Chapter Twelve
Sofia: Alex invited us to the Scorpions game.
Denise: Say what?! Like Saturday’s game?
Sofia: Yup. Wanna go?
Denise: …
Denise: Shit, let me check. I’ll let you know.
I stared at the text Denise had sent me the day before, debating if I should send a follow-up text or not.
Denise was usually prompt with her replies, so it was easy to assume she hadn’t returned my text because she didn’t have an answer for me yet.
Puffing my cheeks on an exhale, I sat my phone aside and rested my chin on my knees.
The steady rhythm of rain pattering against the windowpanes drew my gaze, and my mood lifted a tad.
It was the most beautiful sort of day in the desert—overcast and cool, with light on-and-off showers.
Like the desert’s flora and fauna, I practically bloomed when the scent of fresh creosote perfumed the air.
It filled my lungs even now because I threw open the sliding glass door to the patio, and I smiled whenever my curtains fluttered with the breeze.
But my good mood was tempered when I thought of Denise’s text.
It was imperative that she attend the Scorpions game with me.
The thought of spending the weekend in Alex’s company, trading quips and good-natured jokes, and worse, listening to his gravelly laugh while he flashed that damn dimple, had me craving his company.
Which would absolutely not do. I needed Denise to be a buffer for me and my increasingly inappropriate thoughts about Alex.
If she couldn’t go, I didn’t have to, either.
But…I wanted to. The Scorpions games were said to be a blast, and now that they were in the playoffs, the atmosphere was going to be insane. I wanted to be there to experience it.
And I wanted to experience it with Alex.
Grabbing a pillow, I pressed it to my face and screamed. Annoyed with myself and my stupid, stupid emotions, I jumped to my feet and stalked to the entry table, where I grabbed my car keys and my purse. With a huff, I stomped out the door and locked it behind me.
Once inside my car, I sat for several long moments, staring at the water droplets as they rolled down the windshield.
Some crossed paths and melded together, and some drifted until they splashed against my wipers.
In that moment, I felt exactly like those droplets.
Drifting along by the force of gravity, directionless, with no way to steer and a messy end looming in sight.
“Why the fuck are you out here?” I said aloud, slumping back in my seat.
I had left my cozy home to drive…where? There was no destination in my mind when I stepped out the door; I had just known I couldn’t sit there as unease festered like a wound under my skin.
If I were honest, I hadn’t known what to do with myself since I pulled into my driveway Sunday afternoon.
No, before that. I’d been off-balance since I said goodbye to Alex.
Since he leaned over and kissed my cheek, his lips branding my skin.
While I had been sent into a tailspin, he seemed completely unbothered as he stepped from the car and grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat.
“I’m really glad I got to spend this weekend with you. Meet your parents and see where you’re from.” Alex had slipped on his sunglasses, and it had been a blessing and a curse not to see his gaze. “Text me when you know if you and Denise can make the game.”
I had nodded, my tongue thick and sluggish in my mouth. And he’d walked away, and I still hadn’t been able to right myself.
Closing my eyes, I dropped my head into my hands.
I had been posting prerecorded videos since Friday, and not for the first time I was thankful I had a cache of videos to utilize.
Researching the names I had saved or that had been shared in my comment sections seemed like a monumental task right now, not to mention writing a video script and filming it.
And to make matters worse, my mother had emailed me a list of names of Latina women who’d had their accomplishments and discoveries ignored or erased, along with a handful of citations for each one.
It was incredibly thoughtful of her. It was also incredibly overwhelming.
Now that my parents knew about the Matildas, I felt more pressure to make the series into something special.
Something elevated; even academic. Because creating content for the Matildas was how I supported myself, so in Mamí’s and Papí’s eyes, this endeavor should be more than just me speaking into my phone for one to two minutes at a time.
Suddenly my TikToks took on added importance, and I was struggling to find my creativity under the expectations. But my reserve of videos was running short, so I needed to get my act together.
Putting the car into reverse, I abruptly decided a quick trip to the grocery store was in order.
I needed to get my head on straight, and preparing healthy-ish meals seemed like a good place to start.
As it was, I’d had to remind myself more than once that I was too old to live on iced coffee and pizza Goldfish alone.
I was just stepping through the mechanical doors at the grocery store when my phone buzzed.
Alex: I was just chatting with Sharon Collins from Cactus Hills Marketing about a campaign, and she mentioned how she’d stopped working with a local marketing team when they let go of the strategist she’d collaborated with.
Sofia: OMG, you spoke with Sharon? I loved her. She always knew her stuff and never messed around.
Alex: And she obviously liked working with you enough that she ditched Desert Media 360 rather than be assigned to a new PM.
Sofia: She did? Wow. I didn’t know.
In the middle of the grocery store I felt completely weightless.
Cactus Hills had left Desert Media 360 because of me.
Sharon and I had collaborated on several projects, and I had thought of her a handful of times in the months since I had been laid off, but I hadn’t thought to reach out. Perhaps it would be worth it to try…
Alex: How are you doing btw? It feels like I haven’t talked to you in forever instead of just a couple days.
Sofia: It’s been 84 years.
Alex: I’ve felt 84 these last few days. I don’t think I’ve sat down once since we got back to Phoenix.
That wasn’t surprising. While I had never worked with a professional sports team, I had friends in the industry who had, and they remarked that anytime their team was in the playoffs was a crazy time.
Content was being pumped out to various channels all day long, with the sole purpose of generating excitement and keeping it percolating.
Sofia: I’m flattered you took a moment out of your busy day to reach out to your lowly friend. That was nice of you.
Alex: Lowly? Shut up. And honestly, if I sent a text to you every time you crossed my mind, your phone would crash.
And right there in the produce section I almost started crying.
Full-on ugly cry by a mound of sweet potatoes and pumpkins.
God, I didn’t know what to do when Alex said things like that.
Didn’t he understand what his sweet sentiments did to me?
I swallowed down a knot of tears as it occurred to me that maybe he did.
Alex wasn’t stupid. What reason did he have to be so attentive to his girlfriend’s best friend?
Unless keeping me on the line was some sort of twisted backup plan should things not work out with Caitlin.
I smacked a hand over my face and groaned.
Alex didn’t seem like the type to lead women along.
He’d been honest with me from the beginning; from before we knew each other as Alex and Sofia, even.
This problem—this inappropriate attraction—was on me.
And I needed to stop reading into his words and imagining romance where there was none.
It was better to change the subject, and my fingers flew over my screen.
Sofia: So are we still on for the game this weekend?
When it took a few minutes for his reply to come, I thought perhaps I had hurt his feelings. Mentally chastising myself, I filled my basket with onions, garlic, limes, and a bunch of cilantro. I almost jumped when my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Alex: Can you and Denise go? You haven’t said.
I pursed my lips as I stared blankly at the display of yogurts, sour cream, and various shredded and sliced cheeses.
Sofia: I haven’t heard back from Denise yet, which isn’t like her. I’m guessing it will just be you and me. Is that okay?
Holding my breath while I pressed the send button seemed apropos.
I grabbed a container of vanilla Greek yogurt and then a brick of Parmesan cheese and stepped down the pasta aisle.
There were plenty of pasta boxes in my pantry, but carbs seemed like the answer to all my worries.
Some gnocchi lathered in a brown butter sauce covered in Parmesan sounded like heaven.
As I reached the wine aisle, my phone vibrated again.
Alex: I’m offended you have to ask if it’s okay. I invited you, remember?
A chuckle bubbled up my throat, and I set down my basket to type my reply.
Sofia: Yeah but you’re allowed to take back the invitation if Denise isn’t coming. We both know that she’s the fun one.
Alex: Do we both know that? And either way, I extended the invitation to you, so it’s you I was hoping to see.
A spark of delight streaked through my body like electricity, and I legitimately shivered. Embarrassment and shame followed soon after, and I quickly glanced about, as if my fellow shoppers would notice how inappropriately I was responding.
Unsurprisingly, a bottle of sauvignon blanc made its way to my basket because liquid fortitude was suddenly necessary. Surely it would help me get myself together.
My groceries were paid for and stored in the back seat of my car before I felt ready to reply to Alex. I was staring at my phone, typing out and then quickly deleting the words, when a FaceTime request filled my screen.