Page 10 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“I thought you stopped singing.” The words hit me, and he flinches before speaking again, “Because of TV, I mean.”

Actually, you think that because you closed all the doors to music for me.But I don’t touch on that subject.

“No way, Dad. I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t going to stop singing when I left here.”

“I’ll never understand why you left.” The words are no louder than a whisper, and I lean in the chair.

I place my hands on the table, drumming my fingers impatiently, revealing that I would like to explode, but I came in peace.

“Because you were going to drive me crazy with that thing about me not having a career.”

Luiz furrows his brow, and his head tilts to the right, watching me as if I said something absurd, when we both know the truth.

“I never stopped you from having a career, Alexandra,” he assures me, like the honorable family man he is, and this time, I laugh.

“You blew up the pre-contract I had with GenZ’s label,” I remind him, quietly and calmly, with my eyes on his. “And had your lawyers torment every agent who approached me.”

“Alexandra, we’re not having this conversation again.”

“This is new. But fine, it saves me time.” I push my chair back, standing up. “I just came here to tell you that I’m leaving the country with the boys. I’ll be gone for a few months, and I didn’t want you to hear this from someone else.” I walk down the hallway with him behind me.

“You’re going on tour with a band of boys? With people we don’t know, is that it?”

“I can’t do all my shows in your friends’ backyards, Dad,” I yell, turning to face him with my arms open. The bitterness in my throat doesn’t remind me of the nice smell when I got here. “I have an amazing opportunity, I’m going to sing abroad, Dad, and a dumb, naive part of me wished you’d be happy for me, even if just a little.”

“I’m happy for you, seeing you happy makes me happy. But you know that…”

“I don’t care if one day you trusted the wrong person and lost everything. Don’t try to put that burden on me,” I yell angrily. “Despite everything, you guys overcame it. You’re the legends of music, I’m just a girl who wants to sing, no one will steal from me because there’s nothing to steal. Wake up,” I vent, unloading a ton off my chest, and head for the door.

“There’s nothing to steal because you held it together when we lost everything,” he spits the words with so much guilt that I almost feel sorry, but I look away before that. “You have no idea how rotten the music industry is,” he says loudly, with an almost condemning sneer.

I open the door because I don’t want to stay here. This has never led us anywhere. But my mouth is faster than my brain.

“You’re right, Dad. But I already had a legal team, a label interested, and the full certainty that you and Mom raised me with the ability to handle the industry.”

“Your mom always thought of all of us, she would never put her own needs before family.” The words come out shaky, as if he’s trying to say “don’t mention your mother’s name.”

I walk through the door, aware that she never would. Although she confessed that sometimes only a piano understood her and that she loved giving her heart to heartaches set to dramatic melodies as much as to the classics of the greatest composers from our neighborhood. Tereza Alencar remained known as the greatestsambacomposer of her generation, even though her other passion was MPB[4].

Even though she wanted to do something more like her, Mom kept doing what was more like him, because it fit better in the family.

“No, she wouldn’t, but that doesn’t matter anymore because she’s not here,” I retort over my shoulder and walk out, pulling the door behind me.

I know I broke my dad’s heart, but it was better than letting him break mine.

We both know that if that happened, he would never forgive himself.

***

“I’m gonna miss you so much, you know?” Thalia, my cousin and manager, whines while finishing off my hair, asGlad You Camekeeps the Vagabonders under control during the warm-up for the show.

“No, you won’t,” I tell her, not moving much. “We’ll talk all the time, and I’ll send you weekly PowerPoint updates.”

“Remember when we did that way before it was cool?” she asks, laughing and letting the layers of tulle fall off my skirt.

“Yeah, and we actually used PowerPoint, even though everyone was already on CANVA.”

I beam as Thalia steps back, making room for two of the production crew to head to the stage, watching her admire her own work.

---