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“Please pour me one. I need it.”
Really?
I’ve never seen her drunk, and now that I think about it, I never want to. At least, she’s finally decided to stop playing her silly game and speak English.
“¿Qué2?” she snaps.
Or maybe not.
I knock the shot down, and the liquid feels like fire burning down my throat. I need another one.
I’ve never seen Leticia drink anything but soda, a little too much. She’s a sugar junkie, but not like her tía Isabel who pours sugar down her throat as if her life depends on it.
One time, Abuela had to beg her to try the new wine from our vineyard. Leticia took one sip and then said it was nice. Something a nondrinker would do. I’ll give her a drink. One she won’t forget. I pour her a glass and then stretch for a soda to mix with it.
“No. Neat.”
Who is this woman?
I don’t say a word as I hand her the glass and sip on mine. She knocks it down as if it’s a shot of tequila.
“I needed that.” She slumps in her chair as if she enjoyed every last drop of it and lets out a big sigh, closing her eyes with her head leaned back.
“I can see!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shake my head. This isn’t the time or place to be discussing her drinking habits, especially when we’re supposed to be hopping on a plane to our honeymoon in around eight hours.
“I didn’t think you drank,” I say as I start to feel a little lightheaded, because I haven’t really eaten all day. Not properly. I had somejamónearlier, but I’ve drank a lot more than I’ve eaten today. Especially because not any ordinary champagne was being served at the wedding, it was Cristal Vinothéque 1999 and they are nearly sixteen thousand euros per bottle. I drank so much of it, because I was thinking this isn’t even really a wedding. I don’t even know what to think or feel about it, so instead of doing either of the two, I just drank.
The only time I did enjoy sipping on something was when I had a taste of her in the garden. Then, I started to wonder what every inch of her body tasted like, making me drink even more.
I have to constantly remind myself that curiosity killed the cat. I’m only twenty-eight and too young to die.
Especially by pussy.
I can see my gravestone now. Papá will laugh, claiming what he constantly says, that I’m useless and should never have been born. The only two people I can sincerely say love me are both mi abuela and Lucas. They are the only ones that really care.
“What? You think I’m so innocent that I don’t drink alcohol?”
Yes!I think to myself, but I don’t share it with her. It sounds as if she’s ready to mock me about the idea.
“Another!” she snaps.
So, she’s an angry drunk. Who would have thought? Maybe tonight won’t go the way I planned after tasting her pussy in the garden, I’d hoped that we would go to the suite and have some fun. I pour and hand her another shot.
“Make quickly them.” Then she starts to laugh. “You right. My English is bad.”
I don’t say a word as I watch her twist in her seat. Even though the driver hasn’t turned a corner, she clearly feels as if something’s spinning.
“Oh, can’t you drive properly?” she demands at the driver, then touches her head as if she’s looking for a crown.
“My veil. Someone stole my veil, Diego. Go kill them. The thief.”
“Find it?” I correct her, amused.
“No. Kill them. Stealing from a married woman. Who does that on their wedding day?”
