"It's not a big deal." I sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp on the end table. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch.
"These shoes are killing my feet." Natalie plops down on the opposite end of the couch. Her head falls back and she turns to look at me. "I'm so worn out," she groans. "I can't believe how late I got home. How the hell am I gonna get up for class in the morning?"
"I don't know why you always keep such an early schedule," I say, my voice groggy. "You should see if you can change it up and take some night classes."
Natalie carefully tugs off her fake eyelashes and drops them on the coffee table in front of us. "You know I can't. I have to work."
This is a usual thing for us. "No, you don't. I don’t even know why you do."
"Because I'm not going to be a little rich bitch and rely on my parents, only for them to get mad when I don't heel and take everything away. Fuck that."
I chuckle. Today is the first day of our senior year at Fordham University in Manhattan, and not much has changed since we met as freshmen. I'm still a broke college student here on a full scholarship, and she still has tons of family money but refuses to use it. Being complete opposites, I didn’t think we’d get along at first. She’s Hollister and I’m whatever’s cute straight off a Goodwill rack. I can get lost in the latest romance bestseller, meanwhile Natalie only reads anything with glossy pages and celebrity pictures. She’s rap and I’m pop. Carmine’s Italian vs. Chef Boyardee. The list is extensive, but our taste in guys and the lack of filter on our tongues were enough to make us click, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
"I guess I see your point."
I didn’t really. People with her mentality rile me up. Coming from nothing, and I mean dirt-poor nothing, it's hard to process why anyone would want to struggle when they didn’t have to. Still, I love her.
Natalie turns and lies on her back. She places her head on my lap and looks up at the ceiling. "Trust me. Money doesn't make you happy, Aub. All it does is cause more problems," she says, her voice low, empty.
"I'd give anything to not have to worry about living expenses, or if I'll even have enough to get a few extra things from the grocery." My body can only take so much nasty, cheap soup and day-old coffee.
"You need a new job," she states.
Another thing we do all the time.
After fulfilling the first-year requirement of living in the dorms, Natalie immediately wanted to move out, and she’d wanted me to move with her. I didn't have the luxury of leaving since I couldn't afford to live on my own, and my scholarship included room and board on campus. But Natalie insisted I didn't have to pay and begged me to move with her. I didn't like taking handouts from anyone, so we’d made a deal. She covered moving expenses and rent, and with my small part-time job at the laundromat, I paid the utilities. After the second year, I had a handle on my studies and a second paying job. Not that I like it, though—I hate watching kids.
"Tell me about it,” I say. “Come Friday, I'll be stuck with the two little monsters all damn weekend while their parents take a vacation to Martha's Vineyard. I shouldn't complain, though. The money is good."
She laughs as she removes her diamond hoops and places them next to her fake lashes. "I don't know how you deal with crying kids after school and work. I'd rather strap a mattress to my back."
"I need that money, Nat. I don't have a choice. I wonder if I can give them NyQuil all weekend." I laugh when her eyes widen. "I'm kidding!"
My parents had died in a four car pileup on the Southern State Parkway on Long Island when I was seven, and my grammy raised me and gave me what she could, which wasn't very much. I’d gotten a job at the local pool as a lifeguard as soon as I was old enough, then during the winters, I worked as a hostess at an Italian restaurant. I even filled in as a dishwasher when they were short-staffed. Whatever money Grammy didn't need for bills, I socked away. But now those savings were gone—living in the city isn’t for the poor or the middle class—and I need to figure something out.
Natalie sits up and pulls off her five-inch Louboutin’s. The red-bottomed, black lace-up pumps are sexy as hell. I want them, but I know I'll never be able to afford them. She drops the shoes to the overshined waxed wood floor like she's taking off work boots.
"I can't believe you walk around serving shots in those heels all night. Aren't you afraid you're going to ruin them?"
"It has its rewards."
One corner of her mouth pulls up as she reaches for her purse on the floor. Her hand disappears into her clutch, then she takes out three stacks of hundreds banded together. She throws each one at me. My eyes widen as I catch them.
"Where did all this come from? Did you see your parents?"
Aubrey rolls her navy-colored eyes at me in obvious annoyance. "That's a fuck no, Aub. That's a week of work." She points to the stacks of bills in my hands.
"Get the hell out of here. One week?" This was more money than I made in a year. With one stack of these bills, I could get everything I desperately needed right now but couldn't afford. "Why are you walking around with this much cash in New York City?"
Natalie walks to her room and returns with a familiar book. I hand her back the money after she sits next to me and flips open a weathered dictionary about nine inches thick. The middle is cut out, leaving a big, empty square. She places the money inside, then closes it and stacks it in between the books on the coffee table. No one would guess it's a fake, and no one would think to pick it up. I came up with the idea when we’d wanted to hide something that held value in our dorm, and it's a tactic we’ve used ever since.
"Don't worry, no one knew. I carry a clutch for a reason. It’s the perfect size to hide under my armpit. Once my coat is buttoned, no one can tell."
"What if you get mugged?"
She eyes me like I'm stupid. "When? While I’m sitting in a cab? I know better than to walk these streets at night, Mom."
Ever since I started the part-time nanny gig a year ago, her new thing is to call me Mom when I worry about something she does. The little monsters call me Mom too, but that's a different story.