“Well, I don’t know that much about him, really.” Not because my nosy ass hadn’t tried. “But he’s a psychologist—cultural psychology, actually. He’s looking into how colonization impacts the collective psyche.” Her eyes widened with genuine interest. “He’s really into Frantz Fanon.”

She really perked up at that. This was the type of stuff she loved. “Whoa, that’s some majorly woke shit right there. That is interesting. A bit intense, but hey.” She lifted a shoulder and gulped from her huge mug. “You don’t mind intense.”

“I don’t, and he is kind of intense, not in a bad way though. We were listening to some music on the drive and he got incredibly deep about ‘Poison & Wine’ by the Civil Wars. I mean, all of their songs are like, life-or-death good, but still.”

Luce made a sound of approval and nodded. “Yep, they’re bomb.” Then her face got all sad. “I still get bummed out when I think about them breaking up.”

“Yeah.” I sighed, and for some incomprehensible reason, asked the last thing I should be asking. “So, have you heard from Miguel?”

This was not a question that would go over well. I averted my eyes to a spot over her head as soon as the words came out of my mouth. I knew Lucía had him on her shit list forever and would (a) not pick up the phone if he did call, and (b) not tell me because she knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

The eye roll and growl she proffered confirmed I knew exactly who I was dealing with. “That come mierda knows not to dial my number. God, just thinking of that fuckface makes me mad.” She ran her tongue over her front teeth, probably envisioning throat punching him, and crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s he gonna call me for? Besides, I assume he’s too busy planning his country club wedding in Santo Domingo with that skank he’s engaged to.”

“Come on, Luce,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “We don’t really know she’s a skank.”

“Whatever. He’s an asshole and I’m glad you’re like, twenty countries away and getting all that drama out of your system. You deserve someone who worships and sees you and your beautiful heart. Not that trifling asshole.” She twisted her mouth to the side, like even the thought of him left a bad taste. “No dick is that good.”

I groaned at that hard truth. “Agreed. His wasn’t, at least. And you just say that because I’m your favorite.”

“You better believe it.” Her expression was a mix of affection and worry. I knew she thought I’d spend the entire time I was here moping about Miguel. But it all seemed so distant now. Maybe he’d been right, and none of it had been that deep after all.