giving her a strange sense of heaviness that made her shiver. — With the fact that we got swapped? With the fact that now I have to hear your apologies from the lips that should have been mine, while your hand holds me like I’m your... — she swallowed, but still, — w-w-wife?
He didn’t answer right away — only shifted his shoulder slightly, as if the coat in his hand had suddenly grown heavy.
— But you are my wife, Van, — he said softly. — Almost everything’s the same as before, just… reversed.
Those words snapped shut like a trap. Vanessa exhaled sharply, tilting her head toward the gray wall, and felt the collar of the blouse rub unpleasantly against her neck. The warmth of the body that was now hers refused to become familiar.
— Fine, let’s go, — she breathed out, slowly walking down the hallway toward the exit, feeling the tremor of something that should never have been there, never ever, but was already becoming part of the routine of existence.
They stepped outside, silent all the way home. The door clicked, and at once the smell of a warm, lived-in space wrapped around them, as if the house itself was trying to caress them and convince them that everything was fine, that this was their home, their family hearth, their place of strength. But both of them knew perfectly well that the house wasn’t theirs, the name wasn’t theirs, even the bodies weren’t theirs.
Robert took off his coat and tossed it onto the back of the couch as he walked by, as if he had always done it that way. The house, which on paper belonged to the Kramers, welcomed them with its familiar coziness — a staircase with a carpet runner, paintings in golden frames, warm light coming from the kitchen. Everything looked perfectly tuned to someone else’s biography, one they had to wear like an ill-fitting suit.
— Well… what’s for dinner? — he said, trying to sound casual, as if that phrase could magically bring normal life back.
Vanessa slowly turned to him. Her green blouse had slipped open a little at the collar, and as she crossed her arms, she felt the soft weight of her breasts push forward, stretching the fabric. She squinted, a sarcastic smile touching her lips.
— Oh, of course, — she drawled. — How could I forget, I’m such a… housewife. Sitting here all day, cooking your stews, ironing your shirts, and happily waiting for my husband to show up and ask what’s for dinner. Just so you remember, darling, in my past life I worked in Excel, not slicing carrots with a knife.
Robert gave a slightly guilty smile, but didn’t answer — he only shifted his shoulders again and walked past her into the living room. His shoes lay carelessly at the entrance, the coat still draped over the couch, as if in this house even things knew their owners had no idea how to handle them properly.
Vanessa grimaced.
— Anje… shit, Rob, — her voice dropped lower, sharper. She put her hand on her hip, feeling how her breasts in the bra shifted slightly, responding with heavy presence to every movement. — How long are we gonna do this? Why is the coat where it doesn’t belong?
He stopped on the stairs, one hand resting on the railing.