She attempted a smile. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."
"The wrong foot? I’ve lived under your roof long enough to know you don’t have any right feet."
She gave a little laugh as though I'd been joking and unclipped her phone from her belt. "I'd better see about getting you a plane to West Virginia."
I didn’t mind the break in the conversation. I called my house. Mom was out with Larry, so I told Abuela I was on my way home and would get the flight information to her later.
After several minutes on the phone, Maren wrote down an airline and flight number on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to me. "You'll be in first class on the next flight out. I'll send your things to you tomorrow."
When the limo finally pulled up to the airport, Maren leaned over and put a hand on my arm. She might have been talking to Kari for all the sweetness in her voice. "Really, Alexia, I would have helped you. I still want to help you. So we should forget the past, especially certain . . . regrettable parts."
I stepped out of the car, pulling my arm away from her as I did. "Thanks for your help. But I'm still going to tell my father everything you've done.”
CHAPTER 17
The flight was long, made longer by the fact that people in the airport kept staring and whispering. Several people came up and asked for my autograph. "I’m not Kari Kingsley,” I told them. "I’m her sister.”
I didn't explain about the glitter in my hair. I figured they could think it was a family trait. We all glittered, just like the Cullens in Twilight.
Oddly enough, they still wanted my autograph. "That’s so cool,” one said. "Do you get to tour with her and meet celebrities and stuff?”
That's when it hit me that going back to being Alexia Garcia might be more complicated than just dyeing my hair brown again. I didn’t want to give them a lot of personal information, so I said, "Sometimes.”
All during the flight I worried that Abuela might not have been able to get hold of my mother with my flight information and I’d have to take a cab to my house, but when I got to the airport, Mom stood waiting by the baggage carousel. I could see the lines of worry etched on her face as she searched the crowd, and then her eyes flew open wide when she recognized me. She hurried over and hugged me. "Your hair is so long—just look at you! You look—”
"Exactly like Kari, I know.”
"I was going to say older.” She held me at arm’s length, looking me up and down. "And more ... I don’t know, like such a sophisticated lady.”
"It’s the clothes.”
She led me a few paces away so we weren’t standing by the crowd. "So tell me everything. Did you ever get to meet him?’’
"I met him right before I left. He was really nice.”
"Really?" she asked, but she sounded more alarmed than pleased. “Are you going to see him again?”
I shrugged. "He said he'd call me, so I hope so.”
"He said he'd call you?" The words dropped from her mouth in disbelief, and I knew what she thought. He had said he would call her too.
"Mom, he left your phone number in his jeans pocket and accidentally sent it through the wash. He didn't have any way to reach you. And his manager never told him about your phone call. He didn’t know about your pregnancy.” She blinked repeatedly like she didn’t know what to make of my words, like she couldn’t take them in. The years of not having a father stretched before me again, and this time I wasn’t sure whom I felt worse for, my mother or me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said it, but I added, "Why didn’t you try to contact him again? You wouldn't have had to tell me about it if he had rejected us. Why didn’t you at least try?”
She tore her gaze away from me and swallowed hard. She stared at the baggage carousel for several seconds before she turned to me again. "I always told myself I kept the truth from you because I didn’t want you to get hurt, but when I saw you walk up just now, looking like you belonged in Beverly Hills—well, that wasn't the whole reason. I can’t compete with him, Lexi. He can buy you anything and take you anywhere. What child would want to live with her poor, struggling mother when she could live with her famous, rich father? You're my whole life. I didn't want him to come and take you away.”
Her eyes teared up, and I pulled her into a hug. "I wouldn’t have . . . ," I said, but I couldn’t finish the sentence. I wouldn’t have left you for money. Up until I went to California I had been too preoccupied with my lack of money, my secondhand clothes, and my small house. I’d been so eager to make a bundle of cash for being Kari’s double. If my father and mother had had joint custody of me all along, would I have been too ashamed to live with my mother?
"The money doesn’t matter," I said. "No one has ever loved me as much as you have. Nothing is going to change that."
She held me tighter, put her head against my shoulder, and cried.
* * *
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.”