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I push Dark off me gently and stand to face the dog’s owner. How could he tell me he’d given him away?
“You... You’re...” I point my finger at him, words sticking in my mouth while the dog barks and runs happily around us, making circles and leaving prints of his paws on the virgin sand. No one has stepped on it since the cleaning machines passed first thing this morning.
“Oh, come on,” Alex says with disdain; a disdain I don’t recognize in him. “Don’t act offended, Queen of the Desert. You haven’t cared about the fucking dog in four years.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what the fuck I can or cannot call my dog.”
I can’t stand it when people talk like that, so brusque and vulgar, and it’s so unusual for Alex... Or at least it used to be, so it hits me harder now. Even so, my shock only lasts a few seconds before words start coming out of my mouth helplessly.
“You’re an asshole, Alex. And mean.”
“Well, there are your reasons.”
“My reasons for what?”
“To turn yourself around and get out of my sight.”
I fix my eyes on his black, dark, and wild ones and look at him, full of sadness. Sadness for him, because his gaze has never had those shades. And sadness for me, because I have no idea who he is, this person I fell in love with when I was just a child. I do as I’m told anyway; I turn around, but with a warning. “I want to spend time with Dark and you’re not stopping me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“So be it. And, by the way,” I add, gesturing towards his crotch, “Your package is blatantly obvious in that swimsuit of yours.”
Oh my God. Why do I always have to lose it like this? It’s true, though. Alex’s yellow swimsuit leaves nothing to the imagination, and even less considering he’s soaked. . . He must have taken a swim right before I saw him, but still...
“Grow the fuck up, Priscila,” he says cruelly, taking the dog in his arms. “And that side of you you show off so much in your work? It doesn’t exist. You aren’t funny, you’re just immature. To be perfectly frank, I’m amazed they pay you for it.”
I turn on my heel without answering and walk away from the shore, up the wooden path that will take me from the beach to the promenade, making a titanic effort to stop his words from penetrating my heart.
“And as for the dog, you won’t be seeing him, Priscila!” he yells at my back. “You lost your chance when you gave him up like he was a piece of shit!”
I ignore him—his shouts, his threats—Dark’s incessant barking, the tears piling up in my eyes, the trembling in my legs, my heartbeat, even the guilt I feel in my chest. I ignore everything.
* * *
I find another surprise in the middle of my kitchen as I come through the door: my mother-in-law—or my ex-mother-in-law, or the neighbor from the house across the street. God, I don’t even know what to call her. So, Alex’s mother is there with my mom. They’re whispering about some huge tragedy related to some bows that are navy blue instead of light blue. A frown creases my brow until I realize they’re probably talking about something related to the wedding.
I’m about to tiptoe my way upstairs, but when I stop hearing their whispers I know it’s because they’ve seen me.
“Hey,” I say, walking to the kitchen.
“Hi, Priscila.” That’s Alex’s mother. She’s sitting at the table next to my mom with a giant mug of coffee and papers, photographs and bows piled around her.
“How’s that hangover going?” my dear and lovely progenitor asks me with an undertone of light reproach.
“Hmm? I’m good. It’s not too bad, I didn’t mix drinks...” I downplay it; I just want to get out of there.
“Jaime is still in bed.”
“I’ll wake him up.”
“Good.” My mother is looking at me, eyebrows raised, the way parents look at their children when they want them to do something, or to fix something they’ve done wrong. And I’m not stupid, I know what she wants from me: an apology for yesterday’s behavior.
Why did I have to commit my first crime—well, my first two crimes if we consider the bike incident—precisely at the St. Claires’ house?
I return my mother’s gaze with one of my own, one that says okay, okay, I’ll do it. Internally I’m whipping myself already; I don’t need any help to regret yesterday’s altercation.
