Chapter Thirty – Ale
I want a lap to rest my head I’m running away from home Can I sleep here with you? I’m scared, I had a nightmare I’ll only come back after three.
Pais e Filhos - Legi?o Urbana
The funniest thing about these notes is how no one has the slightest clue about what’s really going on or what happened during our make-out session in Guilherme’s basement, or even how we’re working to make everything go back to normal.
It’s not hard.
The good thing about sharing life with someone as easygoing as A.J. is that there’s never a bad time and that made me feel secure enough to be honest and say how I was feeling.
Even though there was that fear that things might change, deep down I always knew we’d get through it. The fact that A.J. didn’t kiss anyone at the shows this weekend worried me for a while, but he kept treating me like a friend, with no second intentions in his gaze, and that’s enough for me.
However, I didn’t leave A.J. dead tired on the living room couch and came to my room to check out some fan pages. So, I go back to the messaging app just to make sure I read it right.
Dad: I don’t have much of an understanding of these things, you know.
Dad: But if you’re happy, I’m happy.
That was the response I got four hours after getting home with A.J.
We were sprawled on the couch, resting from the craziness of the last few days, scrolling through fan comments, laughing at some, liking others, when the notification popped up.
My heart sank instantly.
I said I needed to handle some stuff and locked myself in the room.
It wasn’t about reading the message away from A.J.
; it was about needing silence to absorb the weight of those words.
I stared at the notification, hesitant, as if opening that conversation was like crossing an invisible line.
That’s when I went to Instagram, drowned in mentions and tags, before finally facing the end of the silence that had lasted longer than I thought I could handle.
Now, rereading the messages, I start to wonder if I misinterpreted them. Maybe I sent something as superficial as this response. And my breath quickens, my chest tightens, and I finally hit play on the audio sent before I left — just to make sure.
My voice fills the room, laden with expectation and emotion:
“Hi, Dad. How are you? I know things have been weird between us, and when I left Brazil, you weren’t too happy with my choices, but I wanted to tell you it’s all working out.
The tour through Europe was amazing, I saw magical places, places you and mom would have loved to see; I had lunch at the top of the Eiffel Tower; I traveled by bus between countries…
Now we’ve done the first shows in the U.S.
Can you imagine that? I’m good, safe, and really happy.
Thank you for everything you taught me about music; I wouldn’t have made it here without you. I miss you. Love you.”
I read his messages again. There’s nothing wrong with them. Still, they’re not what I expected. I don’t even know what I expected, but definitely not two generic sentences after a month of silence.
Especially when I was the one who gave in, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I leave the room, my face burning with anger, and the house is empty, which I’m thankful for. I walk to the kitchen, looking for something to keep me busy, and open YouTube, searching for a very specific recipe, because the only thing that can ease my tension right now is kneading some bread.
But we don’t have yeast or wheat flour. I huff, running my hands through my hair, and wonder how this man can hate me so much. Or how he can be so sure I’m wrong that he can’t answer a message like a normal human being. My chin trembles, and I rub my mouth, controlling my breathing.
“Alexa, volume three,” I order. A.J.’s home, and I don’t want to disturb his rest, it was an intense weekend. “Alexa, play ‘ Velocidade da Luz ,’ ‘ Revelac?o .’”
I ask for my favorite song about suicide, feeling weird for having a favorite song about suicide. I open the cabinets and gather the ingredients to make a pre-mixed cake, pulling each one out and placing them on the counter in an attempt to force the anger out of my chest.
I sing the song softly, almost certain that when Xande de Pilares wrote it, he wasn’t thinking about his own dad when he wrote: ‘I’m leaving now!
I’ll go to another planet, at the speed of light or maybe a comet.
I’m going alone and firm, where death will warm me, maybe then, once and for all, I’ll forget you. ’
“Alexa, turn off.” A.J.’s voice startles me. “Are you trying to break the house?” he asks, making me drop the wooden spoon and the bowl where I was going to mix the cake on the counter.
I turn to face him, ready to say he scared me, but I only have time to see him widen his eyes before crossing the kitchen and hugging me.
“What are you doing?”
“Did something happen?” The huge, desperate man in front of me dries my face, and only then do I realize I’ve been crying. “What happened? Do you want to talk?”
“No, A.J., I just…” I swallow the tears, breathing deeply, feeling even smaller for crying.
“If you don’t want to talk and just need to break some things, that’s fine. I just got scared because we got home in peace, everything was calm. Then suddenly, I started hearing doors and drawers slamming…” He shrugs, wary.
I would laugh at any other time, but not now.
“Who did you call after your first show?” I ask nervously. A.J. only asks “What?” even more confused. “Who did you call, who did you talk to?”
“I was with the guys, Alex. There was no one I wanted to talk to besides them, and Dani, who was there too.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that your family doesn’t care?”
“Did something happen with your dad?” A.J. asks, leaning against the island, so I rest my body on the counter, facing him.
“Nothing. And that’s the problem. Doesn’t it sting that they don’t give a damn?” I ask, dazed, and it feels like I’m judging the poor guy, so I breathe deeply before continuing. “Your relationship with your parents was always this bad?”
“It’s a complicated, Alex.” He looks at the floor.
“In Brazil, you live with your parents for as long as life decides, sometimes even until you get married. In Canada, not. There comes a time when you leave; for most people, that’s during college, it was the same with me, but I gave that up for music.
” A.J. swallows and lets out a long sigh.
“I love my parents. I miss them, really. But it’s not like I can go back, so…
” He scratches his throat and coughs, and when he looks up, his eyes are flooded with pain.
“Why can’t you?”
All I wanted was to go after my mom. She’s not here, his parents are.
“This conversation isn’t about me, Alex,” A.J. ponders, his eyes on mine as he crosses his arms.
And he’s not wrong.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to live in a Cold War with my dad.
” I confess, stroking the bridge of my nose to avoid the tears.
“He’s all I have. I can count on Thalia and you guys, but family is different.
” I say, being an idiot with the guy who just wants to help me.
“It’s not more important or anything, just..
. Oh my God, he’s my dad, you know?” I spit the word out, hoping A.J. understands.
“I just got used to it... My family now is Vicious.”
“And it doesn’t hurt?”
A.J. studies me for a while. Then shifts his weight, and his eyes wander around the kitchen, looking for anything but my gaze. Finally, he scratches his neck and stares at me.
“As you said, you have Thalia, and now you have Vicious. “Even when you go back, I want you to know you still belong here,” He steps away from the island, holds my hand, and places it over his heart without answering my question. “We stumble our way through life, Alex. It’s a blessing to find someone who helps us stand.”
A.J. — my friend, my torment, my personal ghost. The charming, two-meter-tall guy who captured every piece of my heart with his laid-back, funny ways — swallows hard, taking a deep breath to hold back his tears. And I would do anything to keep him from feeling this way.
But there’s nothing I can do now.
So, I take my phone out of my pocket and place it on the kitchen table, just to let him know he’s not alone in abandonment.
I press play on the audio sent to my dad. It’s at 1.5x speed. A.J. narrows his eyes at me, clearly confused, as if to say.
“I barely understand the language, and you drop this on me?” Without saying anything, he goes back to the start and plays it at 1.
0x speed. The voice message ends, and A.J.
doesn’t need me to explain anything. The response is right there, in front of him.
When his eyes meet mine again, we’re closer than ever.
For five whole seconds, maybe more, he just holds my hand on the table, sharing the pain of the hole in my chest, probably very similar to his, bringing me comfort.
Then, his thumb lazily drags over my hand, and the touch becomes electric.
Suddenly, it’s not A.J. of now who’s here, it’s the A.J.
from Friday. The one who looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.
And none of this makes sense. The tension between us should’ve dissipated, but the air is still heavy, the silence surrounds us like it wants to say something neither of us has the courage to say.
And the absurd desire for a hug is bigger than both of us and refuses to disappear.
I swallow hard. He does too.
I step back and, gently, let go of his hand. The moment the contact breaks, we both exhale at the same time.
“You need to drink!” A.J. runs his hand through his hair to keep it busy. I just shake my head.
“What?”
“ Cachaca , girl,” he explains in good Portuguese, making me laugh.
“I probably should, to see if I forget all this. But better not, I’m terrible with alcohol...”
“With me, you’re in good hands. You need to clear your head, leave all this behind.”
“And we’re going to do that by drinking?” I doubt it, letting a chuckle slip for the first time tonight.
“It may seem like I’m being a bad friend after what happened...”, He’s clearly talking about Friday, but I’ve got enough stuff on my plate.
“Nothing happened, A.J...”
“After what didn’t happen,” he adds, the mocking smile making me want to grab his dimples with my hands.
“Maybe it sounds weird for me to say I’ll take care of you, but if we’re sticking to the family topic.
..” A.J. says, scratching his neck without looking at me for the first time in a long while.
“I need to tell you some things about my story, and I won’t be able to do that sober,” he explains, and the heavy tone scares me.
“Well, if I’m finally going to find out what’s in your closet, I guess I can drink a little.”
“I’ll go out with Hammer to grab the drinks, and you take care of some snacks, then?” he asks, already taking his phone out to call the security.
I nudge A.J. away like I would’ve before … But this time, it’s not about pretending everything’s normal. It’s not just to stop him from feeling awkward. It’s more than that. It’s this almost cruel need to understand exactly what it is that leaves my shameless, boundary-less partner speechless.