Page 12 of Mutual Discord

Carefully setting aside my glass of water, I smoothed my fingertips under my eyes to wipe away errant tears and glanced about. We were seated in a private room off the main spa at the Biltmore. One wall of the room was made of glass that overlooked the distant, craggy Piestewa Peak, the beauty of the ocotillos, cholla, mesquite, and palo verde trees of the surrounding desert drawing my eye.

Caitlin had opted to receive a laser treatment for fine lines she insisted had appeared at the corners of her eyes, and I had been content with a full-body massage. Afterward, we had met for manicures and pedicures, and we sipped mimosas while a gentle bubbling creek soundtrack filled the space. When we first entered the room, a falling-rain track was playing through the speakers, and I had been caught off guard, my heart lurching at the idea it could be raining. But my mood instantly crashed when the tech saw my hopeful expression and inclined her head toward the glass, where the brutal Arizona sun beat down on the terrain, her face clearly expressing Girl, you should know better. And considering how long I’d been a desert dweller, I should have known better than to expect rain.

Still, the slow, quiet pace of the manicure and pedicure had lulled me into a much-needed state of relaxation. Which was why Caitlin’s abrupt question rattled me.

Swallowing, I finally said, “He seems really nice. Plus, he’s smart and has a great job. How fun would it be to go to Scorpions games whenever you want?”

“And he’s hot.” Caitlin’s blue gaze danced with amusement. “Don’t forget that.”

As if I could. “He’s Puerto Rican. Of course he’s hot.”

Caitlin laughed, but her expression turned contemplative as she glanced down at the woman massaging her feet. “I hope you don’t mind showing him around the city. I should have asked you first before putting you on the spot.”

She probably should have, but whatever. Caitlin had made the offer and I had accepted. Plus, as far as my friend was concerned, I had the time. Because I didn’t have a day job to clock in at, I’m sure Caitlin thought my days were free to play Phoenix tour guide for Alex, and I was glad I hadn’t told her about the Matildas. I couldn’t quite explain why, but I wanted to keep them to myself for a bit longer.

“No worries. I’m willing to show him around. It can be hard to move someplace new where you don’t know many people.” I sighed as the nail tech rubbed her thumb into the arch of my foot. “Or so I can imagine.”

I sensed rather than saw Caitlin turn in my direction. “Hey, you moved here without knowing anyone.”

“I moved two hours away from home.” I scowled. “It’s not like I moved across the country, like Alex did.”

“Regardless of how far you moved, you still moved to a new place.” My friend made a sound in the back of her throat. “You shouldn’t downplay things.”

Caitlin was silent for a moment, and I was tempted to glance at her to gauge her expression. Instead, I stared at the bubbles floating at the top of my foot bath. They looked so peaceful clustered on the surface of the water, and suddenly I felt very much like them. Placid on the outside; one swift movement away from being popped.

“Yes, well,” I finally said, smiling at the tech as she gently dried my feet and propped them on the edge of the tub. “Moving sucks no matter where you move to. Have you thought about moving away from New York?”

“Sometimes. Especially because I’m on the road so much it doesn’t make sense for me to pay my astronomical rent when I’m hardly there. But”—Caitlin released a long sigh—“it’s convenient being based out of New York. So many of my contacts are in the city.”

“That makes sense.” I lifted a shoulder. “What’s been your favorite place you’ve visited over the last six months?”

She huffed a laugh. “Nashville. Because I got to explore it with you.”

That sparked several minutes of us reminiscing about our time together in Nashville. After our pedicures and manicures were complete, we walked back to her room, where we ordered room service and dined in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Piestewa Peak.

“So when do you think you’ll be back?” I asked, spearing a cherry tomato with my fork.

“Not sure.” Caitlin pushed her salmon around on her plate. “As we head into the fall, I have a couple events in the Hamptons and then I’m flying down to North Carolina. Have you ever been?”

I shook my head.

“Well, it’s beautiful in the fall, when all the trees turn the most gorgeous colors.” She paused, her blue eyes sparkling. “If you still don’t have a job by then, you should come join me. I can show you around Asheville.”

Shouldn’t she invite Alex instead? But I didn’t voice the question, even though thinking about it kept me from spiraling over her “If you still don’t have a job by then” comment. Did I even want an office job by then? I wasn’t sure.

But instead of saying that, I smiled. “That would be amazing.” Because it would be.

—

After I said goodbye to Caitlin and wished her a safe flight back to New York, I headed home, melancholy settling on my shoulders. I hated saying goodbye to Caitlin, especially because I wasn’t sure when exactly I would see her again. Meeting in Asheville may not have been a possibility, and until her work brought her back to Phoenix, it might be months until we could reconnect. It was a lonely thought.

Not that I didn’t have friends in the valley. There was Denise, who I usually spoke to at least once a day. The ladies in my Pilates class, who often invited me to attend their book club or bunco nights. Although my older brother, Javi, lived far away in Chicago, my parents were two hours south in Tucson. They loved it when I traveled down to spend the weekend with them, and Mamí usually cooked extra of my favorite Puerto Rican dishes for me to bring back with me. It had been quite some time since I’d visited…since around the time I’d been laid off. It was like I unconsciously knew that if I made a trip to see them, I would let it slip that I was unemployed. Which wasn’t fair because I was supporting myself, just not in the manner in which they thought. But I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with my parents—wasn’t ready to explain the Matildas and how I earned a paycheck from putting videos on the internet. My dad might be a brilliant environmental science professor at the University of Arizona and my mother a curator at the local historical society, but understanding the wild world of social media was completely out of their wheelhouse.

My unemployment—and the Matildas—had isolated me. No, that wasn’t right. My need to keep them both a secret had isolated me, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

Collapsing on my sofa with a huff, I pulled my phone from my pocket and stared at the TikTok icon on the screen. I hadn’t checked in all day, and I didn’t want to check in now. Even though it had been two days since I had posted a video—a wonderful little vignette about Spanish sculptor Luisa Roldán, whose artwork I found delightful—I knew there would be comments asking for a LIVE with Alex. They had been relentless, to the extent that I dreaded opening the app. Much like now. But until I landed a day job, TikTok was my job, and I couldn’t let these people keep me away.

Squaring my shoulders, I clicked on the icon and held my breath as the notifications loaded. With my tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth, I skimmed through the comments on my last video. The majority were positive. And truly, how could they not be when Luisa Roldán’s sculptures were so intricate and striking. But with a heavy heart, and an annoyance that threatened to send my blood pressure through the roof, I spotted several comments asking if a LIVE with Alex was in the works. Surprisingly, I noticed, there were no comments from Alex himself. He had commented on every single one of my videos, no matter the topic, and it felt weird to not see his User16892 handle in the video comment section now. Had he not liked the video?