* * *
Mom took me to a salon the next day to dye my hair back to brown. I only felt a twinge of guilt that I was covering Peter the Hungarian hairstylist’s highlighting masterpiece. I was ready to be a brunette again. I had the beautician dye the hair extensions along with my hair. I decided I wanted long hair, after all.
I had expected that once my hair turned brown again, I’d look pretty much like I had before I left for California. I’d only been gone two months. But even as I peered in the mirror, I couldn’t find the old Alexia. Mom was right. I seemed older. Or maybe it was just that I felt so different.
All day long, I kept finding bits of glitter scattered throughout the house. They turned up on the bathroom counter and kitchen table like little fairy gifts. They didn't bother me so much now. I knew they wouldn't last.
I spent most of Sunday sitting on our worn and fraying couch telling Mom and Abuela everything that happened. It was good to be home. Instead of being ashamed of our cramped kitchen and the family portraits that hung in cheap frames on the wall, I found I didn’t want to change any of it. It was comfortable and cozy, unpretentious and warm, like Mom and Abuela.
Abuela for once was more interested in listening than talking. She loved how I told Alex Kingsley that he was my father after he'd lectured me on ethics. They both felt sorry for Kari. Mom felt sorry for Kari because she’d had such a hard life, and Abuela felt sorry for Kari because she'd had such an easy one. Mom said she’d remember Kari in her prayers. Abuela offered to teach her Spanish.
When I laughed at the idea, Abuela pulled herself up straighter and said, "And why shouldn’t I teach her Spanish? If she’s your sister, she’s family. She’s my half granddaughter."
I wondered what Kari would think about such an addition to her relatives. And then I wondered if she already knew the truth. When would he tell her? Would she be happy or horrified?
I also wondered if my father had told Grant about me yet. How upset would he be that I’d deceived him about my identity? Would he try and contact me or would he be happy to let everything about us disappear?
The phone rang, and Abuela, Mom, and I looked at it, then looked at each other. "You get it,” I said to Mom.
She didn't move. "If that's your father, he's calling to talk to you, not me. You get it.”
"Mom, he said he wanted to talk to you. You should get it."
"I'm not going to answer it.”
Abuela stood up. “I'll get it. I have a thing or two to say to that man.”
Which made Mom and I both dive for the phone. I got to it first, answering with a breathless "Hello?”
It wasn’t my father or Grant. A man's voice I didn't recognize asked to speak to my mother. I handed her the phone. After a few moments, I could pick up from the conversation that it was my father’s lawyer. He wanted the name of Mom's lawyer—as though we naturally had one. Something to do with back child support. The whole topic made Mom uncomfortable, and she paced around the kitchen while she talked. After she hung up, she said to Abuela, "I don't know how to handle this. I didn't raise my daughter because I thought someday he'd pay me for it.”
"Don't look a gift check in the mouth,” Abuela said. "You've still got to send Lexi to college." Abuela brushed a piece of lint from her housedress. "And if we have enough left over to take a cruise, bueno. Who’s to say we don’t deserve it?"
I waited for the phone to ring again. And I knew, though she didn't say it, that my mom waited too. Certainly if my father’s lawyer called today, my father would call too. He’d call to talk about money stuff with my mom or to make sure I got home okay. Something.
Lori came over that evening. She loved my hair's new length. I told her my sister had insisted I get it done so we'd have our hair the same way. I didn't tell her any names, though. It would change how everyone saw me, and I was still getting used to the idea of them as family. Besides, it was my mother's secret too, and maybe she didn’t want the whole town to find out.
"So do you feel better knowing your father?" Lori asked. "Do you feel more complete?"
"I do feel better," I said, "but probably because it made me realize I was complete to begin with. Knowing who he is doesn't change who I am at all."
Lori passed over this comment like it was self-evident, and maybe it had been to her all along. "Did you meet any cute guys?”
"One."
"And?" she prompted.
"And now I’m probably ruined for dating for the rest of my life. Nobody is going to be able to measure up."
She leaned toward me. "Sounds interesting—what was he like?”
"Handsome, nice, talented. He wrote a song for me, and when he sang it ..." I sighed. I didn’t have words to describe the experience. "He had the most beautiful voice."
"So are you keeping in contact with him?"
I shook my head. "It wouldn't work out. We’re from different worlds.”
She must have seen how much it hurt to say this. She immediately switched into loyal-friend mode. "Don’t worry. I promise you’re not ruined for dating." She leaned over and playfully flicked a piece of my hair. "You look great— your hair, makeup, and ... I don't know, you just have this confident air about you now. It’s so . . . I can't put my finger on it.”
I could. It was so Kari Kingsley, but I didn’t say it.
"Hey, I bet the day after finals Theresa will dump Trevor flat-out,” Lori said. "I think she’s only dating him because he’s smart—you know, geek-farming. He'll be ripe for some consolation.”
I smiled at her, but really, the thought of Trevor did nothing for me.
Eventually it grew late and Lori left and I got ready for bed. I stayed up later than I should have. I was still on California time. It didn't have anything to do with phone calls that never came.