Like a Love Song

by Gabriela Martins

  “I can’t take a break, Aline. After tonight, I’ll be on vocal rest. I need to nail this down and record it tonight.”

  “That will be very hard if you burn out, won’t it?”

  My eyes widen.

  Slowly, I look up.

  It’s not Aline. It’s Gemma Santiago, holding two plastic cups of coffee, smiling at me.

  Gemma Santiago, as in, the Latina icon who’s topped the charts for the past decade. As in, my dream mentor. As in, the person who was supposed to give me my award before it all went to hell.

  Gemma Santiago, walking to the couch to sit beside me.

  I nearly drop my guitar but manage to set it aside as gently as possible. “Hi,” I say, completely starstruck, even nine years after moving to Los Angeles.

  “Hi,” she responds good-naturedly. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with her thick black curls and strong eyebrows, her dark brown skin and her round caramel eyes. She has freckles, like Mom, but I don’t think most people see her without her makeup. “Bobbi mentioned you were hanging out at the studio, so I thought I’d check on how you were doing.” She pauses, makes a face. “Hopefully it’s not too late?”

  I let out an embarrassing giggle.

  She raises her eyebrows.

  I clear my throat, trying to compose myself.

  “I—thank you, I’m doing much better, yes. I…I’m finishing an EP, actually. It’s going to be very different from what I’ve put out so far, but I’m excited about it.” I smile from ear to ear, and she nods, like she understands. If anyone does, it’s her. Speaking of which…“Actually, I have a question for you, if it’s not too weird. A-are you okay? Are you…happy?”

  God, what am I saying?

  Seeing Gemma Santiago in normal clothes instead of her usual fancy dresses is wild. Jeans and a hoodie? Out of this world. I want to say words that make sense, but all I can think is, Mom is going to freak when I tell her I’ve met Gemma Santiago.

  “Oh, love, who is happy all the time?” She laughs. “But generally happy, yes, I would say so.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Aline Hernandez is a great producer. You two will find the way to finish this song, don’t worry. But you do have to cut yourself some slack. Breaks are important. If you don’t have them, you’re going to burn out. Now, what good can you do for your people if you’re burned out?”

  I like the way she says my people. I like the way she talks to me.

  Trying to quiet the fangirl in my heart, I bite back a smile and take a sip from my coffee. “I think I want to do right.”

  “You will. You do. The fact that you’re worried about it is half the battle.” She raises her cup to mine, and we toast with them. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. It was a sad accident, and I’m deeply enraged about how people reacted to it. But that’s people for you.” Gemma lifts her shoulders, wrinkling her nose. “It’s part of the business. If the good is enough to cancel out the bad, then we stay and do our best to change the status quo. And deal with what we can’t change in the meantime.”

  I consider this.

  “It is worth it for me,” I confess. “I love that I get to do this. To write songs. Every bad or good thought I’ve had these past few months has become a song. I have a song for when you realize your boyfriend is not a good guy, and about self-proclaimed good guys. I have a song that transports me back to a phone call with my grandma when it hurt so much and I didn’t understand why. I have a song for that specific moment when you kiss someone one morning and it feels like you’ve waited for that kiss your whole life. I have a song that hopefully encapsulates exactly what it feels like to be chasing the perfect guy when he’s not ready yet.”

  Our relationship feels impossible to sum up, but I think I captured some of what I feel for William. Or what it feels like now, talking every day on the phone and FaceTiming each other until one of us falls asleep.

  Trying to be friends, or something.

  We do make a good pair of friends, if anything.

  Even if I want to be so much more than that.

  “But that thing you said…how you were enraged about the way people reacted to the memes and the things the tabloids said. I hadn’t…I hadn’t thought about it from that perspective.” My brow furrows, and I glance at my guitar. “I know why this song isn’t working. It’s missing something.”

  Gemma blinks slowly. “What is it, Nati?”

  “Justified anger,” I reply. “Letting them know that if you’re never going to be good enough for them, then you’re going to be good enough for yourself and call it a day.”

  She narrows her big hazel eyes. “Sounds like good lyric-writing to me.”

  I take a deep breath and smile.

  Gemma stands up, holding her coffee, and reaches out for a high five. I stand up, too, looking at her hand for a second, and then go for a hug instead. She receives me with open arms—or an open one-arm hug, still holding her coffee with the other hand.

  “Ay, cariño. Cree en ti misma. Eres tan hermosa.” She kisses my cheek.

  I stand back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t really speak Spanish.”

  She laughs. “I just mean that you got this.”

  Tonight I’m playing the first single of my yet-to-be-released EP. The album will be called Nati, to celebrate my first album as my real self. The hashtag #NewEraOfNati is ready to roll, a few of my fans with the biggest platforms ready to campaign for the new me.

  In the cover art, I’m turned around—my curls falling down to the middle of my back—facing a purple background. It’s going to be the style we go for with all the new singles. The palette, the serif font, everything.

  I hold the phone with my hand, mesmerized.

  It’s perfect.

  Alone in my dressing room, I practice slow breaths, trying to ease my mind. I do it from muscle memory—visualizing a large circle, each breath a line going clockwise. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m not as nervous as I think. Or rather, I am nervous, but not like before. I don’t miss my inhaler. Everything is easier when I’m owning being myself.

  Someone knocks on my door. I have a brief flashback of what it was supposed to be like in the People’s Choice Awards, the camera crew arriving at my dressing room to surprise me with the award of the evening, instead of surprising me backstage while Trent dumped me.

  I chuckle, then catch myself. Is that actually funny now?

  Opening the door, I find Bobbi on the other side, looking absolutely fabulous in a dark red business suit and matching dark red lipstick.

  “Don’t we look like twins,” she teases, cocking an eyebrow and giving me a head-to-toe look.

  “Absolutely,” I say, adjusting my long red dress covered in sequins with a heart neckline. “You and I and everyone else here tonight. It is a Christmas special, after all.”

  She nods. “How are we feeling tonight, Ms. Headliner?”

  I take a deep breath. “Happy. Proud.” I shrug. “Terrified.”

  Bobbi laughs, then pulls me into a one-arm hug. “Listen, Nati, you’ll be phenomenal. You’ve rehearsed more than any client I’ve ever had. Your new song is genuine and catchy, and it’s going to top the charts.”

  “It’s a big risk,” I quote her without realizing. “Mixing Portuguese and English. Not many pop songs do that outside of Brazil.”

  She stares blankly at me. “So? You’ll be the first. Start a legacy. Other Latinx singers have been doing it with Spanish for ages. It’s time a Brazilian did it, too.”

  Her words put a little more weight on my shoulders than I think I can carry, but they also give me a much-needed confidence boost. Instead of trying to put into words what this means to me—how she’s betting everything on this new era, along with me—I pull her in for a proper hug.

  I think we both want to put it into words anyway, but neither of us can right n
ow. If we try, we may end up messing up our makeup, and our makeup artists would not be happy with that.

  For the benefit of the greater good, I pull back.

  “Look at that cocky smile,” she says. “Aren’t you going to crush it tonight?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  “Good.” Bobbi lets me go, and takes a step back, her hand on the doorknob of the dressing room. “Because Kimmy Lopez is onstage now. You enter in five.”

  With that, she disappears, like a magical fairy godmother of the biz.

  I stop in front of the mirror, straightening the front of my dress. My hair isn’t entirely natural, but it’s a TV version of my natural hair. The waves fall down my back, two little braids just over my ears connecting at the back of my head, dark and silky. I love that. I love that my fake eyelashes are so huge, and my eyelids are covered in glitter. I’m not wearing any contour, which makes me a little nervous. My nose isn’t as thin and my cheekbones aren’t as defined as my past performances would have you think, but hopefully the crowd will like what they see as much as I like it now.

  I really, really do. I like it all.

  I smile at myself.

  Then I get my phone from the couch in the back of the room, and text three of the most important people I know.

  TO “MOM”

  going in. ready to start snapping pictures like the papz?

  everyone knows that mom pics are the best pics

  TO “VOVÓ”

  oi, vovó!

  i hope you & everyone can watch me on netflix

  the stream has already started, i enter in five minutes!

  :) beijinhos (if i spelled it wrong, i meant kisses)

  TO “WILLIAM”

  wish you were here

  I stare at the screen for a long moment. Before any of them can reply, I set my phone on airplane mode, so the notifications will stop.

  I’m ready.

  * * *

  Nothing can compare to being under lights so bright that you can’t even see the crowd. You still hear it, though. You still feel it. The screams fill the arena with energy; everyone’s vibrating on the same level, for the same thing—being part of something. Together.

  I grab the mic from center stage and give the audience my widest grin. “Good evening, Los Angeles! I am Nati.” The crowd roars, and I somehow feel it in my chest. All of me vibrates back. “I’m going to sing something new for you, all right? It’s called ‘Natal at Home.’ Natal is ‘Christmas’ in Portuguese, and this year will be the first time in years I spend it with all of my family there. It’s a bit autobiographical, you know?” I pause, raising my eyebrows. The crowd’s still screaming. I’m still beaming. “It’s about acceptance and joy. Let’s hope you like it!”

  As the first notes start and I move across the stage, I try to make sure the entire arena feels like part of the moment. The spotlights are so strong and hot that I can’t focus on a single face. But it’s enough for now to feel them with me.

  This is the first time I sing “Natal at Home” for an audience bigger than the one at the studio. Bigger than Mom and my best friends at home.

  What I’d said before to Bobbi still stands: I’m terrified. And happy. And proud.

  When I hit the second verse, I hear people’s attempts to follow along. It brings tears to my eyes, but I swallow them down and keep singing.

  By the time I reach the chorus, they’ve learned a good part of the song.

  They’re singing along.

  Making an effort to say the words in Portuguese. Making an effort to learn about me, to participate in this journey. Perhaps I’m naïve—it’s possible they just want to have a good time—but the energy I feel confirms it.

  I throw a kiss to one of the cameras before the final verse.

  When the song ends, the arena erupts into applause and screams.

  I hear their attempts at saying my name. Some still call me Natalie. Some pronounce Nati wrong. But most of them are saying it right.

  “Thank you, Los Angeles. You have been incredible. Happy holidays and Feliz Natal!” I bow down, and when I come back up, the smile is still plastered to my face; it feels like I’ll be smiling forever.

  The crowd is still chanting variations of my name when I turn around and jog backstage.

  And I see him.

  William.

  Clapping for me.

  My jogging slows, and I’m frozen.

  He’s wearing a beautiful suit and black oxfords, hair slicked back, and stupid superhero socks, the ones I gave him. His proud, beaming smile, his…his face. His eyes are such a beautiful green, a spark of joy in them like I haven’t seen in a while.

  I missed him so, so much.

  I take slow steps to him, a little unsure of how to proceed. I did send him a text saying I wished he were here, but I’d fully expected him to ignore that and not materialize within the next ten minutes in California.

  “Hi,” I say, because anything else would be asking too much of me.

  He waits until I stop in front of him. “Hi.”

  Behind us, someone else starts singing a pop song and the crowd continues to scream.

  He shifts his weight to the other foot. “Look, Nati—”

  “William, I—” I stop myself. “Sorry, you can speak.”

  “No, I interrupted you.” He shakes his head. “Go first.”

  We stare at each other for a solid second.

  I chuckle, rolling my eyes, and he chuckles, too, his cheeks turning red.

  “I…love that you’re here.” I take a deep breath and a tentative step in his direction. “But why are you here? Why now?”

  He bites his lip. Is his hand shaking?

  “Today is…it’s officially day one.”

  I frown, parting my lips.

  Three people from the crew run by us with microphones, but it’s like we’re invisible. The show goes on, and the crowd keeps cheering. I take the feedback earpiece off, as if I could have misheard him.

  “Day one?” I raise my eyebrows.

  He nods, looking like he did the first time we saw each other. Out of his element and shy, but also shining bright. “As of now, we’re not contractually obligated to fake-date each other.” He tilts his head up, taking a deep breath. “And I would love…I would love to take you out on a date. On a real date. Somewhere just the two of us.”

  My heart will probably break out of my rib cage at any moment now.

  This is so, so difficult, but I force the words out anyway: “I want to say yes. But if you leave again in a few weeks when the next story of us comes out, it’ll hurt so much more.” Balling my fists, I glance away. “I’m still…me.”

  “I know,” he says slowly, more quietly than before, and takes a step closer to me. “And I’m not going to lie, it’ll take some getting used to. I value my privacy, I value my family’s privacy. But I talked a lot with Cedrick about this…” He takes my hands in his and looks me in the eye. “There are things we can do to be more careful—things I can do. Like keeping my social media off, since I don’t like that anyway.” William shrugs, and I offer him a small smile.

  I’m still struck at our hands together. How much I’ve missed him and how well they fit.

  “But there will always be paparazzi. Even if we’re careful, and Ashley has our backs. Something else could still happen.”

  “And when it does, we’ll handle it together.” His hand squeezes mine, and I look back at those emerald-green eyes. “Not being with you is so incredibly hard. I don’t think I want to go through that again if I can help it.”

  I bite back a smile, and raise my eyebrows. “Are you saying you can’t live without me?”

  He laughs, looking back at our hands like I’d been doing a moment before. “Something like that, yes.” William pa
uses, his thumbs caressing the back of my hands, and then he brings them both closer to his face. Gently, he places a kiss on my knuckles, and my legs turn to jelly. Staring at me from under those long eyelashes, he asks, “So, Nati. Will you go on a date with me?”

  I can’t stop myself.

  Without a word, I close the space between us, both hands on the front of his blazer, and pull him to me, until our lips crash. Urgent, hungry kisses that feel like both a homecoming and a new beginning.

  He sweeps me off my feet, and the warmth in my chest spreads until I’m catching fire. I can feel his heart racing under my palm, and when he puts me down, I snuggle into his chest.

  “Does that mean you’ll add me to your diary?” he asks.

  I nod. “I think I can make time for a date with you, yes.”

  He mirrors my smile. Still slightly crooked. His full lips slightly bruised from our kisses.

  He touches his forehead to mine, and when our noses touch briefly, he says, “I missed you a lot, Nati.” His voice is lower than before. I lean into his touch, when his hand cups my face. “You know I tried to stay away? But I couldn’t. Everything reminded me of you way too much…all the time.” He breathes out heavily, and I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. “I’m sorry it took me this long to come.” His dark green eyes search mine.

  I place my hand on his chest, then hold his face. I trace the birthmark on his cheek and smile. “It’s okay. You’re here now. And it’s perfect, because it’s real.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again.

  “Are you afraid?” I ask William.

  He looks me in the eye and pauses. I know what that pause means.

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” I reassure him. “It’s okay if you’re scared.”

  William shakes his head. “I’m not—I’m not scared. I’m…reluctant about being at ease.”

  He is totally freaking out.