Page 57 of WASP

“I was a golfer. Stationary targets are my jam, not moving ones flying at my face.”

“Oh, c’mon,” her sister called. “You’re not even trying, Annie.”

Annie glared at Avery over the net as Drew bounced the ball twice before tossing it in the air, swinging his racket through the serve with precision. It zoomed across the net, bouncing out of reach of Avery’s racket, winning the match for them.

“The only reason you two win at all,” Avery said, brandishing her racket at Annie and Drew, “is because he has a somewhat decent serve.”

“Enough, you three.” Their mom’s voice cut through their bickering with a finality only Colleen could muster.

“I’m going to sit the next one out,” Annie grumbled, setting her racket down as she plopped onto the courtside bench. Her mother slid elegantly into the seat next to her, taking a sip from her metal water bottle.

“Andrew and Avery, you two play while Annie and I take a little break,” her mother called, leaning back against the bench, getting comfortable.

They watched as Drew and Avery volleyed back and forth, with Avery eventually taking the first point with a wicked backhand shot and the swish of her tennis skirt. Her mom fiddled with the gold chain where four small stones were set in a line—the birthstones of each of her children: opal for Andrew, citrine for Avery, diamond for Annie, and aquamarine for Austin. Annie had always found it quietly fitting that her birthstone was a diamond—the result of extreme heat and pressure causing carbon atoms to literally rearrange themselves into a stronger structure to survive.

“Did you remember to call Austin for his birthday on Monday?”

Annie nodded. “Yeah, hard to forget when our birthdays are three days apart.” Her mother always liked to joke about how twice the Lord tried to give her an April Fool’s baby, first with Annie, whose birthday fell on the second of April, and again with Austin, who came around two years later on the thirtieth of March.

“And are we still in the not celebrating our birthday type of mood these days, or have you finally changed your mind? You only turn thirty once,” her mom coaxed, and Annie could hear it, the way her tone was trying to extract a different answer from her, the answer her mom wanted rather than what Annie wanted. But for whatever reason, unbeknownst to her, she had always managed to stay firm on her boundary with birthdays—absolutely NO acknowledgment of them ever.

“Still a no,” she said flatly, crossing one leg over the other, trying to figure out how best to avoid the longer conversation the topic of birthdays typically led to. “I don’t like them. Feels weird to be celebrated when I did nothing to be here. If anything, you should get the acknowledgement,” she joked, hoping her mom would take the bait.

As predicted, she did, letting out an amused chuckle. “Oh, I like the sound of that. I’ll take my gift any time now.” She patted Annie’s thigh. “You have always been so funny. Ever since you were little. The things you used to say.” She sighed fondly, flicking her perfectly tied-back hair over her shoulder in a way Annie had idolized and secretly tried to perfect over the years. “You’d have your father and I waiting on eggshells to see what wild things you’d come up with. Do you remember that school report you did on thunderstorms?”

Annie smiled, remembering the diorama—the one she had spent forever on for the school’s science fair, and her obsession with lightning that had gotten her there. She had painstakingly created a realistic thunderstorm, complete with lightning made from miniature Christmas lights and cotton ball clouds. Her project was meant to teach how to determine how far away a thunderstorm was using the speed of light and sound of lightning and thunder. Something about counting the seconds between the two and dividing by five—she was a little fuzzy on the details. “Yeah. I remember.”

“And how you awarded yourself the most creative project award and then told all of the adults that it was unfair to grade on science skills alone?”

Her grin widened as she laughed. “Yeah, well, I still stand by that. It’s not like we were making big scientific breakthroughs in the fifth grade; it was basically a performative book report,” she said smugly.

They watched in silence as Avery set her stance, positioning herself ready to serve the match-deciding point. She tossed the yellow ball up high, her racket cracking through the air after it.

“You’ve always been good at standing by your convictions, Annie. That hasn’t changed once in thirty years.”

Annie’s ears prickled as she waited to hear the words she hoped her mom might say right now, but Avery’s excited cheer took their place as she drove a backhanded hit over the net, sending the ball past the tip of Drew’s racket, winning the match.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” her mother said, getting to her feet.

After saying goodbye to her mom and siblings, Annie slipped back into the locker room to shower and change. She, of course, had planned ahead and slipped a few extra things into her gym bag that might come in handy later—things like her toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a black lacy matching bra and underwear set she had bought herself as a little birthday present.

She showered, taking advantage of the attached changing stall to slide into the lingerie, looking down at her chest and how much the lacey racerback pushup bra elevated her cleavage. Lead with your best assets, right? But still she grinned as she slid into a cute purple zip-up sweatshirt and matching shorts. She fiddled with the zipper so a hint of the lacy bra was visible.

Annie checked the time. She had told Max she’d be over around six, which gave her exactly five minutes to finish her makeup. “You’ve got this,” she said to her reflection after glancing around to make sure she was alone. “You are hot. You are desirable. And you are going to go over to Max’s to show her how much you want her.” She jabbed her finger against the reverse image of herself looking back at her. “You. Are. Not. Boring.”

Annie 5:40 PM

Heading your way

It wasn’t about Annie not feeling like she was desirable—she knew she was at least a six, maybe a seven on a good day, on the hotness scale—it was just, after Caroline, and after being so surprised and caught off guard by how the unraveling of their relationship went down, Annie had felt so deeply humiliated. And that feeling had only lingered as one by one people started to find out because it always started with this look—a genuine curiosity—which then fell into pity, and if she hated one thing, it was being pitied. But tonight she was reclaiming her power with the one person who had never pitied her.

She arrived at Max’s house, preparing for the hike up the one thousand stairs leading to the front door. No wonder Max’s ass looked so good; these stairs, every day, multiple times a day, were one hell of a challenge. When she reached the top, she took a moment—only a moment—to collect herself.

“You’ve got this,” she quietly told herself, fingers gripping the cool brass door knocker, tapping three times. Max answered almost instantly, like she had been waiting for her.

“Hi,” Max breathed, her smile warm and inviting, and one Annie wanted to sink into on a rainy day. “Come on in.” She turned, Annie taking note of the tight spandex shorts Max had on, gulping as she tried to control her impulse to grab her and push her up against the wall, kissing her senseless.

“Hey.” Annie dropped her bag discreetly next to the front door, stepping into the kitchen. Max leaned against the counter, long bare legs stretched out begging to be touched. Annie shifted uncomfortably, the urge to reach out growing stronger with each passing second.