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“Pedro and Monica are together.”
Pedro and Monica have been close friends since prehistoric times. Pedro runs the pub and Monica helps him every summer, working as a waitress when all the tourists arrive and the town fills up with people.
“Bah, that’s old news, I’ve known for a while now,” Marcos says, as if bored.
“Well, I didn’t know. They’re crazy,” River adds.
“Neither did I, but I’m sure they know what they’re doing.” That’s Hugo.
“I didn’t know either. And I don’t know what to say, really. But I guess if they love each other...” That’s my contribution. Why do I have the feeling that each of us is taking it personally?
“And what’s the big deal about those two hooking up?” Jaime asks, not understanding all the fuss. “Why is it gossip and why do we have to have an opinion about it?”
“Because they’ve been friends since childhood. Best friends,” River emphasizes.
Jaime frowns. “What about it?”
“Now they’re sleeping together and that could fuck everything up.”
“No way. That’s bullshit. Friends can have sex and keep being best friends. Like Priscila and me, for example.”
I can’t tell exactly who chokes on their beer first; there are so many of them at once it’s impossible to tell them apart. My gaze goes to Alex, who looks at me first with astonishment, then with disappointment.
“Fucking fantastic,” he exclaims, then gets up and leaves the premises. I’m about to go after him but Marcos stops me, grabbing my arm.
“Did you sleep with him?” he asks, pointing at Jaime. “And I get that we’re speaking in past tense, but Poseidon doesn’t, and he’s probably climbing the walls right now for no reason.”
“Yes, I slept with him. Thank you, Jaime, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But... isn’t he... Aren’t you gay?” River asks the both of us.
“No, I’m not,” is Jaime’s only response.
“He loves the person,” I explain, “no matter if it’s a man or a woman.”
Marcos keeps at it. “Yeah, whatever, the thing is you screwed him.”
“Just once.”
“Twice,” my friend corrects me.
“You’re not helping,” I reproach him.
“Twice?” River asks me.
What a great thing: talking with your brothers about your sex life. Really. So great. I frown at my dearest best friend to thank him and then I explain. Briefly, mind you.
“I’d never had sex without love. The first time was to prove to myself that there was nothing wrong in it. The second time was so we wouldn’t feel weird about what we’d done the night before.”
“Did you know about this?” Marcos asks Adrián, who’s been quiet during this whole conversation, following what everyone else says with interest.
“I can assure you I didn’t,” he replies.
“Strange. You always know everything.”
“Bite me.”
