Perhaps she shouldn’t have revealed that she remembered that about him. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly at the mention. He was cataloging that detaiclass="underline" that she knew trivia about him.
“Still love it,” he said. They’d reached the parking lot, and he gestured toward a sleek black rental car, unlocking it with his keychain.
She had been silly to think that he would remember they’d eaten Mexican food that night. After the concert, Alex told one of his assistants go out and buy food for them to eat in his hotel room. She asked for a chicken chimichanga. She hadn’t specified what sort of sauce she wanted, so the assistant brought her three, one with each kind of sauce to ensure he got it right—as though she would have cared. She had been too nervous, too excited, to eat much anyway.
They reached Alex’s rental car and he went around and opened her door for her. He was probably used to opening doors for starlets wearing sequined dresses and spiky heels. It seemed so out of place here in the parking lot while she wore her hotel uniform and tennis shoes.
“Thanks,” she said.
Alex shut her door, then went around to his side and got in. He turned on his GPS to the restaurant function. “Lost Mariachis,” he told it.
His voice sounded the same. She would have recognized it anywhere. Somehow it had imprinted on her mind without her knowing it.
Sabrina tore her gaze away from him and looked around the leather interior of the car. It smelled new and the dashboard was spotless. Not like her own car, which had a perpetual layer of dust clinging to the cracks and crevices. She realized she was clenching her fist by her side and made herself relax. This was ridiculous. She didn’t have to compare herself to him. She didn’t have to worry that she wasn’t good enough. He didn’t have that kind of power over her anymore. She no longer believed he was some demigod to worship. He was just a man and she wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager.
Still looking at his GPS, he said, “As I recall, you liked mango salsa.”
“What?” she asked.
“You told me you liked mango salsa. I’d never heard of it before. Now every time I have some, I think, ‘She was right. It’s good.’”
Sabrina didn’t remember telling him that, but she must have. She’d always liked mango salsa.
She stared back at him half flattered, half incredulous. “You remember that, but you didn’t remember my name?”
“I remembered your first name . . .” The sentence trailed off. His eyes met hers, and she realized that he was nervous. His gaze was apologetic, asking for her to understand. “I just didn’t think that night would matter to you very much.”
“You were wrong,” she said.
The engine was idling. He didn’t move the car. They sat there in the parking lot surrounded by empty cars.
“I remember that night every time I look at our daughter,” Sabrina said. “I remember it whenever your face pops up somewhere or I hear your songs.” How could she not? “And now that Kari is a star, I remember you whenever I see her face or hear her songs. She looks so much like Lexi. I keep thinking . . .” Sabrina didn’t finish the sentence. I keep thinking, Lexi could be there too, living that life, and I’m glad she’s not.
Sabrina knew she couldn’t have it both ways—feeling mad at Alex for not being there for Lexi, and at the same time feeling glad he wasn’t. It didn’t make sense, but then, emotions didn’t have to.
“You don’t know much about me,” Sabrina said. “I’m not the type that—I mean, I wouldn’t have gone with you that night unless you had really mattered to me.”
Alex stiffened and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was still grieving back then. I’d lost my wife and you looked so much like her.” His gaze went over Sabrina again, then rested on her face with an intensity she hadn’t expected. “You still do. I can’t help staring at you and thinking: this is what Maribel would have looked like if she’d lived.”
“No, Maribel would have been wearing nicer clothing.”
He laughed. It was a deep, rich, familiar sound, even though she didn’t remember when she’d heard him laugh before. Had he laughed on the night they met? She could only recall the sadness in his eyes—the quiet longing in them.
On that night, they had talked for hours in his suite. When it was closer to morning than night, he reached out and took her hand, pulled her slowly to him. He hadn’t needed to ask the question. It hung in the air between them, unspoken, while his eyes pleaded with her. In response, she had reached up and wound her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the soft skin at the base of his neck. They stood like that for a minute, just holding one another, until he titled her face up and kissed her.
Those memories sat in her mind with perfect clarity.
“That’s the other thing I remember about you,” he said, still smiling at her joke. “You made me laugh. I hadn’t done that in a long time.”
So he had laughed that night. Strange she didn’t remember it.
The car still idled without moving. It was wasting gas, but he didn’t seem to care. Alex’s voice dropped, grew serious. “I want to make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me?” she repeated. She couldn’t believe he thought it was possible. Memories flashed through her mind. Lexi crying every night during that first year. Sabrina had staggered out of bed to feed her. She couldn’t turn to a husband and say, “Can you get her this time?” Sabrina remembered combing garage sales for baby clothes and buying some boy ones because they were cheap and Lexi needed something to wear. Sabrina had told herself that babies didn’t care what they wore, but Sabrina had cared. She wanted her daughter to wear nothing except soft pastels, new and lovingly chosen from a store.
“I didn’t realize you were so young.” Alex’s voice was soft and full of self-recrimination. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I’m not usually like that. Maybe that’s why I never tried to find you. I had a chance to go back to Charleston the next year to do a concert and I turned it down. I think I was afraid I’d see you again.”
“You wouldn’t have,” she said. “Not after your manager told me to leave you alone.”
Alex looked out the window and swore before turning back to her. “He never told me you called. Alexia told you that, didn’t she?”
Sabrina nodded. She’d always wondered whether Alex knew or not. Back when she was a new mother, not knowing had hurt. Now she knew, and it still hurt, only in a different way.
Alex held up a hand and let it fall. His lips drew together in a tight line of frustration. “You could have found me and told me yourself. My concert schedule was always posted. I would have talked to you if I’d seen you. Or you could have gotten a lawyer and sued for child support. Instead, you hid Alexia away and told her I didn’t care. She’s got nothing except resentment for me now.”
Sabrina hadn’t expected this burst of anger. She’d been prepared for regret, embarrassment, indifference even. But it was anger he was showing her here in the car, raw and painful. It took her aback.
“Maybe I didn’t think it would matter that much to you,” she said.
He flinched enough to show that the words had stung. “I don’t deserve that. I had a daughter, and I had the right to know her. I would have made sure she had everything she needed. I would have made sure you had everything you needed. I missed her entire childhood.”
He would have made sure she had everything she needed? The sentence cut into her like it was slashing open an old wound. She leaned forward, shivering, even though she wasn’t cold. “You expect me to believe that? You didn’t even call me.”