"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.”

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.”