This is one of my jobs and everything I love about this job, but for the life of me right now I can’t get into telling Claire how she can improve her foams. I say all the right things, mentionlecithinandgelatinandagarandmethylcelluloseandxanthan gum, use a whipping siphon with nitrous oxide gas, but I try to keep it short and sweet and simple, trying to wrap it up quickly, keep it copacetic. It doesn’t feel fast enough, though, and by the time we’re done, the kitchen’s closed and cleaned and the kitchen staff has wandered out and it’s just me and Claire.
This entire time I’m really feeling some type of way leaving Annie out there with fuckin’ Mark.
Eventually, there’s nothing left to talk about, and the conversation switches gears into more catch-up, personal topics.
“I kinda want a drink,” I tell Claire. I can’t take it any longer. “Could we go back out there?”
“Oh,” she says. “Sure! Mark will hook you up.”
That’s all Mark better be hooking up.
We step back onto the floor, and it’s a pretty standard sight. Staff lounging around, holding beers, stepping out for a cigarette, vape pens being handed off. I finally find Annie, and she’s still by the bar but now surrounded by a group of guys.
She looks fine. She looks at ease. I remember what my sister said about Annie. Annie knows how to party.
Claire and I wander over to the group, where they’re talking about Annie’s tattoos, of all things.
“Yeah, they’re Pete Cheser’s,” she’s saying.
“Sick,” Fuckin’ Mark says. “I’ve always wanted a piece by him. His waitlist was like a year long last I checked.”
She chuckles. “Well, his waitlist is now probably ten years long, because that’s the length of his incarceration.”
The guys, including me, wince.
“How’d you get so many then?” someone else asks.
She shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, but I can tell now that it’s forced. “We dated for a bit.”
Everyone marvels at her.
Annie notices us now. She glances back and forth between me and Claire. “Hey,” she says simply. “How’d it go?”
“Wonderful,” Claire grins. “I love this guy,” she says, bumping me with her shoulder.
“Wonderful,” Annie answers with a smile, looking anywhere but at me.
Wonderful.
Mark finally gets me a drink. As parties do, it ebbs and flows—groups shifting, splintering, reforming; people trading puffs, bumps, and questionable decisions. I eventually claim a spot on a couch across the room, keeping an eye on Annie.
And there she is.
Holding court like she was born for it, even though she doesn’t know a single soul here. She’s got a circle of people hanging on her every word as she teaches them a drinking game that seems to involve lies, deceit, scheming, screaming, and the kind of rule changes that should be illegal. Within minutes, she’s orchestrating chaos—calling out bluffs, assigning shots, dragging shy people into the fray, and turning the whole room into a rager. Laughter erupts around her in waves, the kind that makes coworkers cling to each other like lifelong friends.
Through the raucous roar of laughter and playful shoving, I find myself stunned.
Annie’s not loud and jovial and bubbly. No freakin’ way. She’s loud but wry and sarcastic and witty. She has a dry-ass sense of humor. She doesn’t bounce around from group to group. No, people gravitate toher.
Annie talks to everyone as if they’re in on some long-running inside joke, like she’s swapping secrets and talking shit with her closest friend. She sizes you up in an instant, delivering just the right dose of teasing—anywhere from a polite pass to a playful ‘silly you’ to an all-out, no-mercy roast if she thinks you can take it. And somehow, she always gets it right, making you feel like you’ve known her forever.
Thirteen years ago, she must’ve decided I could take the full-force massacre. But back then, the stakes were lower. We were just kids. I also “fucked her over,” so maybe I had to get a very specific, hurt Annie Li, lashing out at me when she thought she was in danger.
Regardless, everyone loves her and tries to get caught in her web. Everyone wants to share an inside joke with her. Because it’s all genuinely Annie, the way she’s carrying herself and talking to people—none of this is a show. With a start, I realize this side of Annie isn’t a performance. It’s not a costume orarmor—it’s simply another layer of her. Still sharp, still real, just as true as the rest.
It’s in this moment, as I watch her smile at Mark, that I suddenly understand what’s happening to me. Fuck everyone else, because I’m winning the race. ‘Cause as friendly as she’s being, no one is allowed in.Inin, to see the real Annie Li. Except for fuckin’me. She’s shown it tome. Not all, but some, and some is more than all these losers. Grouchy Annie Li, permanently sucking on a lemon. Protective, loyal Annie Li. Sexy, horny Annie Li. Dry, funny, friendly Annie Li. Then soft, vulnerable, poetic Annie Li. Those parts she seemingly spends her entire existence protecting. Maybe a little bit broken. She let me see her cry. I held her together while she cried. She’s using my hoodie as armor.
Fuck Mark—I’m the only one who’s fuckin’ earned it.
