Chapter Twenty-one - A.J. #2
I’m not even tired, but I need to sleep. I don’t want to look like a psycho—or a jealous older brother—waiting up for Alexandra in the living room.
Still, I don’t sleep a wink.
Ever since Alex told me I should start writing again, a melody with no lyrics has been looping in my head, begging to be heard, begging for words.
But I don’t do that anymore.
Not alone, at least.
I check DMs, read emails, answer pending messages, scroll through Instagram, even reply to some comments, something I haven’t done in months, but who am I kidding? I didn’t open the app for myself. I opened it for her.
Who had dinner alone at Cipriani, posted a picture in Central Park an hour later, and made a Boomerang in the middle of Times Square, with the coat, leaving only her heels and hair visible.
And somehow — in a way I don’t even understand — I find myself thinking that, wherever she is, her mother must be smiling. Watching her girl cross off one of the impossible dreams they once stitched together
***
The impatient trembling of my legs finally stops at 10:38 when Alexandra’s bedroom door opens. Letting out a slow breath, I lift my head from my hands and take my elbow off the marble, then step down from the island counter.
I turn on the kettle on the sink and take the cheese, salami, and cream cheese out of the fridge, ignoring the anxiety of seeing Alexandra. I keep staring at the carton of milk for a few seconds until her footsteps become more audible.
“Good morning,” she says cheerfully, and I turn just in time to see her face drop and twist into a grimace. “Oh my God, A.J., don’t you own clothes?”
“You’ve seen me in boxers tons of times, come on, this is like shorts.” I force myself to joke, even though I’m studying every little inch of her.
As if something last night could’ve happened to take her away from me.
From here. Take her from here .
“Doesn’t matter, it’s freezing.” She points at herself, wearing a coat over her pajamas.
“I already told you, you just need to adjust…” I leave the milk carton on the island and close the fridge door before walking toward the wall on the other side of the kitchen and turning up the temperature on the display. “And do this!”
“This thing only goes up to twenty-seven degrees.” She waves my comment away with her hand and sits in front of one of the plates on the island. “I used to fake being sick to skip school when it was this cold, you know?”
I stare at her with my mouth hanging open, then focus back on breakfast.
“I love getting to know your diva side,” I comment, grabbing the brioche from the cupboard and placing them on the island.
Alex shoots me a look that could kill but says nothing.
She grabs the brioche and begins slicing it in silence, her movements precise and mechanical.
I turn to the microwave to heat the milk.
When the kettle hisses behind me, I pour boiling water into the French press, the scent of coffee filling the kitchen like a truce we’re not ready to declare.
Alexandra doesn’t speak, but I feel her eyes on me as she slips off the stool and disappears behind the cupboard door, returning with a roll of paper towels like it’s the most important task in the world.
We sit — almost at the same time — plates between us like a border. I reach for my coffee first, adding sugar and taking a careful sip. She doesn’t flinch. Just pours a splash of milk into her cup and drinks it with the taste of death that only unsweetened coffee can give.
“So… did you enjoy last night?” I ask as I grab a paper towel, and she smiles, knowing she taught me how to use napkins, but also because of the night.
“I loved it! I love going out with you, of course. But we never went out at night, and I thought it was amazing to understand why they call this place the city that never sleeps.”
“I failed you, sorry. But what did you do?” I grab my sandwich and watch Alexandra ’s eyes light up with the memories.
“The bucket list with mom had some of her dreams, some of mine, and some of ours. Like I told you, New York was on the list.” She reminds me, with a huge smile.
“Of course, we could visit this place, but we were addicted to rom-coms and wanted to spend time here… And it seemed impossible because of all the commitments with work, study, and everything else.”
“I’m happy for that, you know? Even though I’ve never lost someone that close, I imagine it’s like losing our real pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
” Alex nods with a serene smile on her lips and I touch her hand.
“Hearing you talk about last night is special because, besides seeing you fulfilled, your mom also got to live that moment through you.”
“She’s not here, A.J.” Alexandra swallows hard, looking away for a fraction of a second, and pulls her hand away from mine.
I hold her fingers and lift her chin with my free hand. We stare at each other for a few seconds. Her eyes speak a river of tears, but I’m not going to let her shed them, not because of this.
“She’s in you,” I say, touching her shoulder. “She’s your mother, flesh and blood you carry. You are part of the legacy she left, but she’s also part of you,” I assure her, because it’s true.
A girl living such a huge opportunity, but with her mind set on fulfilling the dreams she shared with her mother, deserves much more than a “She’s happy somewhere.”
Alexandra doesn’t reply, she just jumps off the stool and comes up to me, hugging me from behind. Her head rests on my back, and her arms squeeze me so tightly that all I want to do is hug her back.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I gently peel her hands off me, already moving to pull her into a real hug — but she slips away before I can, gliding back to her seat at the island like nothing happened.
“You know, A.J., you were right and I was wrong,” she hums, this time with a mischievous laugh, tearing into the brioche like she hadn’t just emotionally ambushed me.
I narrow my eyes, still catching up.
“Right? About what?”
“Remember when you said I judged a great classic book by its cheesy cover?”
“And you accused me of being a best-seller of questionable quality?” I ask, with accusation in my voice.
“I said the cover was cute!” she argues, and I toss my hair to the side, signaling for her to continue. “Actually, you’re a classic. A contemporary classic,” she adds, as soon as my smile opens. “But with a beautiful cover and really good content.”
“A beautiful cover, huh?”
“No teasing, I… I don’t talk much about myself, and I don’t open up much. Thank you for being someone I feel safe talking to.” I watch her, thinking that we talk all the time, and she quickly adds, “About me, I mean.”
And that just flips the switch. Because, like she said, trust doesn’t come easy for Alex. Maybe it’s not even something she’s used to. So hearing her say I’m a safe place… it makes me want to be honest.
The kind of honest I can’t even be with the boys.
“I like listening to you. Even if you think I’m just some smooth-talking flirt…
the truth is, I became that guy because people got superficial.
” I shrug, and she laughs, saying it can’t only be everyone else’s fault.
“It’s not. But social media, fame – they mess with things.
It’s easier to just cut to the chase from city to city than to try and build something real.
” I pause. “But it’s different with you. ”
“Really?” She blinks twice, a hint of a proud smile on her face. And I nod.
“I like you.”, I say before I can stop myself, and her eyebrows shoot up. “I mean – I like listening to you,” I add quickly.
And maybe I shouldn’t have. Because I do like her.
Even if I’m still not sure what that really means yet.
We try to get back to our coffee, but almost spit it out. It’s cold, obviously it would be. Alexandra hops off the stool and heads to the fridge.
“The tour won’t change much, because we’ll still be back here, and there’s the break for Christmas.
But I was thinking: Since we’re going to Guilherme’s tomorrow, and Saturday we’re back on stage, we could do something together today, after packing our bags and all that,” she suggests, still staring at the fridge, in an almost embarrassed tone.
As if we hadn’t done something together every day since she arrived. “Got any suggestions?”
The doorbell interrupts her, and she looks at me confused.
“Surprise me. I’ll like anything, as long as it’s with you,” I tell her, already heading to answer the door. “I’ll just need...” – I glance at the Alexa display in the living room – “two hours.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in two hours.”
I open the door, and the second I see Brittany, my whole body relaxes.
“You look awful. Didn’t sleep?” she asks, stepping inside with her brows furrowed.
“Not a bit. That’s why I called you.”
I shut the door behind her — and when I turn around, I spot Alexandra standing at the kitchen entrance, her gaze locked on us.
“I canceled with two people just to see you. You better have everything ready,” Britt says, laughing as if it’s not an order.
“Alex, this is Brittany. Britt, this is…”
“The girl who’s with you in all the tabloids.” She laughs and waves at Alexandra, who returns the gesture. “Gorgeous. Now, shall we?”
“I’ll see you in two hours, Alex, enjoy the coffee.”
“You wouldn’t last two hours, A.J.; he’ll see you in at most an hour and a half.” Brittany walks down the hall with her ponytail swaying, digging through her bag with hands capable of saving my life.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Alexandra spits the words before Brittany walks into the bedroom, and I turn toward her, who looks at me like the global warming is my fault for two seconds before marching back to the stool.
“A.J., I don’t have all day,” Brittany calls from my bedroom door.
And I walk in, not exactly understanding what just happened.