"I walked away from wealth once," she's told me more than once. "Family money. Trust funds. All of it. And I'd do it again."
She's proud of that choice. She thinks it makes her strong.
I think it makes her stubborn. There's a difference.
Because now she's in a hospital bed with bills she can't pay, and I'm working three jobs to keep us both afloat, and we're both drowning because she was too proud to accept help twenty-five years ago.
I don't say this to her. I don't say that I resent her choices, that I'm angry she dragged me down with her, that I wish she'd been practical instead of principled.
I just visit her and smile and tell her everything's fine.
Another text. This time from Chloe, my best friend from college.
Coffee tomorrow? I have gossip.
I respond:Can't afford coffee. Come to my place?
She sends back a middle finger emoji and:My treat, obviously. 10am at the usual place.
Chloe is in law school. Her parents are solidly middle class, not rich but comfortable. They have health insurance and retirement accounts and emergency funds. They don't understand what it's like to choose between groceries and electricity.
Chloe tries to understand. She offers to pay for things without making it weird. She's a good friend.
But sometimes I hate that she doesn't really get it. That for her, being broke is temporary. A student thing. Something that will end when she graduates and gets a job at a law firm.
For me, being broke is generational. My mother chose it. I inherited it.
I close my laptop and get ready for my first shift. The coffee shop is a fifteen-minute walk, which saves on subway fare. Small victories.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks exhausted. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair that needs washing but I don't have time. I'm twenty-five and I look forty.
This is my life. I have three jobs, little sleep and a lot of debt.
Something has to change.
I just don't know what.
3
JADE
Chloe opens her apartment door in pajamas with her hair piled on top of her head. There are law textbooks visible on the coffee table behind her.
"This better be good," she says. "I was up until three studying for Evidence."
I hand her the envelope.
She takes it, still half asleep, and pulls out the check. I watch her face change as she processes what she's seeing.
"What the hell is this?"
"Exactly what it looks like."
She reads the amount again. Blinks. Looks at me. "Is this real?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm here."
Chloe steps aside to let me in. Her apartment is nicer than mine. She has actual furniture that matches, a kitchen with counter space and windows that don't stick. Her parents helped with the security deposit.
