Chapter Six
I didn’t hear from Alex for four days, and I appreciated the reprieve.
We may have chatted online, but in-person interactions were still new to us.
Finding our footing in our new friendship would be touch-and-go, and after the disastrous ending to our coffee date, I needed some time to lick my wounds.
So I threw myself into research for my next Matilda video. I was trying to choose between scripts I’d written about author Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz or poet Aemilia Bassano when my phone lit up with a text.
Alex: Have you ever heard of Alice Ball?
I frowned. Alice Ball? Clicking open the spreadsheet I kept with an ongoing list of female scientists, authors, entrepreneurs, and intrepid women of their time, I scanned through the names, not spying Alice Ball. I told him as much in my return text.
Alex: She was a chemist who worked in Hawai‘i with leprosy patients.
Sofia: Oh. I know people infected with leprosy were often sent to Hawai’i, where they were segregated from the rest of the population.
Alex: Exactly. Well, Alice Ball was a Black woman who discovered a treatment for leprosy using ethyl ester, called the Ball Method.
However, for a long time it was called the Dean Method, after another chemist took over her work when she died young in what they think was a lab accident.
Dean never credited her in any of his papers.
Sofia: Of course he didn’t.
Alex: I only learned about her because Camila mentioned her last time we talked. I guess she had stumbled across an article about the students at the University of Hawai‘i petitioning to rename one of the buildings on campus after Ball. And Camila remembered your video series.
Sofia: I’m glad she mentioned it to you because I have never heard of Alice Ball.
Alex: I’m happy to pass along the information. Camila said she binged all your videos and was shocked, and angry, that there were so many kickass women she had never heard of.
Alex: Say what you will about being a content creator, but you’re doing good work, Sofia.
My chest abruptly felt too small for my lungs, and I put down my phone and stared, unseeing, at the list of names on my laptop screen.
Anger had sparked my journey as a content creator, but discovering the existence of these women—women whose accomplishments had been lost to time; women who had never received their flowers—had filled me with purpose.
A purpose I needed after losing a large dose of my confidence.
Biting on my lip, I picked up my phone again and typed.
Sofia: I appreciate you saying that.
Alex: I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.
Closing my eyes, I tried to swallow down the lump that had lodged in my throat.
Although Alex hadn’t said it, this whole conversation felt like a commentary on our discussion at the panadería.
He had asked if I was embarrassed to be a content creator, and I hadn’t wanted to answer that question because, frankly, I didn’t know the answer.
Maybe I was embarrassed. I had built a career in marketing, owned a house, and drove a nice car.
I was Sofia Mendoza, senior communication strategist. Now I made TikTok videos in my pajamas.
Yet I was also creating videos about inspiring women to inspire others, and I was proud of that. Folding my arms together on the countertop, I dropped my head onto them with a thud.
After several long minutes, I grabbed my phone and reread Alex’s last message.
Unsure of what I should say, I sent a simple heart emoji.
Alex didn’t respond, so I turned back to my computer screen and the two scripts I was weighing.
With a nod, I realized that Sor Juana Inés and Aemilia Bassano could wait for another week because I wanted to spend the afternoon researching Alice Ball.
—
The next morning, I walked through the doors at the gym and immediately spied Denise on a treadmill near the wall of windows on the left, her black braids twisted up into a messy bun on the top of her head.
Although we had exchanged text messages daily, it had been more than a week since I’d seen my friend and I missed her.
So I had timed my trip to the gym to coincide with her usual workout.
Smiling, I dropped my bag in a locker, grabbed my water bottle and towel, and made my way to the treadmills.
“Hey,” I said, stopping by the machine next to hers and looping my towel over the handle. “What a coincidence you’re here today.”
Denise arched a dark brow, unamused. “I’m always here at this time.”
“Are you?” Taking a swig of water, I propped my bottle in the holder and grinned at her. “Well, seeing as how we haven’t seen each other in a while, I knew I needed to run you to ground.”
“ ‘Run me to ground’?” Denise snorted. “Where did you get that from?”
Probably from my research. I came across all sorts of lingo and turns of phrase in diaries and journals of the women I researched. But because I still hadn’t told my friend about the Matildas, it seemed best not to share that.
I flicked a hand dismissively. “I watched a documentary about Queen Victoria. ‘Run to ground’ refers to hunting dogs running down foxes.”
“Ugh,” Denise exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. “That sounds gross.”
“Because it is. Can you imagine the British colonizing half the world and claiming to civilize it when they practiced such a barbaric sport?”
Denise made a sound in the back of her throat. “I’m offended it’s called a sport.”
We chatted for several minutes, talking about nothing in particular, but the banter was a welcome distraction as I eased into my workout.
“So has Caitlin’s boyfriend reached out to you since that night at the restaurant?”
Any tension I had expelled on the treadmill now clustered in my shoulders and along my spine.
I had told Denise about my dinner with Caitlin and meeting Alex…
although I did not tell her about how Alex and I already knew each other.
I figured there was no point in muddying the waters if I didn’t have to.
Or so I told myself.
Licking my lips, I aimed for casual when I said, “Yeah, we got coffee and pan dulces yesterday.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Denise’s head whip in my direction. “Did you take him to Dulce’s?”
I nodded, not looking away from the screen on my machine. “He invited me for coffee, and I couldn’t think of a better place to meet.”
Denise hummed her agreement. “So how is he? It’s Alex, right?”
“Yeah,” I murmured. That was an easy enough question to answer.
The first one, not so much. Opting to keep it vague, I increased the pace on the treadmill until I was jogging at a moderate pace.
“He’s cool. Easy to talk to. We discussed the real estate market, because he’s interested in buying but he’s not sure where. ”
“He should rent until he gets a feel for the valley. He may be interested in downtown and then discover Tempe or Chandler is more his style.” Her nose crinkled. “Unless you think he’s more of a Scottsdale guy.”
“No,” I said sharply. When Denise laughed, so did I. “Alex doesn’t give Scottsdale vibes.”
“I can’t see Caitlin dating a Scottsdale guy. I mean, she leads a fancy, jet-setting lifestyle, but she’s pretty down to earth.” Denise took a drink from her water bottle and then pointed it at me. “She needs a laid-back type of guy to come home to.”
I agreed with that. Caitlin may be a huge influencer, but she’d managed to stay grounded.
She took herself seriously because Caitlin Wolf was her brand, but not so seriously that she couldn’t laugh at herself.
We were still friends after all these years, I think, because both Caitlin and I valued authenticity and loyalty.
“Alex seems like that kind of guy. Did I mention he moved here to work for the Scorpions?” I said, the words puffing out as I continued my jogging pace.
“Really?” Denise increased her pace to a fast walk. “Does that mean he can get you tickets for a game?”
Snorting, I shook my head. “Is that your way of insinuating I ask Alex for tickets?”
Denise smiled prettily. “Hey, you might as well use your contacts.”
We continued our workout for another thirty minutes before we walked back to the changing rooms. After quick showers, Denise and I left the gym but continued to talk by our parked cars.
Thankfully, I had managed to find a spot next to Denise’s Lexus, which was parked under a tree, so the mesquite’s canopy saved us from the mid-morning sun.
“What are you doing tonight?” my friend asked, propping her hip against her car door.
I shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Let’s go get dinner at El Coquí. It’s been a while since we’ve been, and I’m craving mofongo,” Denise said.
Denise was half Puerto Rican and half Dominican, a fact she enjoyed joking about.
We originally met when I was hired as an entry-level marketer straight out of college and Denise was a systems analyst at the same company.
As soon as she learned I was a boricua, she tucked me under her metaphorical wing and helped me navigate my first grown-up job.
We’d been friends ever since, and we tried to grab Puerto Rican food every few months just to reconnect with our culture.
Denise always said that although she had lived in the valley for more than a decade, a bite of pernil or a plate of tostones took her back to the islands.
“They do have good mofongo,” I murmured, my thoughts drifting unexpectedly to Alex. “Did I tell you that Alex is Puerto Rican?”
“?Qué?” Denise stood straight, her eyebrows high on her head. “No dijiste.”
I nodded, looking down at my feet. “He is. Do you think that maybe we could invite him to join us?”
“Oh.” Denise pulled back her chin. “Sure. Finding good Puerto Rican food is essential when you move to a new place.”
“You don’t mind?”
A frown darkened Denise’s expression. “Why would I mind? He’s Caitlin’s boyfriend and he’s new in town. The least we can do is feed him good food.”