Chapter Forty-Two – Alex #2
“We’re not having sex on Jesus’ birthday, A.J. Limits!” I say firmly. At first, he thinks I’m joking, but then he sees I’m serious and nods as I feel his arms tighten around me, while Bia and Guilherme watch us and pour the wine for dinner.
“Everyone outside!” Daniele calls, and her dad is the first one to step out, champagne bottle in hand.
When the clock strikes midnight, the cold spray of champagne splatters everywhere.
“Merry Christmas!” he shouts, laughing.
We run back inside, laughing and shouting and hugging. Celebrating a date that, among its many meanings, holds one of the most precious: gathering family.
For the first time in a long while, I sit at a table surrounded by people I like, admire, and truly want to be with. But before we eat, Daniele reminds us to share one thing we’re grateful for, starting off with how thankful she is that she’s finally done with college. We all crack up in unison.
While everyone shares, I realize I don’t even know what to say—this year has given me so much.
“For our health,” says Solange.
But the way she squeezes Carlos’s hand on the table says it’s so much more.
“For second chances,” Bia says, looking straight at Guilherme, who thanks her for forgiveness.
“For you being here with us,” A.J. whispers just for me, while Thomas says he’s thankful they finally broke through.
“I’m grateful for the certainty of tomorrow,” I say when it’s my turn.
Because each tomorrow this year has brought me a little closer to the person I’ve always wanted to be and, along the way, it’s also given me a love and a group of friends that feel like family.
“For our days together as a family,” A.J. says, raising his glass and reading my thoughts, taking a sip to close out the round of thankfulness before we eat.
“I want our next get-together offstage and away from tour life to happen as soon as possible,” A.J. adds brightly, and everyone agrees.
“Your birthday is in two days,” Daniele blurts out, making her parents look scandalized at the last-minute news.
“I don’t celebrate birthdays, tia . Calm down,” he calls her aunt his Portuguese, and my heart skips a beat.
“You didn’t. But this year, we’re doing something,” I say, catching Daniele’s eye—ready to beg for help if he tries to fight me on this.
“We’re not,” A.J. says, not harsh or angry, but his eyes pleading with me to hear him out.
“I know what I’m doing, meu amor . Relax,” I tell him, and his jaw goes slack as he blinks at me more times than I can count. “And you’re all invited,” I add, looking around the table.
“Did I just hear… ‘Luv’ come out of her mouth?” Guilherme asks, completely in shock.
“Dude, you sound like a clueless cuckold—always the last to know,” Thomas fires back indignantly, taking a swig of his champagne without even realizing how tense the table just got.
“I’ve got my own life and my own girlfriend to worry about,” Gui shoots back, kissing Bia’s cheek as she rolls her eyes.
“Can you call me meu amor again?” A.J. whispers, peeking out from behind my hair.
I push him back until his shoulders are flush with the chair, leaning in and whispering below the chatter about how delicious the food is.
“Yes, meu amor .”
A.J.’s grin stretches so wide it lights up his whole face, and I finally take my first bite of dinner—something that tastes like a meal fit for the gods—with the quiet certainty that there’s no way this Christmas could possibly get any better.
***
“Hi, sweetheart. It’s your dad.
“I’m sending this to say… I love you. I know I’ve been difficult.
I know you might never forgive me—and if that’s how it ends, I understand.
But I needed to say it: I love you, darling; I miss you.
Merry Christmas. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become.
I admire your strength. I watch all your shows, even if it’s just a fan livestream on that TikTok thing.
Thalia helped me figure out that internet stuff—can you believe it?
I know I owe you so many apologies. Too many.
But I wanted to say it looking into your eyes, not hiding behind a message like a coward.
I have many flaws, but cowardice isn’t one of them.
And maybe it won’t change anything, because I gave up on you when I should’ve supported you—but you’re my favorite singer, and I’m so proud of the artist you are.
Your mom would be, too. Anyway, Merry Christmas, may God bless your dreams, and I hope we can talk when you come home.
I won’t say “I love you” again so it’s not repetitive—actually, I will, so you don’t forget: I love you, darling. ”
My vision blurs with tears, and my heart, already racing during the message, explodes, pounding uncontrollably. Daniele squeezes my hand, and Beatriz offers me a glass of water – but I don’t want any of that.
“Almost not believing what’s happening, I press play on the voice note again so they can hear it.
Neither of them knows what it means, neither has any idea how much I hate him for doing this after everything, or how much I hate myself for feeling so grateful, happy, and stirred by every single word.
I stand up as soon as the message ends and head for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Daniele stands in front of me.
“I’m going to talk to A.J. I need to…”
“You’re not doing that.” Beatriz’s voice makes me pause and turn toward her. “A.J. can’t help you.”
“You don’t understand—he knows, and we…”
“Call your dad,” Bia says, almost as an order.
Frozen in front of the girl who lost her father to the most absurd thing we ever experienced—the pandemic—I force myself not to snap back.
“Bia, with all due respect, don’t meddle in this,” I say, my voice shaking, my hands trembling. “A.J. knows what this means, he’ll help me,” I explain in a squeak, tears burning my eyes.
“He won’t. A.J. is the guy who doesn’t talk to his parents for fear they’ll hate him, remember?” Daniele whispers, and my heart races even faster.
“It’s your father you need to call, Alex.” Beatriz steps closer, wiping the tears streaming down my face. “I’d give anything to talk to mine this Christmas, on my birthday… any day. But I can’t. You and A.J. still have that chance.”
“I’ve waited almost two years for that call, Bia.” I wipe another stubborn tear and shrug. “Now it won’t change that much.”
“Judging by how you’re shaking and trying not to fall apart, it changes everything, Alexandra. So stop dragging this out. Just… call.” She looks at Daniele, who releases the doorknob.
I nod, trying to steady myself, and step outside, determined to go to Guilherme’s room where the boys are sleeping. But I stop halfway, realizing there’s nothing my father can say that will hurt me more than I’ve already hurt, nor any praise that can make me happier than I already am.
I’m no longer the loneliest girl in the city, so I press the call button and go down the stairs, ready to listen—and to speak whatever needs speaking.
“Hi, sweetheart. You got my message?”
“I did,” I say, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “But I confess I wasn’t sure what you wanted with it.”
“There’s nothing I can say to erase the fact that I made you so uncomfortable with your dreams—that you left home so you wouldn’t have to see me every day,” he says, more aware than I expected.
“I messed up with you, Alexandra, and I’m deeply sorry.
” He pauses, letting out a deep breath, voice trembling.
“Over the past months, every time I saw you sing—another piece of the puzzle where you lost everything you had and gained my absence—it showed me how wrong I was. Music is part of your soul, and I tried to tear it from you.” He swallows in a silence so deep his words almost echo.
A tear rolls down my cheek. I rest my elbows on my knees, holding back more crying—not because it still hurts like before, but because his acknowledgment that he tried to rip out part of my soul tightens my chest. Because he did it. And I survived.
I’m not sure if I feel relief, sadness, or a strange kind of peace. But hearing his unqualified apology—no “but,” no excuses—unlocks a door I didn’t even know was still closed.
“I wanted so badly to be angry with you. To say I don’t care anymore, that it doesn’t matter what you think of my music…
” A humorless laugh escapes me. “But that would be a lie. All this time with the guys has been me gearing up to return to my truth—to my music—and it always circles back to you, even when I don’t want it to.
So, thank you for the message. Knowing you don’t hate me anymore, that your love can overcome my singing, makes me happy somehow.
It gives me hope I don’t have to be afraid to love music around the one who made me fall in love with it. ”
“I never, not for a second, hated you, Alexandra,” he corrects me.
“But I know I hurt you, acted like I was the only one who lost your mom, and left you alone. Maybe I’ll never be able to fix these last years.
But if you can even consider forgiving me…
I know I can be a better father than I was before all of this. ”
Forgiveness.
The word we think is a feeling until we actually have to forgive someone, and then we realize it’s a decision. When you forgive, nothing magical happens: wounds don’t instantly heal, the sky doesn’t open and applause, and you don’t get a medal.
It’s just a choice.
But the bitter taste in my throat makes one thing clear: I’m not ready to make that choice yet.
“I’ll think about it, Dad,” I say softly, aware it’s all I can manage without falling apart. “I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. You have no idea what this means.”
Maybe I don’t, but I feel so much less bound to his pain now. As the song A.J. and I wrote goes: One day I’ll look back, and the past won’t burn my skin. Today feels like that day. Because I feel unbroken and no longer need my father’s approval or love to be complete.
Deep down, I still want those things but I don’t need them anymore. And that’s good. So even if I can’t forgive yet, I can be fair.
“I don’t think things will get sorted out overnight, but I’m glad to talk to you—especially since it’s Christmas.”
“Me too. But I’ll let you sleep, sweetheart. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”
“Talk soon, Dad.”
I hang up and lock the screen. I exhale slowly and, instead of standing up, I sit up straight and rest my back on the couch. No crying, no pain and with the certainty that restoring what was lost takes time, but it is possible.
I just hope A.J. thinks the same.