Page 143 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“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 memeu amoragain?” 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.

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