Chapter Eight #3
“I actually graduated with a degree in physiology.” Alex must have noted my confused look because he added, “But I went on to earn an MBA.”
“How well-rounded of you,” I said, impressed.
The rustle of his shirt met my ear when he shrugged.
“I’ve actually used some of the knowledge I gained as an undergrad in my various basketball jobs, especially as it pertains to injuries.
A quick post about what’s happening on the court during an injury time-out.
What occurs when a player is carted off.
It’s an easy way to make fans feel as if they’re in the know. ”
“That’s really smart.” I glanced at him briefly. “It seems like working in professional sports marketing is a good fit for you.”
“Thank you,” Alex said, dipping his head. “I feel really lucky I get to earn money doing something I love.”
“You are lucky.”
“You’re lucky, too.”
A frown tugged on my lips. “What do you mean?”
“Your TikTok account. Social media is a large part of my job, so I know exactly how hard it is to be successful at it.” Alex chuckled.
“And you’ve managed to grow your account quickly by zeroing in on a niche subject.
The cherry on top is that you’re passionate about the women you highlight, and it shows. ”
Tendrils of warmth spread from my chest and through all my limbs. Unsure of what to say, I kept my eyes trained on the road ahead of me.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking this,” Alex said, his voice hesitant, “but why don’t you consider this a viable career option?”
My eyes followed the lane markers on the interstate as I mulled over how I wanted to respond. What I was willing to reveal about my own insecurities.
To his credit, Alex maintained his silence, the steady beat of a Bad Bunny song punctuating the stillness.
“When we first moved stateside from Puerto Rico, my parents worked hard to establish themselves here in Arizona.” I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly as dry as the desert landscape around us.
“And they were American citizens with great jobs waiting for them. Prestigious jobs, even. But they were constantly judged every time they opened their mouths. At the first hint of their accents. I was just old enough to remember bits and pieces of those early days.”
I could feel Alex’s gaze on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Sucking in a breath, I continued. “One of the things that has stuck with me was my father saying to my mother, ‘It would be so much harder if I wasn’t a professor and you weren’t a curator.’ ”
“Why, Sofia?”
“Because sometimes your job’s respectability is the only respect some people will give you,” I whispered.
All my nerve endings felt raw and exposed, and my shoulders curled in as I grappled with the truth I’d finally voiced.
And the fact that I had shared such a truth with Alex, when I hadn’t been willing to share it or the Matildas with Caitlin, Denise, or my parents, was another truth I was not ready to examine.
Alex’s voice was soft when he said, “Do you feel the same way about Caitlin and what she does?”
My scoff was harsh to my own ears. “You know I don’t. But then Caitlin is a beautiful, blond-haired, blue-eyed white woman. She’s afforded privileges that curly haired, curvy-hipped Latina women would never be granted.”
A quick glance at Alex revealed his grave expression.
The fact that he didn’t argue was proof he understood the validity of my point.
I would never claim that Caitlin hadn’t worked hard for the success she’d received as a luxury brand influencer, but Alex knew, just as well as I did, that Caitlin’s rise on social media absolutely could be tied to the indisputable fact that social media algorithms favored white content creators.
“Caitlin will always garner a certain amount of respect around her status as a social media influencer because she’s a white woman selling high-end products to other white women.
” Although my stomach curdled to voice the truth aloud, I didn’t want to hide from it.
Alex had asked, and I wanted to be honest with him.
“I’m not selling high-end products. I’m not being flown by Gucci and Chanel to Paris Fashion Week.
I sit on the sofa in my bungalow and create videos about women, often women of color, who’ve had their innovations or scientific discoveries stolen from them.
No one is clamoring to interview me. No one is sending me invitations to speak at alumni events.
This feels so…so in the moment. Such a 2020s thing to do, but what is its long-term viability? ”
I rubbed my temple as shame encased me in heat. Did I have to sound so goddamn petulant? And to make it worse, Alex didn’t immediately say anything in response.
“And I don’t need those sort of invitations,” I rushed to clarify.
“I don’t mean to imply that I do. It’s just…
” I nibbled on my cheek, trying to find the right words to not make myself sound like a complete asshole.
“Everyone in my family is so accomplished. My mom, my dad— Heck, Javi is a pediatric cardiologist. He saves children’s lives!
And while I wasn’t breaking through glass ceilings as a communication strategist, I had a stable job with a 401(k).
It allowed me to buy a nice, reliable car and a nice house in a nice neighborhood.
I had my shit together…until I didn’t. Suddenly I’m paying my mortgage and filling my fridge with money I make filming videos for TikTok.
It’s such an unpredictable income generator. My parents would never understand.”
Oh God, I had finally given voice to all the insecurities—the embarrassment—I felt over my current state of affairs. How I’d been hesitant to tell the people I loved most in my life the truth of my circumstances because I was afraid of disappointing them.
Alex remained silent for so long I was worried he had fallen asleep. I was too ashamed to glance over and confirm it. So when he finally spoke, I flinched.
“I…” He paused, and from the corner of my eye I could see him run a hand over his mouth and chin.
“I can’t pretend to understand what your relationship with your parents is like.
Family dynamics can be messy, with all kinds of land mines that only those close to you are aware of.
But I will say this, Sofia. I think the content you’re making is important. ”
A deep whoosh of air fled my lungs.
“Maybe you’re not being flown to attend fashion shows or collection previews, but you’re shining a light on women who’ve been erased from history.
You’re giving them their name, their accomplishments back.
And that sort of erasure is happening again.
” Alex held up his cell phone. “I was reading in the news that NASA, and even the military, have deleted the profiles of trailblazing women scientists and soldiers. It’s happening now, and it’s a big deal. ”
“I saw that.” Just that morning I had read several articles about the current presidential administration instructing, and in some cases pressuring, government agencies to suppress the records and history of women—especially Black women—and marginalized communities. It was infuriating. It was a travesty.
But I had a platform that could help.
“Sofia,” Alex said, an imploring note in his voice, “you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing. This moment in time needs you. And from the small amount you’ve shared of your parents, I bet they would think so, too.”
The gentle but resolute way he spoke finally drew my gaze to his.
With the sun low on the horizon in the window behind him, Alex’s face was mostly in shadows, but somehow, for a moment, his dark gaze held mine.
And although I implored myself to ignore it, I saw the admiration and respect that simmered there, and they made me want to cry for all the things I couldn’t have.
“Family dynamics are weird,” I blurted out, desperate to move the conversation back to steady ground.
Alex snorted. “Especially in a Latino family.”
“Especially as the only son,” I pointed out.
“A fact neither of my sisters lets me forget,” he said with a laugh.
For the rest of the drive to Tucson we swapped sibling stories and then shared more tales from college. After a while, I could convince myself that I hadn’t shared my insecurities with Alex, and he hadn’t responded with an understanding I was sure I didn’t deserve.