“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“Will you just let me in?”
“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a twist?” She hangs up before I can retort. A second later, the door buzzes and I hurry upstairs.
When I step into her studio, Annika is still in her pajamas and painting her fingernails a deep red. Her hair is a dark brown, her half-Asian features a perfect blend of her Chinese mother and Irish father. Though our faces have a similar shape and we’re both petite, I’m full Chinese with thick black hair.
The windows in the studio are open, letting in fresh air and the delicious scent of pork from the bánh mì shop downstairs. It is, hands down, the best bánh mì dive in the city. But not even the smell of the Vietnamese sandwiches is enough to brighten my mood today.
“Don’t tell me,” Annika says without looking up, “you got fired.”
My jaw drops. “How did you know?”
“Wait, what?” Annika’s attention jerks, causing her hand to slip and a long red line of red enamel polish to drag across her index finger. “I was being sarcastic. Did you really get fired?”
“Yeah.” I close the door and pop myself up onto the kitchen counter beside her stove. The two chairs in the room are covered with clothes–one with clean laundry, the other with dirty–so there isn’t any other place to sit.
“Damn Perfect Dominique got fired?” Annika says, using an old nickname she gave me in high school. She returns her nail polish brush to the jar, taking a moment to wipe the excess from her finger with a tissue.
I spill my guts, telling her everything from the clones, to Sophia, to my late-night rebellion, and to my firing from the prestigious design firm.
“Wait a second.” Annika holds up her hand to stop me when I get to the part about drinking six espressos in the middle of the night as fuel for my rebellion. “This is too good. I need a drink.”
She grabs a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from her fridge and pours us both a glass. Normally, I’d never drink in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, but today seems like a good day to change that rule. I take down two big gulps.
“Jeez, cuz, can you try to enjoy it? This is a good one. The sales guy gave me his sample case after I agreed to put it on our list.” Annika is the wine buyer for the restaurant where she works. She’s a pro at getting free stuff from the sales guys who want to be on her wine list.
“I’m not in any shape to enjoy good wine.” I hold out the glass to her. “You should take it back and give me something trashier, like Two Buck Chuck.”
Annika huffs and waves her hand. “As if I’d get caught with Two Buck Chuck. I might live in a shoe box and wait tables for a living, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have standards. Now, continue on with your story.” She nudges her pile of dirty laundry onto the floor with her foot, then sits down in her chair.
I take another drink, a distant part of my brain registering the wine is quite good, and finish the rest of my story.
I leave nothing out. Annika is the one person on the planet I can be completely honest with. I even tell her about drawing a joint and a fart cloud on the company picnic flier on my way out the door.
When I finish, Annika pours herself a second glass. She swirls the liquid around, a slight dent on her brow as though deep in contemplation.
“Are you going to say anything?” I demand, unable to stand her silence. “I’m boyfriendless, jobless, I might have to borrow against my 401K just to make rent, and our family vacation starts tomorrow. What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, for one thing, you can come up with a list of new topics to discuss at dinner time.”
“Annika, I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” Annika nudges aside a stack of books on her table to make room for her wine glass. “You want to know what I think? I think this is the best thing that’s happened to you since you got dumped by Oliver.”
“How can you say that? Getting fired and getting dumped are not exactly life goals.”
“You forget that I know you. The real you. Presidio has been sucking the soul out of you for the last two years. They have you stuffed into clothes you hate and hiding under ten pounds of make-up. The Dom I know loves comfy clothes and was born with colored pencils and a sketchbook in her hands. When was the last time you drew something just for fun?”
Her words skate a little too close to the truth tucked down inside me, but I can’t bring myself to agree with her. “It’s a good company. One of the best in California. Don’t you remember how much time Auntie Helen spent researching design firms for me in my senior year of college?”
“Oh, I remember.” Annika rolls her eyes. “I also remember in high school when you told your mom you wanted to major in art. All the aunties ambushed you at our fourth of July party and convinced you to change to digital design.”
“They just wanted me to pick a major where I could have a good job.”
“They convinced you to walk away from your passion.”