“Are you lying?”
“Ma! I gotta go.”
“Fine. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up the phone, but I was also lying about having somewhere to go. I have nowhere to go.
And then she walks in.
Olive. In the flesh. Her cheeks are slightly tinged with pink from the cold and her dark hair is loose and beautiful. She’s like the movie star version of me. Like, if they were to make a movie about my life, she could play me.
As she slides off her coat, several men in the room turn to look at her. Olive apparently has that effect on men. She seems oblivious to it, or maybe she’s just used to it. I watch her purchase a drink, then go back and sit in her seat, slinging her purse on the back of her chair.
I’ve never been this close to Olive. I wonder if she would recognize me. Has she ever seen a photo of me? I can’t imagine Joel carrying around a picture of me—he wouldn’t have done that even when we were together. I was the one who took the selfies. I have dozens of them on my phone—Joel and me, my sister and me, Lydia and me. I even got Nonna in on one of them. It all seems so silly now.
I get up from my seat, daring to get closer.
Olive doesn’t look up. She’s entirely focused on her drink and her phone. I wonder if she’s texting Joel. I draw closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the screen of her phone. But it’s too hard to see.
I look down at Olive’s Kate Spade purse slung over her chair. No, I don’t think it’s a real Kate Spade, but it’s a good knockoff. Her purse is hanging open, and her wallet is sticking out. What kind of New Yorker leaves her purse unattended like that? And not only is her wallet sticking out, but her keys are right on top too. Anyone could take them and she’d never know it.
Anyone.
Hmm.
Am I really considering this? Am I really considering stealing Olive’s keys right out of her purse? Of all the things I could do to her, it would definitely be one of the most unpleasant. There are a lot of keys on that ring, probably both for her business and her home. If I took them, she’d be screwed.
I look from side to side. Everyone in this store is distracted by their phones or laptops. Nobody is looking at me.
Before I can overthink it, I walk by Olive’s purse and swipe her keys. I shove them quickly into my coat pocket before anyone can see. Then I stride out of Starbucks, before anyone knows what I’ve done. It’s almost ridiculously easy.
I can’t believe I just did that. The exhilaration is overwhelming. Once I’m safely out of the store, I take out the ring of keys and look at them. I wonder what I should do with them. Toss them in the trash? Into the sewer?
And that’s when my eyes fall on the hardware store at the end of the block. There’s a neon sign in the window: We copy keys.
If I throw them away, she’ll change all her locks and get new keys. But if I copy them and slip the ring back into her purse…
I’m not really contemplating this, am I? Okay, I’ve done some pretty shitty things to Olive. But this crosses a line.
Yet I find myself walking over to the hardware store.
I’m holding my breath as I step inside the store. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is really illegal. Stealing keys is bad enough, but now I’m copying them for the purpose of… well, I don’t know what purpose yet. And I’m not absolutely certain nobody saw me swiping the keys. What if someone saw it and is calling the police right now? If that’s the case, I shouldn’t be lingering around the crime scene.
“You need a key copied, Miss?” the man at the counter asks me. He’s as old as my father, with thinning hair on his scalp and glasses perched so far down the bridge of his nose, they look like a light breeze might send them flying.