Page 42 of That Last Summer

“What happened?” Alicia asks him.

“A cat. It fell—seven floors.”

“Oh, fuck. Is it okay?”

“I don’t know yet, everything sounds fine, but I need to check. I have to go, guys. Say my goodbyes to River!” he yells over his shoulder, already on his way to the door.

River. River was one of the few Cabanas left, but I lost sight of him a few minutes ago. I guess he’s still around, it’s not like him to leave without saying goodbye, but I have no fucking idea where...

“You’re an asshole, River Cabana!”

“Stop insulting me, for fuck sake!”

The yelling startles us all. We turn to the back door—the emergency door—and there he is, the missing Cabana, with his wife. Those two never got along, but lately things have gotten worse. I know I’m in no place to criticize other people’s marriages, though. I have enough going on with my own.

River comes towards us red with fury and Catalina is right after him, like a cyclone threatening to destroy everything.

“Asshole isn’t an insult! In your case, it’s a way of living, and you know what?”

“Yes, yes, I know, you don’t need to say it! I’m sleeping on the fucking couch, right?”

They pass us like an exhalation, barely looking our way.

“Since they got married he’s slept more on that sofa than in their bed,” Marc whispers to Alicia and me. But he’s not quiet enough; River stops, turns around and points a finger at his brother. He gives him a look that scares the shit out of me. Usually, River has a pretty decent temperament. Until you piss him off. Then, he explodes. Big time.

“On the couch, on the roof, wherever the hell you want. Just don’t come near me.”

They leave the bar between shouting and door-slamming. Hers first, then River’s.

“Well,” I say. “I think this party has nothing else to offer.”

I say goodbye to the bride and groom, patting Marc on his shoulder by way of encouragement. He looks tired, but there are still guests left and they’re all claiming his attention. That sucks, because tomorrow is a workday. I tell him we’ll meet for breakfast in a few hours and leave the place eagerly. It’s two in the morning and I’m a homely guy. I just want to go home.

I walk to my car, suspicious I must confess. I’m half-expecting the asshole has done something to my tires. He and Priscila left a while ago with Adrián, who was pretty plastered. Seriously, that surprised the hell out of me. It’s not like Adrián to get wasted like that, and tonight he’s been fucking drunk. He even lost his car keys somewhere in the pub and, despite the fact one of his friends insisted on driving the three of them home, the youngest of the Cabanas told everyone he needed some fresh air. He’d return for his car the next day.

After checking my wheels are in perfect condition, I jump into my Jeep and head home.

It’s already early morning, but you can still see people on the street, walking or having a drink on the terraces of the still-open ice cream parlors.

It’s smothering hot, so I roll down my window to let some breeze into the car, and I’m about to turn at the roundabout towards my house when I see them: Priscila, Adrián and the other. They’re on the road, a few feet from the slope that goes to my parents’ and the Cabanas’ residential area. I ignore them, continuing on my way, but something makes me go back. It isn’t Priscila—it’s Adrián. I drive up to where they’re standing and stop the car in front of them.

“Hey!”

Priscila and her friend turn around in surprise.

“Alex?” she asks.

“Fuck! Look who’s here! The ball-busting neighbor!”

“Is he okay?” I ask Priscila, referring to her brother and ignoring the asshole friend.

“I think so, yeah.”

“He’s just drunk,” the fucking friend tosses in, as if I’d asked for his opinion.

“Shit,” Adrián says, looking up at the hill in front of them, “I forgot how hellish this fucking slope was.”

“I didn’t. And I don’t know why I let myself be convinced to walk home.” The friend, again.