CHAPTER 8
Valentina
M y best friend and I grew up in the same neighborhood, rode bikes together, and went to the same schools until college. While we ended up in different careers, our friendship never wavered. Now and then, we visit memory lane at our favorite street-food spots. Today, it’s a hot dog stand in Brooklyn.
I take a sip of water, washing down my swallow of hot dog. I place my water cup on the folding table, my gaze flickering to Leah’s half-eaten hot dog piled with jalapenos and hot sauce. “Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of enjoying spicy food if you have to down all that water?”
She continues gulping her drink and gestures for my water.
I pass it over, noting the street artists, cyclists, and vibrant city life around us.
“That’s better.” She sighs and dabs her mouth. Her brown skin glistens in the lukewarm sunshine. “You were saying... your dead-end job search?”
“I have all the time in the world now.” I cover my half-eaten hot dog to shield it from the eager fly hovering over our table. As a middle school teacher married to her high school sweetheart, Leah is always busier than I am during the school year. She’s also one of the few people I know in a long-term relationship. Perhaps there’s hope for some of us to find that special someone.
“Nannying again could pad your wallet.” She crumples the mustard-covered napkin into a ball. “Lucky you have that to fall back on.”
I chuckle, yesterday’s encounter still fresh. “Not if I have to deal with grumpy parents. Guess who offered me the job I’d texted you about?”
“The woman who emailed your mom, right?”
I wince. How can I even explain this?
“Another wealthy family in Manhattan?”
“The woman who emailed. She’s the mother of the man who dismissed me in the interview. Can you believe it?”
“No way!” She slaps the table, and hot sauce glops from her now-forgotten hotdog. “Did you decline?”
“I quit yesterday before he could fire me.” Talking about it makes me hungry. I reach for my hot dog and bite into it fiercely.
We eat in silence until she asks, “What’s he like?”
“Annoying.” And unfortunately handsome. I finish my hot dog, still irked by his rude treatment.
“Is he a single dad?”
I nod. Sympathy creeps in. What’s the reason behind his curt demeanor? Is it because his wife left him? I want to hold a grudge regardless. “Maybe he hates women.”
“Is he handsome?” Leah wraps her paper into a ball.
Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so I shrug.
“Show me a picture of him from the internet.”
I reach for a napkin to wipe my hands, then pull my phone from my purse. The first page on my search appears. There at the top of the screen is his high-resolution headshot. Goodness! His headshot on Family Sphere’s site falls short in comparison.
He’s more relaxed, his smile warmer. Neatly shaven chiseled jaw. Perfectly fitted navy suit. Crisp white shirt. I don’t need a full photo to remember he’s tall and broad-shouldered. His hair is longer on top, dark brown with a curl. He belongs in a modeling shoot—okay, more like the popular athletic guy in school who’s every girl’s dream for a crush. My stomach squeezes.
I wince and scroll down, tempted to click on the many links with intel. There’s a gazillion forums about him online.
“Are you going to show me the photo?” Leah leans over and snatches my phone. She uses her other hand to shield the screen from glare and scrolls back up, then raises a brow as if she can read my thoughts. “Wow, look at that jaw, those eyes.”
“Handsome or not, he treats me like the bane of his existence.” Frustration bubbles over. He didn’t even give me a chance for a fair interview.
“It seems his mom hired you, not him.”
“How can I take care of his kids if we can’t stand each other?”
My last two times in Jason’s presence, the tension clogging the air almost suffocated me. “The kids are sweet. I think his daughter is dealing with a rebellious streak, likely due to her mother’s absence.”
Chin propped in her hand, Leah nods amid the chatter and hum around us. “I have an inkling you find him attractive.”
My cheeks heat. “I’m done with men. Even if I weren’t, he’s nowhere close to my—”
“Type, I get it. But all men are not your type thanks to Austin.”
“Not everyone is lucky to find a perfect match.”
“Just keep your heart open in case your perfect match comes along.”
I snort. “You, my friend, must’ve forgotten my family history.”
She shakes her head, brushing off my retort. “If nannying doesn’t work out, our school is looking for a psychologist.”
“No way am I going to be a school psychologist.” The idea of real counseling is daunting.
“But you’ve been on TV giving advice. Kids should be easier. Think of the volunteer hours you’ve dedicated to the school in ESL.” She picks up her hot dog and scoops the runaway sauce. “The parents in ESL know you. The principal loves you and would rather hire you than someone unfamiliar who’s more experienced.”
Of course, I appreciate her faith in me, but I’m not ready to transition from TV to real-life counseling. I am however considering getting out of the spotlight. I just need one more chance to end that career on a good note. “I’ll think about the offer, though.”
“Pray about it.” She licks hot sauce from her lips, then gulps more water. “Your TV job takes a toll on you.”
Stressing over researching a topic or story to capture an audience exhausted me. “Maybe God is trying to get my attention.”
“Perhaps He’s calling you to the career you trained for.” Her braids sway with her nod.
When we part ways, I ponder becoming a school counselor for one of the inner schools. I volunteer there two evenings a week during the school year. It might be interesting. I specialized in family psychology, and that includes kids. But I don’t want to take over and keep the kids from having someone more experienced in the field.
However, could this be where God wants me to be?
It’s been a while since I bothered to pray for guidance. From now on, I need to discern which doors God might be closing, like Mami says, so I can have the courage to climb through the window.
At home later, savory scents of food waft through the kitchen. My sister Anna recounts her day babysitting as we set the table. “That’s when three-year-old Lily decided to ‘bathe’ all her stuffed animals in the mud puddle.”
I snort to stifle a giggle.
“Always expect the unexpected with children.” Laughing, Mami scoops carnitas and peppers onto a platter. She then hands me the shredded pork platter. “They teach us patience and creativity in their own ways.”
I love the transparency of children, even if they test caretakers’ limits. I set the platter next to the stacked tortillas on the table. It’s just the four of us tonight, but the food is enough to feed ten. I return to the kitchen, passing Anna with steaming green chili.
Mami hands me the diced tomato bowl. “Tina, you should give the job another chance. Quitting isn’t in our nature.”
I sigh, but it doesn’t help as the conversation presses on my chest. “He didn’t want me there.” A headache threatens to set in. I hand Anna the tomatoes to put on the table. I need to convince Mami that working for Jason Sterling is beyond my limits.
Before I can speak, my brother strides in. Dressed in his Nets jersey, he points his half-empty Jarritos bottle at me. “I’d work for him, be the best nanny, and show him not to mess with a Diaz.” He takes another sip of his drink and starts coughing.
Mami grabs the nearest vinegar bottle and dollops some into a miniature disposable cup. “Drink this, Hijo .” She thrusts it toward Carlos. “It’ll stop a cold before it starts.”
“The soda... just went down... the wrong pipe.” My poor brother, still coughing, tries to explain between gasps before Mom can shove the vinegar down his throat.
That should’ve been enough of a distraction, but Anna reverts the conversation. “What were you even thinking, quitting like that?”
“We are not quitters, Hija .” Mami wags a disapproving finger at me.
Thanks, Anna, for dragging this out.
My family’s concerned attention presses in on me. That’s how they show their support—never letting me back down from a challenge, always pushing me to reconsider and grow.
We sit around the dinner table, basking in the glow of the overhead lamp, the aroma of garlic and herbs, and the warmth of love. We join hands as Mami begins grace, a heartfelt prayer. “Bless this food to our bodies, Lord.”
My chest tightens. I’ve been sloppy with my spiritual life lately, forgetting how far I’ve come. How far my family has come. Only God could’ve brought us this far despite the ups and downs.
Mom goes on, “Keep our hearts and minds grateful and open to each other and Your work.”
At her pause, we add a collective amen.
Silverware clinks against plates as we pass platters, each of us scooping up steaming portions. Out of habit to maintain my figure for the spotlight, I keep my portions small.
“You need some more meat, Tina.” Mami forks more shredded meat onto my plate, covering my plantains and pinto beans. “You can get back to your diet when you get a TV job.”
“Thanks, Mami.” No reason to argue. Carlos is seated next to me. I’ll slide my leftovers to him.
“Did you ever get that printer to work?” I ask as I stir an ice cube into my meal with a fork to let out the steam. Carlos was struggling to print out a ledger when I left to meet with Leah.
“It was the glue.” He pauses from adding meat to his tortilla. “Glue spilled on the desk, and I guess I accidentally put the sticky papers in the copier.”
The doorbell cuts through our laughter.
“It’s probably a salesman.” Carlos draws out a breath, folding his tortilla.
Everyone is ready to dive into their meal.
“I’ll get it.” I push back from the table, my napkin falling off my lap. I stride to the door, ready to tell whoever it is that it’s dinnertime and send them off. But when I swing open the door, I almost lose my balance.
I blink once, then twice through the fading daylight and porch light. Surely, my eyes are playing tricks on me.
“Hi.” Jason Sterling waves, his smile sheepish. “I hear this is where we line up to talk to you.”
Is that humor I hear? His posture reveals otherwise.
Dressed in a button-down and loose tie, he rubs the back of his neck, wincing as if the day is still bearing down on him.
“Grumps?” I squeak. What’s with my voice? My heart leaps into my throat as I attempt a steadier tone. “What... are you doing here?” I can’t find my real voice, and now I’m slightly hot despite the breeze. I grip the door, confused or frustrated—I can’t tell which.
“I...”
I’m not thinking straight, so I step back and slam the door, leaving him on the doorstep. Oops, I didn’t give him time to finish his reply.
I lean against the door and grip my forehead. I shouldn’t have done that. He came for a reason, right? Stomping on my conscience, I march back to the table, unable to steady my racing heart or convince myself I’m doing the right thing.
“Who was that?” My brother pauses his forkful halfway to his mouth.
“Tina, are you okay?” Anna half rises from her chair, reaching as if to steady me.
“You look...” Mami frowns. “Who was at the door?”
“A salesman.” I slide back into my chair. Jason is like a pushy salesman showing up unannounced. If he wanted to talk, he could’ve called. I gulp and glance around our humble house. The tattered chair, dingy sofa, and old family photos crowding the living room walls—things too personal, too intimate for an outsider to see. But he must’ve gotten the message he’s not welcome and left. Whew!
Then the doorbell rings again. Mami gives me that look as she grips both hands on the table and pushes herself up to stand. “I’ve got it.”
Great. So great.