Page 89 of That Last Summer

“I’m not pregnant, you idiot.”

“Good,” her father added.

“Dad!” Pris exclaimed.

And River said, “It’d be fucking unbelievable if you got pregnant after all the lectures we’ve given you.”

Okay, that was true. Embarrassing, but true. The first one to give her the talk was Marcos, he was the most concerned about his little sister’s sexual safety, to the point that he offered her some condoms—he also offered them to Adrián, but that’s a story for another time; then came Adrián, Hugo, River, and Dad, in that order. Then finally, the only good and useful talk: Mom’s.

“Everybody, relax,” Alex said, raising his hands. “We always use protection.”

Dad’s spoon fell onto his plate.

Mom’s, into her lap.

River’s froze halfway between the plate and his mouth.

Marcos’ hung halfway out of his mouth and Hugo’s just tumbled out, pumpkin pie included.

Adrián hadn’t picked his up yet, thank God.

Priscila didn’t even know where hers was, and Alex just wanted to crawl under the table, but he decided the best way through this was just to get it out, tell it straight. Just like—

“We’re getting married!”

“Who?” four of them asked in unison.

“We are.” Priscila’s eyes were the brightest ever.

“No, you can’t!” River shouted. “When? Because I’m getting married in three months.”

“Fuck...”

Luckily all the spoons were on the table this time, because in just a few seconds a small civil war broke out amongst them. Attacks came from everywhere, aimed at both sides—the Cabanas’ firstborn and the youngest of the family.

The former was accused of being hasty—he was twenty-nine years old, and he had just thrown in the towel in the middle of the selective tests for the National Police, something that nobody in the family understood. Also, he had barely been dating the girl in question for a month. That had to be considered. It was crazy.

The latter was called hasty too, irresponsible, dumb, immature... and a few other choice adjectives. Every objection boiled down to just one thing: she was too young, she hadn’t even finished university. She defended herself tooth and nail—backed by the neighbor from the house across the street, of course—claiming, among other things, that they wouldn’t get married until next year when Priscila had finished her studies. But no one listened.

It didn’t really matter, though. River and Priscila were both adults. They could make their own decisions, no matter how crazy those decisions seemed.

When their parents went to bed, probably hoping for a better and easier tomorrow, the Cabana siblings—and Alex—continued the battle, focusing now only on the younger ones. The eldest had been given up as a lost cause.

“I don’t get it. You’re twenty-one!” Adrián said, over and over. And over. And over... glaring continuously at the neighbor from the house across the street, eyes full of censure and dislike.

“I’ll be twenty-two in six days!” was Priscila’s answer, again and again. And again. And again...

“Fuck...”

Fuck had been Marcos’ only contribution for a while now.

“There’s no need!” Adrián insisted.

“We’re not doing it out of necessity.”

“Then why?”

“Because we love each other.”