Page 148 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“You were just a kid, Anthony. So even if…” My mom swallows hard, another tear slipping from her left eye. “Even if you rebelled and left home, we should’ve fixed things before you went.”

“Waiting for you to see how awful it was and decide for yourself? Not our best parenting move,” Dad admits. “But the pandemic ended and suddenly we saw you on TV—never felt such relief in my life,” he adds, hand on his chest.

“The world was about to see your real talent—not just a song—your story. I understood why you came.” Martha forces a smile. I’m doing everything I can not to cry, because once I start, it won’t be easy to stop. “It wasn’t selfishness—you really are exceptional. But we didn’t support you, so it made sense you didn’t want us around in the end.”

I have no response. There are no easy answers here. I’ve regretted leaving home when my song became a hit; then when I did the reality show; formed Vicious; rehearsed in Guilherme’s garage; on our first gig; when I got my first paycheck…

I missed them at every timebut never reached out.

We were all blinded by pride. And now we’re three people wondering what to do next.

“I agree that you guys could’ve done more, but I could’ve too. Because I always knew where to find you,” I break the silence, being as honest as I can.

“Nothing we say will erase the last few years, Anthony. But we love you. Every day apart was exactly what your mother said — like mourning a son who’s still alive. And I don’t think you can forgive how we failed you, but I’d like you to consider moving forward with us.”

“You were eighteen when you left. Now you’re a grown man, and we didn’t get to see that happen,” my mother says, her face twisting in pain. I want so badly to hug her, but I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I should. “Our pride kept us from watching you grow, and that’s something we’ll never get back. But the next years don’t have to be like the last ones… that’s why we’re here.”

My mother’s sniffles, holding out her hand to me and Alexandra ’s voice rings in my head:You lived with them for eighteen years, and you’ve got your whole life ahead—one day those six years won’t seem so long.

And this is what makes me take my mother’s hand when she’s just about to pull it back, ashamed.

“I don’t blame you—never did. And I love you both. But it’s still hard,” I say, squeezing her hand. She nods.

“Being here with us or facing the past?”

Both. The word’s almost out of my mouth, but it’d be a lie.

“The past,” I say, my voice rough, and quote Alex’s line—in English—“Maybe one day I’ll look back without the past burning my skin, but today’s not that day.”

“Then here’s my proposal.” Dad stands, tapping his thigh. “Since we love you, and you still love us, how about we leave the past behind for now and celebrate your birthday today? A quarter-century is an important milestone.” Patrick smiles,doing everything he can to keep from crying. “Is there anywhere a world-famous star can have lunch around here without making headlines?”

I meet his gaze. For a second, I almost don’t believe it — almost ask how he can just… move on like that. But then I remember: I haven’t celebrated my birthday in six years. I missed them, blamed myself for being away, even when they never did. So, even if I don’t know how to face the past yet, maybe I can handle today — and this future that’s suddenly showing up.

“Actually… Alex made some Brazilian stuff for us, and it’s amazing — Wanna try it?” I stand up, hand out to Martha. She glances at Patrick for a beat, then back at me, nodding quickly, eyes bright with tears.

Chapter Forty-Four – Alex

Everything that God created, He made thinking of you:

He made the Milky Way, He made the dinosaurs.

Without thinking about anything, He made my life

and gave it to you...

Eu Te Devoro – Djavan

My first impression of A.J. was just the band guy flirting with me before he even knew me. For weeks, we’d meet to rehearse, record, and re-record “Maybe,” and as long as I skirted around telling him outright that his pick-up lines were wildly inappropriate, he acted like it was hilarious to throw the worst flirts ever my way.

But my second impression was of a completely different man. The one who heard me telling my cousin that my dad didn’t love me because of music—and instead of comforting me, or saying my dad would come around someday, or that I shouldn’t worry—he just invited me to a party so I wouldn’t spend the night alone stewing in that. And when he saw I was still down the next day, he took me on a tour of my own city and looked after me without ever mentioning my “problem.”

A.J. never demanded explanations. He just showed up. Anthony never pushed me to talk… but he always listened, and more than that, he always saw me.

He was, before being a great love, an incredible friend.

But I’m not A.J.

I’m a girl still piecing herself back together—I stumble, I dive in headfirst… which is probably why I messaged that account always dropping the sun with sunglasses and red-heart emojis on all his posts.

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