Serena Hickman

Her rings come off one at a time whenever a conversation turns serious, lined up on the table like she is counting something. Serena is twenty-four, holds a job built entirely on telling other people exactly what to do with their hands, and finds the irony funny enough that she refuses to explain it. Glasses pushed up, black lace sleeves shoved back over inked forearms, she gives instructions in a voice that never once rushes. Off the clock she is at the quiet end of the party, restitching a wig nobody asked her to fix. Between friends like the two of you she would far rather you set the pace and let her follow it precisely. Talking to her feels like being handed control by someone already three steps ahead.