Chapter Nine #2
It wasn’t his fault those words filled me with the worst kind of sadness.
“So Caitlin mentioned that we’re having dinner with your parents this evening.”
Thankful for the change in topic, I nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, my mom is making pernil because she knows Caitlin loves it.”
“Damn, I love it, too.” Alex pretended to wipe drool off his mouth. “Just thinking about it is making me hungry.”
I laughed, tucking away my phone. “You’re probably hungry because we haven’t eaten breakfast. Once Caitlin meets up with us, want to head to the food tents and see what there is to eat?”
“Sounds like a great idea. I woke up late this morning so I just missed the continental breakfast the hotel offered.” He snorted. “Of course Caitlin didn’t miss it. When I finally made it to the hotel lobby, she was already finishing an egg-white omelet.”
“Caitlin has always been a morning person.” I didn’t want to know why he had slept late.
“What about you?” For some reason, Alex turned to face me then, his gaze intense. “Are you more of a morning person or a night person?”
“Uhhh.” I blinked, considering. “I wouldn’t really say I’m either. I’m a noonish person.”
“A noonish person?” Alex’s dimple cut into his cheek. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t struggle to get up in the morning,” I said, smoothing my hands down my thighs, “but I’m not necessarily at my sharpest until noon and after. But I also can’t stay up too late. If I’m going out, I need to know ahead of time so I can prepare myself.”
“No spontaneous nights on the town?”
“Absolutely not.” I chuckled. “I left spontaneity behind in my twenties.”
“Good call. Spontaneity is for the young. You have to plan in old age. Or at least I do.”
I couldn’t help my grin. “Just like you can’t skip breakfast in your old age.”
His eyes sparkled. “Exactly.”
We were saved from further conversation when Caitlin appeared, her pretty face flushed. “I’m starving. Want to grab something to eat?”
Alex and I shared a look, and I stood, looping my arm through Caitlin’s. “Maybe they’ll have Sonoran dogs. When’s the last time you had a Sonoran dog?”
Caitlin’s blue eyes went wide. “Oh God, like, eight years ago, at least. That sounds delicious. Fattening but delicious.”
Tugging her toward the sidewalk, I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the treadmill with you later. Or if you really want to punish yourself, we can hike Tumamoc Hill.”
“Ugh, let’s save Tumamoc for a day when I don’t intend to drink my weight in alcohol,” Caitlin said with a shudder.
“Fair,” I said, shaking her arm.
“What is a Sonoran dog?” Alex asked from Caitlin’s other side. “And Tumamoc Hill?”
Caitlin and I laughed in unison, and I launched into a detailed explanation of the culinary wonders of the Sonoran dog, a grilled hot dog wrapped in bacon and topped with pinto beans, salsa, and other tasty condiments.
—
Later that afternoon, I stood off to the side in a humanities auditorium as Caitlin answered student questions about her work as a fashion influencer and brand consultant.
Caitlin had asked me to film the talk, so I alternated between pacing the room to capture my friend from different angles and sitting next to Alex.
I was impressed by the questions the students asked her about getting started on social media and building a presence within online spaces.
“Please keep in mind that I had many advantages that most people starting out do not have,” Caitlin said.
She leaned against the side of the podium, her elbow propped on the top, a picture of stylish ease.
“My parents had the wealth and connections to allow me to move to New York City, get an apartment in a nice neighborhood, and meet buyers and content creators within the industry. Those sorts of connections allowed me to grow my following much quicker than someone who doesn’t have those entry points.
Many BIPOC creators are beginning at zero, and I started at fifty.
It’s important that we acknowledge those sorts of inequities because it’s not fair to you or to anyone entering this industry to compare their journey to mine or any other creators’. ”
The audience applauded and I nodded along.
There still seemed to be this belief that if someone filmed and shared quality content, the likes and follows would come.
But that was a simplified understanding of social media.
Routinely, BIPOC creators were ignored or suppressed by the algorithm, although they tended to start popular trends and often shared the most creative, innovative content.
Caitlin knew this. Alex knew this. And I knew this.
I slid my gaze to Alex now, thinking of our conversation on the drive the day before. As if sensing my regard, he glanced at me, arching a brow in recognition of the point.
“So what do you do if you don’t have the sort of connections I was lucky enough to have?” Caitlin continued. “Well, several creators have already discussed how they got started, and I highly recommend you follow them and watch their content.”
She proceeded to share a list of creators from within the high-end fashion space, and a page appeared on the screen behind her with each creator’s account name and their avatar.
A warm feeling bloomed in my chest, and I zoomed in on her animated expression.
This was why I loved Caitlin. She never hesitated to use her platform to help others.
To amplify the voices of marginalized creators.
Caitlin acknowledged her privileges and tried to offer them to others.
She was a girl’s girl, and I was so lucky she was my friend.
It was my turn to sense Alex’s attention on me. He’d come to stand beside me, dipping his head close to my ear to whisper, “I think you should tell her about the Matildas. She would be proud of you, and you know she’d do her best to help your channel grow.”
I did know that. I really did. But staring at my friend as she commanded the stage also made me feel a crushing sense of inferiority.
Caitlin had always been so smart, so charismatic, so beautiful.
As undergrads, I was routinely overlooked for my charming, prettier friend.
And here I was, thirty-one years old and still allowing myself to feel overshadowed by her. It was so stupid.
Glancing at Alex, I aimed for a smile. “I know she would. She’s the best. And I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”
He stared into my eyes for a long moment, and I don’t know what he saw there, but he eventually nodded and returned his attention to the stage.
Thirty minutes later, I stood in my row, alternating between filming Caitlin chatting with several students, her smile warm, her patience everlasting, to checking comments and likes on my account.
Alex had left to stretch his legs because the movie theater–style seats in the auditorium were uncomfortable at best. I imagined his long limbs needed a break.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed several figures at the end of my row. Turning, I raised my brows when I noticed three young women staring at me.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” one said as she approached, her steps timid. “But I had to ask…Are you SLikeTheSun?”
I sucked in air so quickly I was surprised I didn’t choke. Instead, I opened my mouth, then closed it, my lashes fluttering as I tried to focus.
“Yes, she is.”
I swung my head around, my panicked eyes colliding with Alex’s amused ones. He laid a hand on my shoulder, as if to say, What are you going to do now, Sofia?
His touch revitalized me, and I smiled, although it was a tad tremulous.
“I am,” I said, my voice much more confident than I felt.
A large grin bloomed on the young woman’s face. Her friends crowded behind her. “Oh my God, I thought it was you! I love your Matildas series.”