Mia paused, looking skeptical. “I happen to remember a certain comment about social media being a ‘cesspool of narcissists’ and, what was it again? An ‘algorithmic hellscape’? Why the sudden change of heart?”
Cierra cringed, recalling a wine night a few months back where she might have gotten ahead of herself. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t really mean that. That was a lot.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And I was talking with the chef from the dinner party. He mentioned that having a larger social media following could really help me from a business perspective, so I want to take it more seriously. Depending on how things go with the Lawsons, I could maybe use it to attract more clients. But I don’t know the first thing about building an audience, and I was wondering if you could give me some tips.”
Mia was squinting, as if she had some serious things to weigh. “I’m not sure, aren’t you morally concerned about—”
“Mia, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Social media is the future. I repent of my Luddite ways and am ready to be led into viral redemption.”
With that, Mia gave in and practically squealed with glee. “Yee! Okay, okay, I forgive you. First, we have to start with anintro video. A cute montage. I’m thinking little shots of the city, you shopping in cutesy farmers’ markets. Oh! And we’re going to need a catchy handle . . .”
As Mia rattled off her ideas, Cierra took notes and looked forward to having something to keep her mind occupied during the week. And while she wanted to take her friend’s advice, it was hard for her not to obsess. She knew that Julian didn’t owe her anything; it’s not like he was her boyfriend. Still, she may as well have been thirteen again, sitting by her flip-phone, waiting for her middle-school crush to text her back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A COUPLE OF days later, settled into her new apartment, a charming brick building in Harlem, her morning alarm abruptly awakened her. Even though the ringtone sounded like wind chimes, it might as well have been a bullhorn. Cierra let out an audible groan and slapped one of her pillows across her face; it was time to get to work.
Rubbing her eyes, she walked barefoot down her hardwood hallway to the quaint galley kitchen. It had enough room for a French-bistro style circular table and a little wire chair, which was right beneath the window facing the next-door building. She put on some coffee, adding dashes of cinnamon to the grounds and a little ginger. Soft morning light filled the room as she opened her notebook to review the menu.
Breakfast:
Sourdough toast with mushrooms, eggs, red pepper, and feta
Wild berry chia oat bars
Lunch:
Mediterranean tuna salad wraps with fruit
Grilled vegetable pressed paninis
Dinner:
Roasted chicken with rice pilaf and tabbouleh
Wild rice soup with daikon, mushrooms, and coconut milk
It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, but man, it looked good written out. She was still in her first month on the job and wasn’t willing to take many risks.
While double-checking her list she had written, she thought about where to shop. She figured she’d walk through the park to reach a nearby farmers’ market, and whatever she couldn’t find there, she’d get at a specialty grocery store. It was a little more effort, but she always found that the produce was more flavorful, and it would make for great video content, especially on a beautiful day like today.
Like most parks in Manhattan, once inside its confines, she could almost forget it was in the most haywire cement jungle in the world. Cierra shuffled along the stone path, occasionally stopping to bask in the sun’s rays peeking through emerald-colored tree leaves, until she came upon the market, which was absolutely bustling. According to her watch, it was already eleven, so she needed to move fast if she wanted to make it to the Lawsons’ by one p.m. when she was due to arrive.
Carrots, celery, daikon, mushrooms . . .
She recited the ingredients to herself as she scanned and filmed some goods. She nestled herself beside a discerning older man in a frumpy old hunting jacket, who didn’t look happy about the intrusion.
“Sorry,” Cierra muttered. She grabbed fragrant celery and carrots and then made her way to the register. Luckily, she spotted a bunch of daikon en route as well. She deeply inhaled the fresh, almost acidic smell coming from the vegetables in her arms. Nothing beat farm-fresh celery. It was a hill Cierra was willing to die on.
When she looked up, there was a line of at least six people in front of her, and she still needed to find the mushroom person (there wasalwaysa weird mushroom person). She checked herphone again (for the time,notto check if Julian had texted her back). It was ten minutes until noon — she was cutting it close.
But before she knew it, she was checking out and booking it to the mushroom stand. There was an older woman working there, wearing a canvas apron with specks of dirt on it. She had thick, unruly hair that looked like it used to be a deep red but was now showing more gray. In front of her, there were various bins of fungi. Lobster mushrooms, large and fleshy, with an orange tint. Bunches of enoki mushrooms sat upright; their slender white shoots made them look like miniature fungal bouquets. There were even morels, always difficult to find, with their brownish honeycomb shape. And of course, handwritten signs with egregious prices jutted out from each bin. But luckily for Cierra, price wasn’t an issue; everything would be expensed to the Lawsons. For the recipe she was making, she opted for a mix of cremini and shiitake, liking the balance of texture they offered.
“That’ll be forty-two fifty,” the woman said after weighing the goods.
Cierra shook her head in astonishment at the price. “Sure thing.” She tapped her phone and opted for a text receipt, smirking at the clean-tech way of purchasing a dirt-smeared bag.
