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“Sure.” He said, his tone smug.
“Okay.”
Without further thought, both securely attached to the swimming pool steps and covered by the water from the neck down, they brought their heads together and shared a soft kiss on the lips. It lasted five seconds, more or less, even if for them it was a long kiss. “Freaking long,” as Alex would say, because that’s the way he talked in those days.
It was cold, too; hot and cold at the same time. Cold because of the temperature of their wet bodies; hot, for reasons neither of them understood. From their touch, that heat that physical contact sends out through people’s skin when they touch, when they show emotion through touch. It was like a connection between two parts of an electrical circuit, although Alex’s thought in that instant was Well, I haven’t felt anything new. It was just an average kiss.
When it was over and they’d put some distance between them they went under again, still looking into each other’s eyes. Priscila was holding her nose. Alex wasn’t. He was a professional, after all.
Over the rest of that summer—a summer colored swimming-pool blue—they used to see each other in those depths that had been witness not only to their first kiss, but also to how they both held their breath, looking into each other’s eyes, their faces so close together. But there were no more kisses.
The wedding cake... and the martinis
Ileave my favorite pub in the entire world stunned, astonished by the discovery that Alex and Marcos—or Marc, apparently—are now friends, and so disappointed with the news that Alex has given Dark away.
Jaime walks right behind me, but we walk in silence; we’re quiet all the way down the infernal slope that takes us back to the beach, where we pick up our bikes and head home.
I don’t know what it is about annoyance, but it simmers. My initial surprise and the pain these recent revelations have brought soon turn into another emotion, a much stronger one, more intense. Something unstable. Anger. Rage.
As soon as we enter the neighborhood, I notice my brother’s red car is parked outside our house, and the kitchen light is on. But no one is supposed to be at home this evening; it’s Saint John’s Eve—the whole family is waiting for us at the big bonfire on the beach. I text Mom to tell her there’ll be no bonfires for me tonight. I don’t feel like it. And I don’t want to tarnish good Saint John’s memories with my bad mood.
I go inside and walk straight to the kitchen, where Marcos is waiting for me. Jaime kisses me goodbye at the foot of the stairs; what Marcos and I have to deal with is too personal. He tells me to yell if I need his help.
The arguing begins the moment I step onto the rustic tiles of my parents’ kitchen. There’s no doubt he was waiting for it. It’s going to be a tough argument, the kind you know intuitively is going to be earthshaking, almost before it happens. The kind that only occurs once in a decade.
A one on one, where there’s no world around us.
“Why?” I ask, straight out.
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why Alex? You have hundreds of friends in this town. Why did you have to choose him from all the others? You two didn’t even get along when he and I were together!”
“That’s not true. We all accepted Alex, almost from the start.”
“From the start, you say? Seriously? Well, that’s news to me!”
“It’s not like that, Priscila, and you know it. Deep down you knew we liked him.”
“No, I didn’t. And anyway, there’s a difference between liking and being close friends. I guess I’ve missed a few chapters in this story.”
“I’m not going to argue with that. You’ve missed a fucking lot of chapters. And do you know why? Because the name Alexander St. Claire has been banned in this family for four years.”
“It looks like it wasn’t so banned. Although, maybe it really was and that’s why you’ve hidden your friendship with him from me. For four years!”
“Welcome to the club.”
“What club?”
Suddenly, he’s yelling at me. “The one where siblings don’t know shit!”
“Marcos...” I warn him.
“You got a boyfriend, Priscila,” he continues, not giving me a break, “You got engaged, we accepted him, and you got married. We were starting to befriend the new member of our family and then you left. For you, there’s when everything ends, right? You didn’t want to know anything else. But it wasn’t that easy for the rest of us. Besides being your husband and our friend, he was our fucking neighbor from the house across the street!” He yells at me again, pointing at the house he just mentioned through the kitchen window. “One day, you two have a fight, you come home to have lunch with us overwhelmed by some argument you just had with him, and when you leave this house you go straight to the airport. And it’s been four years since then! Four years, Priscila!”
“I didn’t go straight to the airport!”
“What? What do you mean? Where did you go then?”
