Page 8 of That Last Summer

“Who’s who?”

“The redhead you’re glaring at as if she’s the devil herself.”

“She—” I say, emphasizing the word, “is the woman who slept with my husband while we were still married. Or long before, maybe, I really don’t know.”

Jaime looks at me, shocked by my confession. I can’t speak so my eyes do it for me, and they’re saying Yes, my friend, Alex cheated on me and it’s killing me saying it out loud, so please, please, don’t make me talk about it.

“He cheated on you with that chick?” he asks in bewilderment.

“Yes, why are you so puzzled?”

“How old is the neighbor-slash-lifeguard?”

“Same as you.”

“Twenty-nine?”

“Yes, twenty-nine, why?”

“Because that chick is at least ten years older than us.”

“So?”

“Nothing... I just thought it was weird. Four years ago she was completely out of your husband’s league, he was a fucking kid.”

“Alex at twenty-five was pretty hot.”

Let’s call a spade a spade.

“I figure.”

“She was his older brother’s girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?”

“The redhead. She was John’s lifelong girlfriend. John is Alex’s older brother, and he is indeed ten years older. You were pretty accurate there, huh?”

“Wait... Let me rewind for a moment, I just realized... Twenty-five you said? How old were you when you got married?”

“Almost twenty-three.”

“Fuck, twenty-two years old! Did you get pregnant or something?”

“Of course not, you idiot!”

At that precise moment—thanks to her Underworld powers, I guess—the aforementioned redhead looks up toward the door, to where Jaime and I are sitting. She looks at me, I look at her, but we don’t share a single word. She talks though, just not to me; she welcomes the newcomer who’s crossing the threshold right then.

“Alex! Here!”

I choke on my ice cream. Alex? I don’t need to turn around to know which Alex she’s talking to. Oh. My. God. Are they still together? I can’t look up, I can’t! I feel the thumping of my heart in my ears, in my temples, everywhere except where it should be. I even touch my chest to make sure it’s still there. Okay, okay, everything’s all right. I can look up now. I’m over it. It is true that, years ago, I imagined them breaking up in a thousand different ways, each more painful and bizarre than the last. It made me feel better.

I raise my eyes just in time to see Alex walking right in front of us. He doesn’t look in our direction, not even a sidelong glance. But I do look at him, following him with my gaze, my eyes fixed on his legs, stuffed into dark jeans; the same lean, mile-long legs I remember. Why this need to analyze him from head to toe? Am I trying to determine what’s changed, or am I checking out what remains?

He stops before his lover, greeting her with two warm kisses on her cheeks. Shit. I should have ordered a beer. Or twenty. Or maybe not, because my stomach is churning like hell, bile navigating freely around my insides, a very ugly flutter in my heart. What a reaction, considering I’m over it... And what about the two kisses on her cheeks?

“Aww, look at them, so cute and demure, sons of—” I correct myself before finishing that sentence. “The Underworld.”

“That’s right, Cabana, don’t be shy.”