I’m always in a terrible mood when I talk on the phone with my mother. Nonna has been mostly supportive, but Ma has been the opposite.

While I sit in the corner of Starbucks, we spend the first twenty minutes of the conversation talking about my sister, who has apparently decided to try for a baby. I’m happy for my sister, but at the same time, it’s depressing how far away I am from being settled down to the point where I might try for a child of my own.

Joel wanted children. He wanted three, but I only wanted two. It was a disagreement we sometimes had, although he never seemed as bothered as I was by the fact that we wanted different numbers of children. Maybe because he knew we wouldn’t be having them together.

Eventually the topic of conversation with my mother settles on me.

Namely, on my love life. Or lack thereof.

“Nonna says you never go out on dates,” Ma says.

Why can’t Nonna mind her own business? “Yes, I do,” I say. “Really? Like when?”

Like never. Like in my dreams. No, not even then. “You’re not getting any younger,” Ma reminds me.

“Really? I was under the impression I was aging in reverse.” “Don’t be smart. Do you want to end up alone?”

I chew on my lip. “I’m okay, Ma.”

“You need to get over Joel. It’s over. You need to move on.” She’s right. I need to move on. But I can’t. Why can’t I?

But then again, Joel and I were together for so long. He was my life. I thought he would be my life. I can’t just forget the love we had for each other ever existed.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell my mother.

“Okay, but promise me next time we talk, you’ll have gone out on at least one date.”

“I promise.” “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.

“Uh…” I look down at the set of keys. Am I really going to do this? “Yes.”

I guess I am. “Which one?”

I frown at the keys. Which one is her home key? Is there a label on

it?

“Or do you want the whole set copied?” he asks me. “Yes, the whole set,” I agree. “How long will it take?”

“Oh, I bet I can get it done in two minutes flat.” He flashes

yellowing teeth at me. “You want to time me?”

“That’s okay.” I slide the keys across the counter. “I’m sure you can do it.”

My heart is pounding in my chest as he runs the keys through the cutter. He’s very fast, but it almost feels like he’s moving in slow- motion. He’s on the third key when the door to the entrance jingles, and I look up.

A police officer has just entered the store.

If my heart was pounding before, now it’s thumping erratically. Oh God, he knows I’ve stolen the keys. He’s going to arrest me. Joel is going to think I’m a psychopath.

The officer looks at me with dark, penetrating eyes and adjusts the cap on his head. I squirm. I must look so guilty. He must be able to take one look at me and know I’ve committed a crime. I’m committing a crime. I’m in the middle of committing it right now. Right in front of a police officer!

“Excuse me, miss,” the officer says to me.

Oh God. I’m going to jail. He’s going to snap handcuffs on me and haul me off to prison. What is my mother going to say about this in the yearly Christmas letter?

“Yes?” I squeak.

Is there any possibility I could just return the keys and wholeheartedly apologize?

“I think you dropped your hat back there,” the officer says.

My eyes fall on the dark red hat lying on the ground right by the entrance to the store. It is, in fact, my hat. “Oh…”

“Here, let me get that for you…”

The officer rushes out to pick up my hat from the ground while I nearly drop dead of a heart attack. I thank him, and then he disappears into the store.

My hands won’t stop shaking as I take the fresh set of keys from the clerk. He’s put them on a ring for me and everything. I can’t believe how easy this was. I have stolen and copied an entire set of keys. I will casually drop the originals back into Olive’s bag, and she will be none the wiser.

And now I have a set of her keys.