Page 40 of That Last Summer

“I thought I saw your idiot husband a few minutes ago, by the way.”

“He’s not my husband.”

But I am an idiot? Fucking perfect...

“Where is he now?”

“What does it matter?”

“Well, it does. I want to pay him back—for being an asshole the other day, you know—but I’m torn: tip my beer over him, or slash his tires. What do you think? Pris? Pris!”

“What?”

“Stop staring at the Braves and answer me. What would bother your neighbor the most? Beer all over him or flat tires?”

I wait.

I want to know her answer, I can even feel the black aura coming out of my body. Come on, Priscila. What are you going to say?

“Why choose just one?”

“That’s my girl. Oh, look, there he is,” he says, finally turning his gaze and finding me right in front of them. “Look at him, leaning against the wall in that thuggish pose. Wait. Why is he looking at us like that?”

“Oh shit,” my wife exclaims as soon as she realizes I’m listening—and, of course, understanding.

“Exactly, Queen of the Desert. Oh shit,” I say, moving closer.

I’m not even trying to hide my bad mood. I don’t like her presence, I don’t like her friend, and I don’t like her ridiculous shoes.

“He understood us,” Priscila says to her asshole friend.

“Fuck.”

“Didn’t your friend here tell you we all grew up together?” I ask him.

The guy looks at me over his shoulder, not bothering to hide his dislike.

“We don’t talk about you.”

Sure you don’t.

“Stay away from me and stay away from my car,” I warn him. And to her, I add, “You look ridiculous in those shoes, by the way.”

“But they’re... they’re... like my usual ones,” she stammers, confused.

“Are they? Well, they’re ridiculous.”

“Then I’ve always been ridiculous,” she says, defiance in her voice.

“I guess so.”

I shrug and leave them there. I don’t ask Priscila about the jellyfish stings. I don’t care.

“Shit. I didn’t see fucking I’ve-known-you-since-you-were-five St. Claire,” I hear as I walk away.

I knew it. She told him about me.

I look around for Marc and, when I spot him, I go over and greet him with a pat on the back. I talk to him and his girlfriend about this thing they’ve organized tonight. Why the hell do they have to set up all this when they’ve already told us they’re getting married and that we’re invited? I don’t get it. Alicia tries to convince me that it’s a necessary step in the wedding planning until she disappears, pulled away by a bunch of her friends. Marc and I are left alone and our eyes go to the same thing: his sister. But, for the record, I only look at her because she’s moved into my range of vision.