Page 2 of The Woman with the Wallet

“I do count myself lucky,” Megs agreed, reaching to uncap one of her markers to get back to her poster. “I even have a drawer full of batteries I can loan you for a little self-loving.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, wincing. “I have been working too much,” I admitted.

“You think?” Nicole asked, coming out of Megs’s bedroom with her purple-streaked blonde hair messy and a big purple blanket wrapped around her. “It’s freezing in here,” she declared, leaning down to press a kiss to Megs’s temple. “Is that new?”

“In terms of the universe, yes,” Megs said as Nicole grabbed the coffee pot and lifted it up to sniff, her button nose wrinkling. “In terms of coffee, though…”

“Gross. How are you drinking that?” Nicole asked as she poured the contents out then rinsed the pot.

“She still can’t bring herself to waste coffee,” Megs explained, making her girlfriend’s face soften.

Nicole had been raised in a happy, two-parent, comfortable middle-class family in the suburbs. The kind of family who tossed out food if it hit its use-by date.

But for kids like Meg and me, we had to taste-test sour milk, eat around the mold on bread or cheese, use teabags twice, and choke down watery hot chocolate since we always had to share a packet to make it last.

Coffee has been a rare luxury that had been savored by me alone, since Megs didn’t like the taste.

At one point, I even developed a sort of fondness for the burnt stuff, thanks to an employee at a bodega who used to pourthe old pots into cups for me instead of pouring it down the drain to help me get through a particularly frigid winter on the street.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine, Nics,” I said, waving her off. “It’s something I need to get over.”

Even though we all lived in a pretty nice apartment, had a fridge and pantry full of food, and had light, heat, and air to keep us comfortable, I couldn’t shake the need to hoard things ‘just in case’ or reuse things until they were literally falling apart.

The holey black jeans I had on and the boots that were nearly rubbed through on the toes were prime examples.

I couldn’t help it, though.

I liked knowing the money was in my account and in my safe spaces in the apartment rather than on my body.

The next time I got new shoes would likely be a gift from Megs when she noticed how bad they were getting.

Oddly enough, the need to save money didn’t apply to Megs, though. I guess maybe that was also a holdover from our street days. I’d been fifteen when we’d met, already street-hard and scarred. She’d been a sweet, soft thirteen-year-old on the run after her mom overdosed, but this time in a lethal way, which Megs knew would land her back in the foster system where she’d had nothing but a hard time.

I’d taken her under my wing like a big sister, protecting her from the worst the streets had to offer, giving her more of the food, the warmer blankets, the extra socks, the less stale food.

The more money we got over the years, the more I would pass her way, not wanting her to be shackled with that scarcity mindset her whole life.

It was too late for me, it seemed.

But that was okay.

“But seriously about the working too much thing,” Nicole said as she added fresh grounds to the filter. “I mean, I cameout to get water last night at around three, and you still weren’t home. And you were out again this morning,” she said, glancing at the clock.

Nicole worked for herself, so she kept odd hours. Like stumbling out for morning coffee when it was getting close to noon.

“You have really been stretched thin lately,” Megs piled on.

Megs worked for a nonprofit, doing what she liked most—helping people.

I was the only one still hustling to string together my income. Though, admittedly, the money was much better these days. And the pickpocketing of the ultra-wealthy was more for sport than anything.

“What’d you steal last night?” Megs asked when Nicole excused herself to go take a shower.

While we both loved and trusted Nicole, neither of us actually told her the details of what I did for a living.

Namely, stealing shit.

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