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I trust all my brothers—although I have to admit, where Alex is concerned Adrián has always been the one I rely on with my thoughts and feelings. But I trust them all, a lot, and I consider myself an outgoing person—the norm if you have to grow up with four boys and never have the chance to be alone, having to share everything with them—but talking about boys with the rest of the Cabanas was so embarrassing. They loved to make fun of me. So, I made myself a tough cookie and learned to take no notice of what they say. Except about Alex; he’s been—he is, and he will always be—my Achilles heel.
“As for my brother’s girlfriend, I don’t think fiancées have to be together all day.” Alex and I were, every time we were able to, but I keep that bit to myself. “And as for my brother being here, I guess he came in his car.”
“What? Coming here by car was an option?” he asks, eyes bulging.
“Did you see the road, by any chance?” I say, jokingly. “Usually there is one between one sidewalk and the opposite one. We called them public roads. They are wide and spacious, paved too, and so ready for vehicle traffic.”
“Excuse me if I was busy breathing!”
I’m about to retort, but the pub owner realizes who my brother is heading for and begins shouting my name from behind the bar.
“Priscila? Priscila Cabana? Is it really you? You are exactly the same!” And then, addressing the guy at the pool table, “Alex! Your wife’s here! Oh, fuck, wait a second!”
And before any of us can manage an answer, or even react, the song begins, reaching every corner of the pub. I stop looking at Alex, who’s glaring at Pedro as if he wants to kill him very slowly—Pedro hasn’t even flinched, by the way—and I rub my eyes, swearing under my breath.
“Why the hell is ‘I Will Survive’ playing and why is everyone singing and smiling and looking at you and your husband?” Jaime asks.
“Because it’s one of the songs from The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.”
“Fuck me sideways! This town is fucking unbelievable!” he manages to say before roaring with laughter. Well, I guess it’s better if I don’t tell him “I Will Survive” is also our second first kiss song. Alex’s and mine.
“The barman is one of Marcos’ closest friends,” I explain. “He’s known me since I was a kid. So don’t think he puts on this show every day, it’s just his way of welcoming me back.”
I wonder what people think of Alex and me. What’d they think about what happened between us years ago? Obviously my abrupt departure wasn’t a big drama or my brother’s friend wouldn’t act this way, right?
“Well, the barman is coming this way.”
Yes, he is. Pedro leaves his corner behind the bar, strides over to stand in front of us, and hugs me, lifting me out of my chair and spinning me around. I almost drop my ice cream. It’s a miracle it’s still in my hand.
“A little bird told me you were coming,” he says, setting me on the floor again. “I love your new hair, you look beautiful!”
I put in some blonde highlights shortly after I arrived in Boston. It was part of the “new life, new look” rite, and I kept doing it. I like my hair this way. Super blond.
“You! Stop flirting with my sister!” Marcos finally reaches us and takes half my ice cream in a single bite. “I didn’t know you were coming, I would’ve driven you here.”
“It would’ve been such a gesture...” Jaime says, frowning at me, full of resentment.
While Pedro and my brother start chatting right there, Jaime says, “Hey, Pris, psst, psst,” and gestures for me to come close. “Just so you know, your husband is looking daggers at you, I can see him from the corner of my eye.”
“He is not my husband.”
“Aha, fine, but he’s giving you a look anyway. And now he’s coming this way.”
“Shit!”
Where does his hate-filled stare come from? Did I hurt his pride that much when I left? And why does his glare hurt me the way it does?
Earlier, in the cove, he caught me off guard; I’d spent so much time questioning the wisdom—or not—of laying my cards on the table when I got to see him, of facing once and for all what happened with him. Thinking about what my reaction would be when we met for the first time in years. In the end, I didn’t have time to react at all. And he’s been cold and mean; much colder and meaner than I’d ever expected.
I’d be lying if I said I was expecting a friendly, warm reunion, but... I don’t know... Well, the honest truth is I had no idea what to expect. Certainly not this, not this Alex who hates me, that’s for sure.
That caught me by surprise because I should be the one hating him. But it’s been so long that not even that feeling exists inside me anymore. I don’t know if I ever hated him. In fact, I don’t know if I’m capable of harboring that sentiment, although I have to admit there was a time I thought I could. I don’t think so anymore. Now the only thing I feel is a thorn stuck in my heart, a thorn that reminds me of his lies, how badly we managed things. Maybe I still feel some anger, but not hate. I got over that phase a long time ago; now I have to look forward, to keep going.
And as I see it, looking forward means trying for a friendly relationship with Alex—being able to stay in the same room without arguing; acting like grown up, civilized adults. Besides, I’m only in town for three months. After that, I’ll go back to Boston, to my full and good life in Boston. I don’t want to waste my time here fighting Alex. Neither of us deserves that.
Even if everything went to hell between us, we were happy for a while. And if only because of that, because of those little memories and shared moments of happiness, I think it is worth trying. We won’t be friends, I know that would be impossible, but we could try to get along, be polite to each other. The thing is, that would mean behaving like mere acquaintances, and there’s the problem: Alex and I will never be mere acquaintances. We’ve been through so much together, and now we can’t behave like simple neighbors, simple inhabitants of the same town who meet and greet each other with a nod and a smile.
And now Alex is getting closer, walking over to us. I need... I need a shield. Something that can shelter me from my surroundings and protect my emotions at the same time. So I go the easy way: I revert to humor. I lift the beer menu to cover my face, like a parapet: there, that’s my physical and emotional shield.
