Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Ah.” Denise slowly sank onto the edge of the bed, her gaze heavy on me in the mirror. “Do you think you’ll accept?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged.
“Are you not sure because of TikTok?”
My gaze shot to hers in the mirror. “What?”
Denise slowly arched a brow. “You know what I’m talking about. Did you think I wouldn’t see your videos?”
“I—I—I…” Pressing my lips together, I shook my head. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been winging it for months.”
“Since that asshole got you fired.” My friend growled in the back of her throat. “That situation broke something inside you.”
My hands curled into fists so tight my fingernails bit into my palms. I didn’t know what to say because Denise was right.
“Are you embarrassed you’re paying your bills with social media content?
Because you have to be making money with your follower count and views.
” Denise cocked her head. “You come from a family of overachievers. Proud overachievers. So I can imagine telling them you’re a content creator would be weird. ”
“My parents know,” I whispered. “When Caitlin let it slip that I lost my job, I had to tell them because they were so stressed.”
“Ahh.” My friend puckered her lips as she studied me. “So are you? Embarrassed?”
Alex had asked me a similar question months ago.
But when he asked it, my parents didn’t know about the Matildas…
but they did now, and I was still reluctant to share my social media life with my real life.
I didn’t even want my parents to tell my aunt, uncle, and cousins about the videos.
I was still disgruntled Javi and Olivia had been told.
And I hadn’t told Denise, one of my most loyal friends.
Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Do you know how many people dream of leaving their bullshit corporate job to make money on social media?” Denise threw her arms wide. “And you’re doing it. You’re succeeding. I’m so proud of you, even though I had to find out when my coworker said, ‘Isn’t that your friend Sofia?’ ”
I cringed, even while I blinked back tears.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, maybe after I reached some arbitrary follower count.
” My smile was wobbly. “I love making my Matilda videos. I love highlighting badass women who’ve been ignored or purposely forgotten…
but I’m also afraid of growing attached to them. ”
“Why?”
My throat worked on a swallow. “Because what if someone steals this idea from me, too?”
It was the first time I had ever voiced that thought aloud. The first time I had consciously put that fear into words. I didn’t know whether to cry from relief or dread.
Denise sighed, her expression sympathetic.
“I wish I could say that won’t happen, but I don’t need to tell you how awful people are.
There will always be someone looking to exploit artists and creatives, whether by co-opting their ideas or feeding their work into a generative AI model so they can produce some soulless second-rate version for a quick buck.
But no one can take away what you’ve done with your Matildas series, and no one can tell their stories like you do. ”
“Cono,” I exclaimed, running my finger under my eyes, “I should have told you about this whole TikTok thing months ago.” I hauled Denise to her feet and threw my arms around her. “I’m sorry for not trusting you with this.”
She patted my back and then angled to meet my gaze. “You’re forgiven. But now that I know, don’t think I’m going to let you get away with downplaying this accomplishment.”
Sniffling, I nodded.
“Have you told Caitlin?”
I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head.
“Ay.” Denise gripped my shoulders and shook me. “Promise me you’ll tell her while she’s here to visit.”
“Okay.” It felt like shards of glass filled my throat because the Matildas weren’t the only secret I needed to confess to Caitlin.
Denise glanced at the clock on my nightstand. “I’ll order a ride, and you can tell me about the next video you’re planning on the drive.”
After spritzing myself with perfume and shoving necessities into a clutch, I turned to her with a smile. “Let’s go celebrate New Year’s.”
At the door, Denise reached for her coat on the rack but paused, a frown pulling on her mouth. “Whose is that?”
She was staring at a blue hoodie hanging on a hook near her coat. My stomach swooped, and the truth slipped free before I could think better of it.
“Oh, it’s Alex’s.”
Denise pivoted to look at me. “Alex has been here?”
I nodded, trying to appear casual. Unruffled. And not like my pulse was speeding like a Formula 1 car. “Yeah. He stopped by after Christmas because I’d forgotten to give him his present.”
“Right,” Denise murmured. “It looks like the car is here.”
She walked out the door, but I paused. When I was certain Denise wasn’t looking, I brought Alex’s hoodie to my nose, inhaling his clean, familiar scent. Letting it drop back into place, I stepped outside, shutting and locking the door behind me.
—
The line to get inside La Respuesta wrapped around the block, but Denise assured me we were on the guest list.
“They’re going to let in a couple of thirtysomethings?” I said, my eyebrows in my hairline.
“When those thirtysomethings look this good?” Denise swept her hand up and down her body and then gestured at me. “Absolutely.”
I rolled my eyes, but true to her word, the bouncer checked our names off a list he held on a clipboard and welcomed us inside.
The pulsing beat of an Olga Tanón song bounced off every corner of the large two-story room, with couples dancing and spinning around the center dance floor.
Two ends of the floor were flanked by long, polished bars, each crowded with partygoers intent on securing a drink.
Tables and private booths lined the opposite sides, and they were filled with laughing, smiling, and drinking patrons.
“Where’s our table?” I asked into Denise’s ear, hoping she could hear me above the din.
“Second floor,” she said, pointing up with her finger.