CHAPTER 3
Valentina
I always prided myself on never letting anything dampen my spirits again. While growing up in Brooklyn under my feisty mother, wallowing was never an option. Yet, my resilience seems insufficient now as I slam the taxi door and step onto the chalk-adorned sidewalk. Normally, I’d pause to admire the whimsical artwork the neighborhood kids create. Today, my mind is crowded—so much so I nearly collide with a cyclist. With a jerk backward, I avoid what could have been a painful encounter.
Chin up, I inhale the crisp morning air to regain my composure. Still, with each click of my heel on the concrete pathway leading to our two-story brick home, my shoulders sag under the weight of humiliation I just suffered. Leafless shrubs along the pathway graze my slacks as my mind replays Jason Sterling’s voice. “I will not hire you.” While not his exact words, he expressed them as though I was a malicious influencer snooping to bring him down. His blue eyes flashed as if fueled by revenge against an adversary.
Before the interview, I’d considered him handsome with kind eyes based on his profile photo on the network website. His subtle smile and square jaw would have every woman’s head turning as he walked into a room. I’d been distracted by his looks the moment I saw Jason, forgetting whatever the receptionist told me and I rushed for the same elevator.
I wince over the coffee spill. No wonder we had a terrible first impression. Either way, his reaction was stronger than that coffee. How could anyone in his position harbor such anger? And yet, beneath his voice, I sensed a hidden weight, even as I found comfort in challenging him, perhaps because I recognized the resentment he carried—a recognition from one damaged soul to another. Could I, without even knowing it, be the source of his irritation? Had my show at Starwatch struck an unintended nerve? I’d submitted the best scripts from the last three networks I’d worked for.
I’ve never exerted so much effort to muster confidence as I did in that boardroom. And now, I’m utterly exhausted, and it’s not even eleven o’clock. Shaking my head to clear it, I try to savor the crisp air penetrating my suit—a fashion decision made in the hopes of presenting a professional, polished appearance, even at the cost of leaving my coat at home.
I’d been so confident of securing the job today. Now, I’m jarred almost as much as I’d been from betrayal when my ex-boyfriend broke my trust and altered the course of my career.
“Hello there, Val.”
I pivot toward the voice from a two-story house similar to mine. My neighbor, still in his black robe, pauses from clipping his withered shrubbery.
“Good morning, Pierce.” I step toward him and manage a smile, the kind reserved for the outside world that perceives me as confident.
“Are you okay?” His gray brows draw together, his dark-brown skin harmonizing with my lighter tone.
“I’m fine, but if you stay out much longer, you won’t be. It’s too chilly for yard work.” I rub my arms on my shoulders and nod at the clear sky. “It should warm up later, though.”
“I’ve got a jacket under my robe.” He rests the clippers at his side. “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”
I dismiss his question with a wave before his free hand ushers me closer.
“Can you believe spring is here?”
“It sure is.” Pierce and his wife, Joan—our closest neighbors since we moved here when I was five—boast the most vibrant potted plants on our row. Although now the pots on their porch and sidewalk sit dormant, they’ll be vibrant with blooms in two months. I’d delve into gardening too, if I could manage to squeeze it in between my relentless job hunts.
“Look at this.”
I lean in to inspect the sprouting buds. Hope blooms anew. I breathe it in, hold it in. “I’ve been longing for spring.”
Maybe the new season will bring in the change I need. Perhaps even a new job opportunity.
Pierce’s eyes shine. “I hope you didn’t hear that caterwauling last night? Our cat, Spunky, got into a bit of mischief. I think he must’ve been chasing a mouse along the bookshelf, but he knocked over Joan’s aloe vera plant. The way he carried on—yowling and howling—you’d think the spiky plant attacked him .”
The diversion into pet stories, or anything else for that matter, offers a welcome respite. But Joan’s voice soon floats from the window, summoning him for their midmorning snack. So I turn toward our home. In the detached single-car garage, my gray Civic awaits long family trips. Otherwise, the subway or taxi’s more convenient to get around the city.
Leafless shrubs flank our weathered porch steps. In a month or so, the leaves will sprout and breathe life into the landscape again. Once I punch in the code, I swing open the wooden door and step into the comforting warmth of home and the aroma of fried food, vinegar, and freshly made tortillas. The TV blares where my brother, Carlos, perches on the worn brown sofa, his dark hair tousled. Dressed in a navy-blue Yankees jersey, he’s engrossed in a baseball game or perhaps a rerun as he bites into an arepa dripping with cheese and meat.
“If Mami doesn’t stop serving you lunch for breakfast, I might have to buy that treadmill after all.” I raise my voice over the TV. I should consider working out at home or joining Carlos in running and kickboxing, which won’t cost me anything. With my time in the spotlight winding down, I might as well cancel my gym membership.
Carlos wipes cheese remnants from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did you get the job?”
Two years my senior, he prefers working as the scheduler and accountant in our mother’s nanny agency, as opposed to the unpredictability of the outside world. Following his divorce two years ago, he moved back in with Mami, making visits with my nephews infrequent after his ex-wife moved them to Chicago. “When do you start?”
I slide off my heels, the hardwood floor cool beneath my feet. I tuck the shoes on the wooden stand beside my handbag. The old planks creak with every step. “I wouldn’t be back this soon if I’d gotten the job.”
“Their loss, hermana . They don’t know what they’re missing.” He plates his arepa on the coffee table, the TV apparently losing its allure. With a click of the remote, he turns it off and channels his full attention on me.
Warmth spreads through my chest at his unwavering belief in me. “It’s not the best job for me anyway.” Not true, but I need to stay strong, act disinterested. I’m not going to vent. My gaze drifts to the tan wall hosting family photos and midcentury Venezuelan art, plus paintings that celebrate the spirit of Brooklyn.
“Someplace better and more deserving will come along.”
I need his optimism.
“On the bright side, I got those tickets you wanted to the Yankees spring training in a few weeks. We can invite up to six friends.”
“Thanks, Carlos.” Baseball is not my favorite sport, but my smile is automatic. I enjoy the atmosphere and catching up with my friends at these games.
“Is that Tina I hear?” Our mother’s voice emanates from the kitchen behind the tall TV cabinet. Underplaying it, the busy clatter of pots and pans resounds in comforting familiarity.
“It’s me, Mami.” I sneak a bite of Carlos’s enticing cheesy sandwich before returning it to him and heading toward the kitchen.
Our living room windows invite streams of natural light, and the warm glow illuminates the polished hardwood floors. The cozy three-bedroom house might feel a bit cramped for the six of us—my two sisters, cousin, brother, Mami, and me—but it’s home.
I swallow the sandwich bite as I step into the kitchen where she’s mixing something on the stove, steam rising around her. The aroma of garlic and freshly made tortillas, stacked high on a nearby plate, envelops me. “What are you cooking?”
As usual, vinegar, some in spray bottles and more in regular bottles, stands ready next to the measuring cups. Whether for cleaning or medicinal uses, vinegar is the one thing my mother never runs out of.
“I figured you might return with an appetite.” She secures the lid on the pot and smooths a wisp of dark hair back into her bun. The frazzled escapees help hide her silver streaks. “Had to make your favorite lunch to celebrate the new job.”
“I thought I’d land the job too. But green chili would be a great comfort food right now.” I no longer need to watch what I eat since I don’t belong in the spotlight anymore. After eating, I’ll take a bath infused with relaxing essential oils to ease my stiff muscles.
Her smile radiates her usual certainty, as if the job’s already mine. She wipes her hands on the flour-dusted apron protecting her green dress with its dahlia print. She’s plump and short—a stature my sister, Anna, inherited, while the rest of us took after our lanky dad. “Tell me everything about the interview.”
“It seems our prayers have gone unanswered yet again.” I fidget with my pearl necklace. Now, it feels like a noose. My fingers twitched at the urge to tear it off, but I bottle up disappointment and recount the coffee-spill incident. “He insisted it wasn’t the reason I rubbed him the wrong way.”
Mami approaches, and her hands cup my cheeks. “Hija, just because God said no, doesn’t mean He hasn’t answered our prayers.”
As I collapse into her arms, the anxiety knots begin to dissolve.
“You’re beloved by all the people and families you’ve worked with,” she says. “And their children adore you.”
“I only wish I could’ve extended some of that charm to this man.”
She steps back, her eyes reflecting understanding. Having lived in America for many years, she speaks more English than Spanish, although the lilt of our Latino heritage still colors her speech. “Come here, baby.”
Her deep-brown eyes gleam as she guides me to the dining table. She sits across from me, the gold locket around her neck catching the light. I don’t have to open it to know it carries a picture of my siblings and me—“always close to my heart,” as she often says.
“What happened?”
Under her tender gaze, I recount a story different from my other job interviews. “It wasn’t a fair interview.” I squelch the hurt of having navigated all three stages at Family Sphere to be rejected in the final round. “He looked at me as if I stood for everything he detests.”
“I’m sure whatever bitterness you sensed from him stems from somewhere else.” Mami traces her finger on a small stainless bottle. “Like this salt shaker’s contents, we don’t understand what others are going through until shaken to the core. On a brighter note”—her smile widens—“you have a degree in psychology. Maybe it’s time to dig into opportunities beyond TV that can benefit from your degree.”
Right. I’d almost forgotten why I pursued psychology, especially after Austin’s manipulations.
“I gotta say, your recent TV counseling show really resonated with women on their journey of self-discovery.” Carlos scrapes the chair legs against the floor as he sits down and sets a plate with the remains of his sandwich in front of him. “But single guys or those happily married might not appreciate being labeled as losers.”
I flinch, not just at his words but also at the oversimplification. “I never used the word losers .” I turn to Mami, seeking an ally. Her knowing look only deepens my unease.
He folds his arms on the scratched wooden tabletop. “That’s not what bloggers are saying.”
“My message was about empowering women to discover their worth independently.” Surely, Mami, of all people, understands this. “You’ve been our rock, raising us single-handedly, and look how well we’ve turned out.”
Melancholy softens her expression. “Not every man is like your father, Hija . Do you think this man rejected you because he might have been offended by your show’s viewpoint?”
“He’s too bitter to be married if you ask me.” I speak from my disappointment rather than as the counselor I should be. “If he were married, I’d advise his wife to make a run for it.”
Carlos’s deep laugh booms, soon joined by Mami’s more reserved chuckle.
Shaking her head, she grips my hand. “I’m relieved you’re not working there. But, if you keep up with your dislike of men, I might never see any grandkids.”
“Mami means men are intimidated by you.” Carlos’s lightness belies the gravity of his words. When I swing a punch at his hard chest, he winces, mock groaning.
Still, sadness chills me. The one man I fell for tainted my view of romance forever.
“I wouldn’t count on grandkids from me anytime soon.” I can barely hear my voice. “Our family isn’t the poster child for stable relationships.”
“Anna is married.”
I snorted at Carlos’s reference to our oldest sister. “She spends more nights here than with her spouse. Let’s face it. She’s on her second marriage, and it’s hanging by a thread.”
He rubs the back of his neck, then rocks his chair off its front legs. “Well, Rosa’s engaged again.”
“ Again being the key word.” I can’t help pointing out our pattern of failed commitments. No reason to go into our cousin’s recent divorce after a dramatic split similar to Mami’s fiery response to Dad’s betrayal.
“Adding grandkids to this mix wouldn’t be wise.” I remove my pearl necklace and set it aside. This perhaps symbolizes letting go.
“It’s not our fault those relationships haven’t worked out.” Carlos draws out a breath as he’s tipped back. Balanced like that he’d topple with the slightest whack from me.
But the whack I give him is verbal. “That’s just the problem. It doesn’t change the fact that none of us have had a lasting love life.”
“You’re the youngest and not married yet. Perhaps you can change our family history.” Mami squeezes my hand. “Think of all the redemption stories from the Bible. So often, God used the most unlikely people to make a difference.”
I pull away. My path has been more self-directed, straying from any divine guidance. Perhaps that’s why I feel forsaken.
“As for work, while you’re figuring things out, your skills are always welcome at the agency.” She shakes a finger at me. “It’s time to jump into a window, now that this door has closed.”
“I agree.” Carlos licks his fingers, having finished off his sandwich.
“A new opportunity is on the horizon, Hija .” She’s never let us wallow in disappointment. “A woman reached out specifically asking for you. She’s heard glowing recommendations from the families you’ve assisted and was impressed by your résumé and online reviews.”
Wait. What? I dodge her shaking finger. “I thought you removed my résumé from the website.”
“I planned to once you secured a job. But I asked her for a couple of days to decide, and today marks the second day.” Mami beams. “Talk about timing!”
Even the possibility of being wanted for a job—albeit not my dream job—reinjects much-needed confidence. My mother’s nanny agency has been essential to our family, providing for us ever since Dad left, covering everything from our bills to college funds, and becoming our safety net every time employment eluded us.
The Family Sphere interview was just one of several attempts to jump-start my stalled broadcasting career this year. Maybe stepping away from the relentless job hunt to spend time with children, letting them brighten these dark days, isn’t such a bad idea.
I find myself laughing for the first time today, which feels like forever. Mami asks Carlos to bring the laptop. She manages her agency online and has over sixty employees, excluding my siblings and cousins who step in when needed. Mami and Carlos work from home and rent partial space from a gym when they hold interviews and staff-training events.
“You know, Mami’s probably right.” Carlos grins. “This might be the break from stress you need.”
My mind wanders to my last job and its abrupt end. A new production manager’s shift in direction led to my resignation, a decision I thought would herald new opportunities. While the challenge of securing a job in my field looms large, I’m grateful for Mami’s agency to bounce back on. Yes, I’m willing to take the next step and contact Judy Flora Turner, the potential employer interested in my profile.