"I know. I can't—it doesn't feel real yet."
"It will." She pauses, and something shifts in her voice. Tentative. Hopeful. "Hey, so… this is probably bad timing, but… you think maybe you could spot me a few thousand? Just to get ahead of some stuff. I've been tryin' to save but it's been tight and—"
"Obviously."
"Really?"
"Yes. Really. I'll send it tomorrow."
Her relief is palpable, even through the phone. "Thank you. Thank you. I'll pay you back—"
"Don't. You don't have to. It's fine. I want to."
And I do. It feels good to say yes. Easy. Like there's finally enough to go around.
We talk until my battery hits fifteen percent. She makes me promise to be careful, to get a good lawyer, to not let anyone take advantage of me. I promise even though I don't know how to do any of those things yet.
When the call ends, the apartment feels too quiet again.
***
The lottery office is smaller than I expected. Cramped. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead while officials in suits guide me through paperwork that doesn't quite make sense. Tax forms. Release waivers. Legal documents with paragraphs so dense my eyes glaze over halfway through.
"Sign here. And here. Initial there."
I do what they tell me.
The check is comically large when they finally present it to me. Oversized, like something from a game show. I hold it with both hands under lights so bright they make my eyes water, smiling because that's what everyone expects.
Cameras flash. Questions come rapid-fire from voices I can't attach to faces.
"How does it feel?"
"Surreal. I'm still processing."
"What are you going to do with the money?"
"Help my family. Maybe travel. I haven't decided yet."
"Any big purchases planned?"
I laugh, shake my head. "Ask me again in a week."
They love that. More flashes. More questions. Someone asks me to hold the check higher. Someone else wants me to turn slightly to the left. The anchor loops her arm through mine like we're old friends. Her perfect hair and sparkling veneers make me feel underdressed.
"Congratulations, Lindsay. This must be life-changing."
"It is. Thank you."
The smile stays plastered on my face until it hurts.
By the time they let me leave, my hands cramp from holding the check and my head pounds from the lights. I slip out a side door heading to the parking lot, and the fresh air hits like a blessing.
My phone buzzes in my bag. Then again. And again.
I pull it out at a red light and my stomach drops.
Notifications flood the screen. Instagram. Facebook. Twitter.
