Chapter One #2
I rose now, stretching my arms over my head, thankful a slight headache was all I had to show for yesterday’s overindulgence. Denise was the best sort of friend, and the least I could do to thank her after such a night was to get breakfast for us.
Dressing quickly in an oversized T-shirt and biker shorts, I tiptoed past the guest room where Denise was sleeping.
I slipped on a pair of flip-flops and quietly opened the front door, wincing at the glaring sunlight.
Usually I preferred to walk to Dulce’s, my favorite panadería, but because the cicadas were loudly singing the song of their people and heat was already wafting off the concrete, I opted for my car, not wanting to start my day dehydrated and sunburned.
After a short drive, I pulled into a strip mall parking lot, thankful to snag a spot right in front of the store.
A bell chimed as I pushed open the door, and the older woman behind the counter greeted me with a friendly “Buenos días” before she returned her attention to the customer she was assisting.
There were only three people in front of me in line, and I used the time while I waited to inspect the items in the case.
When my turn arrived, I ordered two large iced coffees; an assortment of pane dulces; apple, pineapple, and pumpkin empanadas; and a dozen tortillas.
I may be Puerto Rican, but having spent years in the southwest, I had a deep appreciation for the culinary delights of my Mexican cousins.
On the drive back home, I sang along to a song on the radio while I mentally made a list of the things I had to do now that I was unemployed.
Reach out to human resources regarding my severance pay.
Sign up for CObrA so my medical insurance didn’t lapse.
Update my résumé. Hit the job boards. A deep sigh fluttered my lips. This fucking sucked.
Ten minutes later I found myself curled up in an armchair in my living room with my iced coffee and a concha on a plate near my elbow.
Taking a leisurely sip of coffee, I opened my TikTok app only for it to immediately crash.
Frowning, I tried again…and almost spit coffee all over the screen.
My notifications were out of control. With an open mouth, I scrolled down the page as thousands of comments, likes, and shares populated the screen, and it took me a long moment to realize they had been left on the vent video I had recorded the night before.
The video about Jocelyn Bell Burnell. I slapped a hand to my forehead when I remembered that I hadn’t even rewatched the video before I posted it.
I didn’t think I’d said anything dumb, but then again, I had recorded it after several shots of tequila.
With my stomach at my feet, I quickly set aside my coffee, opened the post—ignoring the three hundred and fifty thousand likes—took a deep breath, and hit play.
My face appeared on the screen, and I heaved a sigh to see that I didn’t look terrible. Sure, my eyes were a bit red-rimmed and my skin was a tad blotchy, but considering my mental state at the time I recorded the video, I could have looked much worse.
Then I listened to my words. Reporters asked about her hair routine.
If she was dating. Yet they asked her male colleagues the specifics of her discovery and what it meant to our understanding of space.
Jocelyn was reduced to a helper—an assistant—when she had made the fucking discovery in the first place.
There it was. The anger. It colored every word that left my mouth.
Every blink of my eyes. The intensity with which I stared at the camera.
I had been pissed when I filmed the video, and it showed.
Being laid off from Desert Media 360 so soon after having my work stolen had left me with a gnawing anger I didn’t know how to channel.
An impotent rage with no one to vent it upon.
My video was no more than a minute long, but it had been cathartic to share my frustrations through Jocelyn Bell Burnell’s story, because truly, women’s accomplishments—their ideas, innovations, and brilliance—have been stolen by men since the dawn of time.
Biting my lip, I opened the comment section, prepared for the worst. I’d been raised on the internet, and knew it would probably be a cesspool.
And there were plenty of snide, outright rude comments.
Some were from obvious mouth breathers who had barely learned to use their opposable thumbs, and some were from men I was sure I’d find in my DMs, asking for pictures of my feet.
But surprisingly, there were more supportive comments than anything else. Messages expressing solidarity and empathy, and some that reflected the very same anger that had prompted me to film the video in the first place.
After months of asking my husband to help me retile our guest bathroom, I finally did it myself. Ripped out all the old tile, replaced the rotted floorboards, and laid the pristine new porcelain tile all by myself. When my in-laws came over to visit, my husband took credit for the work.
At my old job, my boss constantly ignored my emails or requests for help, but anytime my work was praised by company leadership, suddenly he remembered I existed.
I was the only girl on my math league team, and although I answered more competition questions correctly than any of my teammates, I was cropped from our championship photo in the school yearbook.
With a knot in my throat, I read through the comments one by one, blocking some users and responding with a kind word to those who offered one first. But my eyes kept returning to the most popular sentiment shared: You should make this a series.
Pressing my phone to my chest, I glanced wildly around the room before my eyes latched on to my closed laptop. I had to update my résumé. Apply for insurance coverage. Search the job boards.
Slowly, I glanced down at my phone, just in time to see five new notifications flash in the app.
Maybe…this was a chance to try something new.
Lots of people made money on social media, and perhaps I could do the same.
There were plenty of stories throughout history of women whose accomplishments had been downplayed, ignored, or forgotten entirely, and I could shine a light on them.
Would happily shine a light on them. And if I made a few dollars in the process, well, that would be the cherry on top of this nightmare sundae.
I stared at my phone, watching in real time as comments and likes appeared in my notifications. I could do this.
A comment abruptly captured my attention, and I barked a laugh.
User16892: a man wouldn’t know what to do with a pulsing object even if a woman put his hand directly on top of it.
“Oh my God, did you pick up pan dulces?”
I jerked my head up, stifling a gasp. I hadn’t heard Denise stirring, but I managed a shaky smile now as she walked by on her way to the kitchen. “I figured it was the least I could do after last night.”
My friend reappeared several moments later with her iced coffee and a plate piled high with a pumpkin empanada and a palmera. Situating herself on the sofa, Denise took a drink from her straw and stared at me. “You look good, especially considering the state you were in when I arrived.”
I felt a strange mixture of elated and exhausted all at once. “Thanks to you,” I replied, with forced lightness.
Denise took a bite of palmera, catching the flaky crumbs on her plate. “Greasy food and plenty of fluids have never let me down.”
“They didn’t let me down, either. Thanks, D.” I nibbled on my lip, debating whether I should tell my friend about my viral TikTok and the side quest I was considering taking. But before I could say anything, Denise spoke.
“So what are you going to do today? Especially now that you don’t have to go into the office?”
Research. I needed to do research to see which women inventors or entrepreneurs I could spotlight next.
If I was going to try my hand at social media content, I needed to formulate a plan.
I snuck a quick glance at Denise, finding my friend licking sugar off her fingers.
Maybe it would be better to wait before telling anyone about my new venture.
It could be a big flop, and why draw attention to it until I had some wins under my belt?
Very few people I knew in real life were active on social media, and none on TikTok…
well, except for my best friend, Caitlin.
She had a huge account, especially in fashion circles, but it felt unlikely that she would ever come across one of my videos.
The chances of my secret account being discovered were small.
With that decision made, I lifted a shoulder. “I have a checklist in my mind of all the stuff I have to take care of.” I clenched my eyes closed. “I really hate that I’m in this position.”
“I hate it for you.” Denise studied me and then picked up her empanada. “I’m choosing to believe that leaving Desert Media 360 will be the best thing to ever happen to you, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”
“It’s not like you to be so optimistic”—I snorted—“and this early in the morning, too.”
Denise faked a shudder. “Very out of character for me.” She took a bite of empanada, swallowed, and then grinned. “I’m blaming the sugar. It’s made me all cheery and shit.”
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I could use all the cheery shit I can get.”
And thinking of my TikTok video, I figured a helping of simmering rage wouldn’t be misplaced, either.