Page 58 of That Last Summer

Although being with Priscila was getting dangerously close to that too.

And in just one night

I’ve already decided on a plan of action for the rest of my stay in town: avoid Alex like the plague. My mantra must remain the same: return to Boston and continue with my (almost) perfect, happy life. If I have to dodge my husband for the next eleven and a half weeks, so be it. I want to keep seeing my life in black and white; seeing it in color is too dangerous.

I haven’t run into Alex for a week. Which means I haven’t left this neighborhood for a week. Worse, even. I haven’t left my parents’ house. On Wednesday I ventured out to the swimming pool for a quick dip, but the rest of the days I’ve spent on work and family, at home. My boss is delighted with the comic strips we’ve sent him. I guess I needed this detox. Of course, I have the scent of my mom’s coffee so deep inside me that it’s as if she had injected it directly into my veins.

But today, after seven days shut in, my brothers and Jaime have convinced me to attend the grand opening of the beach bar. It’s just a wooden stand anchored in the sand where you can have drinks and snacks—crisps and olives, that’s all—in the open air but we love it. The City Council shuts it down once a year, at least, but it always reopens just a few months later. I think this could easily be my twelfth opening.

“Is Alex coming?” I asked Hugo when they suggested I come with them. The organizers—some friends of my brother who somehow magically manage to obtain the license again and again—needed a guest list to work out how much alcohol and ice they’d need—how many olives too, I guess—so I needed to make up my mind on the spot.

“Pris, don’t be such a baby.”

“Okaaaay... But is he?”

“I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s not. Alex isn’t much of a party-er, but you already know that.”

Hmm... I wasn’t that comfortable with the probabilities, but I took my chance on that zero point one percent.

“Okay, I’m on board then.”

I grab the pink feather purse that matches perfectly with my dress and hurry out of my bedroom; it’s a bit late and Marcos has yelled at me four times already. Maybe five, even.

“I’m ready!” I announce as I enter the living room; they’re all there, waiting for me.

“You look gorgeous,” Jaime says, adjusting the ornament on my head.

It’s a pink ribbon, Charleston style, with a giant bow on the right. This is my response to what Alex said about me being ridiculous because of my shoes. I’m not ridiculous, it’s the way I dress and I like it, so if he thought I was ridiculous at the last party, at this one I’m going even bigger, even if he won’t be there to see it. I’m doing it for me—just for me. I’m wearing flat shoes though; we’re heading to the beach on foot and that means we’ll have to walk up again with a few drinks on board.

It takes us twenty-five minutes to get to the beach. We walk down the slope to town—Hugo, Marcos, Adrián, Jaime and I—without haste, laughing and sharing Cabana shenanigans with Jaime, who loves our stories. Now that I think about it, Hugo’s spending a lot of time at home lately, considering he has his own place. I guess he’s missed me more than I thought. We’re supposed to meet the others—Alicia, River and Catalina—at the beach bar, so Hugo could have gone straight there, but instead he came up to my parents’ first to be with us. He’s a sweetheart.

I’m happy and everything’s fine until I get to the beach bar. As soon as I put one foot on the sand, I see him—it takes me less than a second. That’s how long my peace of mind lasts. Not even one second.

I glare at Hugo. “Ninety-nine point nine percent, huh?”

“Blame it on statistics, not on me,” says my brother in his own defense—a poor defense, if you ask me.

Then, catching sight of his friends, Hugo heads to the heart of the party. Marcos splits off too, leaving Adrián, Jaime and me and going straight to Alex, kissing his girlfriend on his way. My gaze finds Alex’s as he sees my brother’s approach and directs his eyes toward Marcos’ starting point. Alex’s eyes widen—surprise, I suppose—when he spots me. Was he not expecting me either? Or is it because of my dress? It’s quite low-cut at the front, with a deep V-neck, but my breasts are completely covered. It’s backless, my skin is fully exposed down to the small of my back, but my butt isn’t on display either. It’s a pretty standard going out outfit—for Boston at least—but maybe it’s too much for this town? Gah, I’d rather not know why Alex is looking at me like that.

I let myself be enveloped, for a few moments, in the music playing through the speakers: Roxette’s “Spending My Time.” How appropriate. I wonder if the songs we identify with play at the precise moment we need them to, or the other way round: we need the songs we hear to identify with us, be ours somehow.

Jaime moves in front of me, demanding my attention, snapping his fingers in my face, and I emerge from my reverie.

“I’m going to the bar to order something. What can I get you blondes?”

“Rum and Coke for me,” Adrián says, barely looking at him. He’s scanning the crowd for someone. One of his friends, I guess.

“I... um...” It takes me a moment to decide. I’m just not sure.

“Call it a lucky guess but I don’t think they serve our usual Manhattan Beach,” Jaime says. That’s our regular order in Boston, but this is... not that kind of establishment.

“I’ll have a craft beer.”

“A craft beer?”

“Yes.”

“You’re hilarious. Having a beer while dressed like an actress from the 20’s. Talk about incongruous. I’ll be right back.”