Chapter 6 Riding in the “Imperial Boozer Cruiser”
Riding in the “Imperial Boozer Cruiser”
Coco
Loren and I look at the monster in front of us, and we’re a little freaked.
I don’t even bother to hide it; he does.
We put our hands on our hips at the same time, pretending like we know what we’re doing.
In front of us, the mammoth structure gleams in the summer morning sunshine.
There’s barely any breeze, and it feels muggy.
A hellish day is coming. I hope the air-conditioning works.
So far this summer has been the hottest of my entire life.
Hundreds, but I don’t say that. I slipped into a deep coma after he explained how the bathroom works and how to empty it.
Loren looks at me under cover of his sunglasses as he says we understand.
I flash him a smile right as he starts to laugh riotously.
And beware of Loren’s laugh—it’s more contagious than the flu.
No, we don’t think it’s funny. It’s just all we can do so we don’t lose our shit. This is going to be more complicated than we thought.
“Are you stuck on the toilet part?” he asks us with a smile.
“A little,” I admit.
“It’s nothing. Really. It’s much easier than it seems. So who’s driving?”
“Both of us,” Loren rushes to say.
“Him,” I answer. There’s no way I can control something that big without mowing down everything that crosses my path, like in an action movie chase.
He hands the keys to Loren.
“Well, that’s everything. It’s all yours. I’m sure you’re going to have an amazing experience. You’ll see. You’re going to come back in love.”
* * *
We both climb up into the camper and study it in silence.
It’s very pretty and incredibly well equipped.
I never thought an RV could have this many amenities.
Kitchen, living room, bunk bed, double bed…
Everything the perfect size to make the most use out of the space.
I open the fridge, the cupboards in the “kitchen.” I sit at the little table and smile excitedly; if I ever get married, I want my bachelorette party to be exactly like this.
“Imagine us all sitting here, eating,” I say and immediately get the feeling I sound like a little girl playing house.
“It’ll be so cute. We’ll eat on the patio, under the pop-out awning.”
“We don’t have a table or chairs for the patio, but sounds good.”
“Minor details.”
“We have to christen it.”
“The Death Star,” Loren says sadistically.
“Can’t it be something a little gentler? Something that doesn’t mention death, if possible. The…Millennium Falcon, if you want.”
“The Millennium Alcohol, boom.”
Loren settles in the driver’s seat with a smile and focuses on connecting his phone to Bluetooth.
He’s made a bunch of themed Spotify playlists for the trip, and I’m pleasantly surprised when I glance at them.
I figured Aroa would be in charge of that, but we didn’t want to put that on her plate too.
To tell the truth, since she and Marín announced their breakup, we’ve been scared to even sneeze around her, and I think she’s used to it.
I don’t want to bring it up, but she hasn’t lifted a finger to help us organize any of this.
Since we haven’t seen her shed a single tear, we’re spoiling her, trying to avoid the day all that self-control explodes.
“Do you know how to drive this hunk of junk?” I ask, when I hear Karol G.’s latest track playing.
“Of course,” he says tersely, which means he really doesn’t have it down.
“The steering wheel is like a bus. How do you see to turn it? What’s the highest speed it can get to? Do you know how to park it? Do you remember how everything works with the lights and the water? We can’t let Blanca drive; she’s gonna want to. We’ll never get the deposit back. I don’t wanna die.”
Loren sighs and turns around to look at me. He smiles, and I do too.
“If you don’t shut up, I’m sticking you in the fridge until you suffocate, and then I’ll chuck you into the first ditch we come across.”
* * *
Aroa is waiting for us outside Loren’s parents’ bar when we pull up yelling and honking the horn.
The whole street is staring at us, plus everyone sitting on their balconies, but we roll down the window and put on a display that a discreet person or anyone over the age of fourteen wouldn’t dream of.
Loren’s dad comes out of the bar armed with a frying pan, which I know from experience can shut us up. We immediately turn down the music.
“You morons!” Aroa cracks up. “You couldn’t find a bigger one?”
“You know I like it with a little junk in the trunk!” I reply.
“Dad!” Loren yells as he climbs out. “Give me plastic chairs!”
“Where would I get those from?”
“From the goddamn terrace? And a table! The big foldout ones.”
“Oh, of course! So when people come to have a beer I’ll just have them sit on my lap, huh? You couldn’t be more of an asshole if you tried.”
Aroa and I flash each other a smile. We’re used to the way Loren and his dad communicate.
“Is all your stuff in there?” I point at the backpack resting at her feet.
“Yeah. Except my sleeping bag.” She turns halfway around to show me the roll strapped to her back.
I take her around to the luggage compartment and open it so she can put her stuff in.
She’s wearing her blond hair pulled back in a loose braid, hanging over one shoulder; an oversize black T-shirt; and jean shorts that show off her bronzed legs.
On her feet, she’s wearing old boots she must be boiling in.
I look down at my black V-neck cotton jumpsuit and my Converse that are still just as dirty as how I found them under my bed.
“I’m super excited about the bachelorette trip,” I admit.
“Come on, girl. We’re not exactly going to Tomorrowland.”
“But it’s Blanca’s bachelorette trip.”
“Um…right. Yeah.”
But she doesn’t sound very convinced. I don’t know why, but something feels off here. Still, I keep my mouth shut and fake it.
“Hey, Coco… Did Marín leave yet?”
“Yes.” I pretend not to care while I look for the streamers we’re going to use to decorate the camper. “When I woke up, he was gone already. He left me a note on the kitchen counter saying he wouldn’t be back again before I left.”
Should I tell her he’s coming to the campsite in Torrevieja on Wednesday? Or would that give her time to prepare, make herself even more stunning and make him fall in love with her forever?
“I think we’re going to see him in Torrevieja. He has a gig there…”
Aroa doesn’t let me finish. She grabs my waist, spins me around a few times, and picks me up, thrilled.
“Ah! It’s destiny! This is a sign, Coco. This is the universe, bringing us together in Torrevieja. On the beach. The beach is our place. Any beach. Just the beach, in general. On our first trip together we made love on the beach, you know? And I came three times!”
I bite my tongue just before I say what I’m thinking: “Well, you know, it’s kinda uncomfortable…
with all that sand.” It’s not like I haven’t had time to accept that Aroa and Marín were sleeping together.
When they started doing it, it didn’t bother me in the slightest. I still remember Loren and me stifling our laughter as they really went at it one Sunday in Marín’s bedroom.
I had to admit I was head over heels with Marín when the mere mention of him having sex gave me reflux.
“Coco!” Aroa exclaims, still thrilled. “You look like a guppy!”
“It must be love. It’s in the air,” I grumble.
The fact that she only seems excited about this bachelorette party after Marín’s name came up makes my morale fall a little.
Aren’t we supposed to be friends? I don’t know if it’s her or me—lately I’ve been so sensitive—but it makes me realize that, at some point, I must have become Marín’s roommate to her and nothing more.
“Come on.” She elbows me gently and smiles sweetly. “The Gus thing…”
I zone out as soon as I hear his name. What a nightmare.
“Did you see his poem today?” she interrupts herself. “Really intense. I mean… Blanca would kill me if she heard me say anything like this to you… But I think he’s still hung up on you.”
I furrow my brow. Too much information in one measly sentence.
“Look…”
Aroa pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her shorts and scrolls through Instagram until she finds the post of the day on Gus’s profile and holds the device out to me. With all the excitement of going to pick up the RV, I hadn’t even remembered to look.
The first thing I see is his face, and that’s rare.
He doesn’t usually publish his poems with photos of himself, but there he is.
With his neat beard, his round eyes, the shadow of chest hair peeking out from the neck of his shirt.
I feel nothing when I see him, even though I know he looks good; I’m sure the 320 comments the post has already gotten are people who all think the same thing.
“The poem…” Aroa gestures at it, obviously thinking I’m so enraptured looking at him.
I’ll get over it, I promise.
I just need a minute.
To breathe.
To close my eyes.
To swallow.
To stop yearning.
To stop smelling you when you’re not here.
To banish your name, every version of it.
To tear your laughter from my head
and a winter from my skin.
Don’t worry, you go ahead.
Let me feel like crap for a minute.
Let me cry for you,
feel pain,
miss what I missed before.
I just have to chew on my rage,
shame,
memory,
the lie,
that we made ourselves believe,
about what we were,
or were not.
I’m getting over it already.
I promise.
I gape at Aroa, and she nods smugly.
“Totally still sprung.”
Okay, okay, okay. Calm down. Read it again. To stop yearning, smelling, your name, your laugh, a winter, having pain, memory, what we were.
“No way,” I say nervously.
“Coco, why don’t you message him and tell him to try to come on Wednesday? The Wednesday of love!”
“The Wednesday of what?”
Loren comes toward us, schlepping two plastic chairs that look like they came from the bar storage room.
“Wait, I’ll help you.”
“No, no.” He drops them on the ground. “Tell me about this Wednesday of love.”
“Marín’s coming to see us in Torrevieja on Wednesday.” Aroa claps excitedly. “And Gus is still in love with Coco. Look.”
She snatches her phone out of my hand and gives it to Loren, who reads the poem.
“I hate poetry.” He sighs, but he keeps flicking his gaze between the screen and my face, following what he’s reading. “This…yeah. Well. Nothing new. Gus is a bummer.”
“He’s not a bummer!” Aroa exclaims. “He’s in love!”
“He’s a poet,” I add, stealing the phone again to read it one more time.
“But Coco… You’re not over him and…look. He’s not either. Loren, get ready to spend the night under the Valencian moon because this”—she gives the “Millennium Alcohol” a few pats—“is going to become a love boat.”
Aroa’s hopping toward the bar like the light-filled being she is.
“Do you know anything about this?” I ask Loren, Aroa’s phone still in my hand.
“No.”
I stare at him. His mouth says no; his eyes say: Don’t ask me anything else.
“Are you gonna make this a problem?”
“You’re going to make this a problem yourself with all these lies. You should at least tell Blanca,” he whispers seriously. “I’ve been telling you that for months. Faking being in love with Gus so no one suspects you’re dying for Marín is not a good idea.”
“Is Gus in love?”
“What do you care at this point?”
“Just so I know if he’s gonna…”
“Now you’re gonna play this movie? Coco, please, the four of us are going to be trapped in this RV together for a week.”
* * *
I don’t really get what his last comment is supposed to mean, but before I can ask him, his dad shows up with Aroa, who’s happily toting two bottles of wine.
“Go on, sit down. I donated some red rations,” Jose says.
“Dad, we have to go shopping!”
“Shopping, shopping, shopping…just take the wine and get out of here. ”