Page 18 of Mutual Discord

Alex: I only learned about her because Camila mentioned her last time we talked. I guess she had stumbled across an article about the students at the University of Hawai‘i petitioning to rename one of the buildings on campus after Ball. And Camila remembered your video series.

Sofia: I’m glad she mentioned it to you because I have never heard of Alice Ball.

Alex: I’m happy to pass along the information. Camila said she binged all your videos and was shocked, and angry, that there were so many kickass women she had never heard of.

Alex: Say what you will about being a content creator, but you’re doing good work, Sofia.

My chest abruptly felt too small for my lungs, and I put down my phone and stared, unseeing, at the list of names on my laptop screen. Anger had sparked my journey as a content creator, but discovering the existence of these women—women whose accomplishments had been lost to time; women who had never received their flowers—had filled me with purpose. A purpose I needed after losing a large dose of my confidence.

Biting on my lip, I picked up my phone again and typed.

Sofia: I appreciate you saying that.

Alex: I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.

Closing my eyes, I tried to swallow down the lump that had lodged in my throat. Although Alex hadn’t said it, this whole conversation felt like a commentary on our discussion at the panadería. He had asked if I was embarrassed to be a content creator, and I hadn’t wanted to answer that question because, frankly, I didn’t know the answer. Maybe I was embarrassed. I had built a career in marketing, owned a house, and drove a nice car. I was Sofia Mendoza, senior communication strategist. Now I made TikTok videos in my pajamas.

Yet I was also creating videos about inspiring women to inspire others, and I was proud of that. Folding my arms together on the countertop, I dropped my head onto them with a thud.

After several long minutes, I grabbed my phone and reread Alex’s last message. Unsure of what I should say, I sent a simple heart emoji. Alex didn’t respond, so I turned back to my computer screen and the two scripts I was weighing. With a nod, I realized that Sor Juana Inés and Aemilia Bassano could wait for another week because I wanted to spend the afternoon researching Alice Ball.

—

The next morning, I walked through the doors at the gym and immediately spied Denise on a treadmill near the wall of windows on the left, her black braids twisted up into a messy bun on the top of her head. Although we had exchanged text messages daily, it had been more than a week since I’d seen my friend and I missed her. So I had timed my trip to the gym to coincide with her usual workout. Smiling, I dropped my bag in a locker, grabbed my water bottle and towel, and made my way to the treadmills.

“Hey,” I said, stopping by the machine next to hers and looping my towel over the handle. “What a coincidence you’re here today.”

Denise arched a dark brow, unamused. “I’m always here at this time.”

“Are you?” Taking a swig of water, I propped my bottle in the holder and grinned at her. “Well, seeing as how we haven’t seen each other in a while, I knew I needed to run you to ground.”

“ ‘Run me to ground’?” Denise snorted. “Where did you get that from?”

Probably from my research. I came across all sorts of lingo and turns of phrase in diaries and journals of the women I researched. But because I still hadn’t told my friend about the Matildas, it seemed best not to share that.

I flicked a hand dismissively. “I watched a documentary about Queen Victoria. ‘Run to ground’ refers to hunting dogs running down foxes.”

“Ugh,” Denise exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. “That sounds gross.”

“Because it is. Can you imagine the British colonizing half the world and claiming to civilize it when they practiced such a barbaric sport?”

Denise made a sound in the back of her throat. “I’m offended it’s called a sport.”

We chatted for several minutes, talking about nothing in particular, but the banter was a welcome distraction as I eased into my workout.

“So has Caitlin’s boyfriend reached out to you since that night at the restaurant?”

Any tension I had expelled on the treadmill now clustered in my shoulders and along my spine. I had told Denise about my dinner with Caitlin and meeting Alex…although I did not tell her about how Alex and I already knew each other. I figured there was no point in muddying the waters if I didn’t have to.

Or so I told myself.

Licking my lips, I aimed for casual when I said, “Yeah, we got coffee and pan dulces yesterday.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Denise’s head whip in my direction. “Did you take him to Dulce’s?”

I nodded, not looking away from the screen on my machine. “He invited me for coffee, and I couldn’t think of a better place to meet.”

Denise hummed her agreement. “So how is he? It’s Alex, right?”