Page 152 of That Last Summer

Okay. All right, here I go. Oh my God.

“I object!” I yell as I jump to my feet.

“Fuck, Priscila, more tact, dammit,” Alex whispers, standing up next to me.

“I’m stopping a wedding, how can I do that tactfully?”

“How the hell do I know! But I’m sure yelling ‘I object!’ is not the way.”

“Priscila?” Oh-oh, that’s the priest. The village priest, who’s known me since I was still in diapers. And he’s talking to me. “Priscila?” he insists. “Do you have something to say?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes, I do.”

I step out into the aisle and walk towards the altar. The groom’s face is indecipherable, a poem of conflicting feelings, and I don’t even look at the guests, I don’t dare to. I feel the murmurs, the looks, the questions around me, and I have to make a titanic effort to try and detach myself from it. I just avert my eyes from the altar to make eye contact with my brothers—the three of them are sitting in the front row, next to Jaime and Dad—and silently ask them to stay out of it for the moment; I don’t want to overwhelm Marcos. This is a decision he needs to make alone, and it won’t be easy.

“What is that woman saying?”

“She’s the groom’s little sister. The one who went to Boston.”

“The one who married the swimmer.”

“Yes, St. Claire.”

“Isn’t he the one walking at her side?”

“What’s she going to do?”

“She’s got balls!”

“This wedding cannot be celebrated,” I announce when I reach the bride and groom. “Not without me talking to my brother first.”

“Priscila, what are you doing?” Mom asks.

“Marc...” I plead.

“Pris, what the hell are you doing?” My brother looks horrified. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before.

“Priscila, you’re scaring me,” Alicia says at the same time. “What’s the matter with you?”

I have to ignore it all or I won’t be able to get through this.

“Marc, you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to get married today; you can come with me now and everything will be fine.”

“Pris,” Alicia says. “Pris, no. Please. Don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, turning to face her.

“Don’t, please.”

“Marcos,” I continue, “we’ll support you no matter what. There’s nothing wrong with leaving now. Your whole family will be with you.”

“Priscila, please, stop,” Alicia implores.

“What’s going on here?” Alicia’s parents jump into the conversation. Her father grabs me rudely by the arm. “How dare you do something like this?”

Dad walks over to help me, to push the man’s hand off my arm, and they start to argue.

“Marc, ignore them.” I cup his face and lock my eyes on his. “Just look at me. Look at me and tell me you’re sure of what you’re about to do, and I’ll leave you alone.”