Chapter Seventeen #2
An angry horn coming from a blue SUV screamed at her, forcing her to re-adjust and swerve back into her bike lane, which she had overshot by at least four feet.
The interruption sent her heartbeat into a frenzy, and for the remaining ten minutes, she did her best to focus her attention on the road, and not the huge mistake she’d just made.
After docking her bike, she walked up the stairs into her cozy apartment and instinctively checked the fridge for snacks, choosing leftover spaghetti and a Diet Coke before settling onto her couch to check her email.
On the quiet car ride back into the city, she had seen a reminder email from the Plated production team to submit all their materials by Monday.
There was a forwarded response from Gabriel, urging her to submit the application ASAP.
Cierra bit her nails while reading and re-reading the email in the safety of her living room, as if the deadline would magically change if she refreshed her inbox one more time.
The last of the materials she could’ve added to her application had been gathered that weekend, and Mia had already sent the edited footage.
Cierra appraised her essay showing her interest and fit for the show, which had already been proofread ten times, as well as a gallery portfolio of her dishes.
Her application was complete; it had been for days, ever since she got some additional photos from Mexico to polish her submission. So why did her finger shake with terror every time she hovered above the “submit” button?
She just needed to review the photos. One. More. Time.
The first picture in the carousel featured her washing tomatoes in a large farmers' sink, laughing with her head turned behind her, looking for the source of the commotion.
It was a photo that Erik had taken the afternoon of her first dinner party, and she had been laughing at an off-color comment Elliot had made about the eggplants making him feel insecure.
The second photo displayed a spread of spiced rice covered in toasted almonds, spring-green mint and parsley, and dotted with ruby-colored pomegranate seeds, next to burnt orange turmeric cauliflower and succulent lamb.
That one she had taken herself, the night of the networking event in Mexico City.
Suddenly, it dawned on Cierra how different her life looked now.
A year ago, the thought of traveling to Mexico on a first-class ticket, working for the CEO of a multimillion dollar company, having thousands of followers, or being encouraged by a major food TV network producer to apply for the nation’s number one cooking show seemed totally out of reach, a pipe dream.
But here she was, doing all of that. With help, of course. But ultimately, through trying different things, and sometimes failing, she was steadily forging the path that worked for her.
So why couldn’t she press that damned “submit” button?
She rose from her seat and called Lisa, silently begging that she’d pick up.
“Hey sis, what’s up? You okay?”
“Okay is a bit of a stretch right now, but that doesn’t matter. Do you have a second to talk?”
“I’m finishing up some paperwork, but I have five minutes. Now, tell me what’s going on before I call the cops.” Her voice lowered. “Oh my god . . . are you pregnant, too?”
“What?! No, I just wanted some advice.”
“Oh . . . okay, then. I’ll try,” Lisa replied, almost sounding disappointed.
“Would you look over the application for me? Just one more time?”
“The essay?”
“Yeah.”
An audible groan came through the phone. “Cee, I already went over it twice. It’s rock-solid. I told you this already. What’s this about?”
“I just . . . I can’t get myself to submit it.
And it’s due tomorrow. It all feels like it’s going so fast.” Cierra paused, sitting at one of the window seats, looking out toward the street.
Thirty pigeons sat neatly in a row on the roof of the building across from her, pecking at each other and shitting, oblivious to her torment. “What if I don’t get it?” she muttered.
On the other end of the line, Cierra could hear the rustle of papers being set down and the latch of Lisa’s office door closing.
“Is that what this is all about? You’re so scared about not getting accepted that you’re going to cut yourself off from a shot at something you’ve wanted for years? I have to say, I’m a little surprised.”
“I just . . . the thought of hearing ‘not this time.’ Again. I put so much work and time into this application . . . what if it’s all for nothing?”
“Cee?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, but I can’t want something for you. Listen, I gotta go, but could you please stop being your own worst enemy and submit the damn application? Remember, they reached out to you. You’re practically guaranteed an audition, okay?”
Cierra exhaled, absorbing her sister’s words. “Okay.”
“Good. Love you, Cee.”
The phone call ended, leaving Cierra alone with her thoughts. Her sister was right; deep down, she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere if she shied away from opportunities after a single no. Psyching herself up, she walked over to her laptop, its glow illuminating her face.
It’s just a button, she told herself.
And with that, she sent off the application and shut her computer for the rest of the night.
Maybe she’d get it, and it would be a chance of a lifetime.
But then maybe she wouldn’t, and even though it’d be tough, she would make it work.
This wasn’t last year, and no matter what happened, she was in a good place now.
And she was on a path. She just had to keep following new steppingstones as they appeared.
A faint smile spread across her face, and she pulled out her phone to text Mia.
Cierra: wanna go out?
Mia: are we celebrating??
Cierra: Application is officially submitted :) now I need a drink lol
Mia: first round is on me!