Chapter Four - Josiah: Under One Roof
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Josiah had never eaten tacos on the floor before.
At least not in a house he owned.
He sat with his back against the wall, one knee bent, a takeout container balanced on the other while Maya carefully unfolded a napkin across her lap.
He watched her smooth it once.
Then twice.
“You know we're sitting on the floor.”
Maya looked at him.
“I’m aware.”
“Just checking.”
“Why?”
“Because you're using a napkin like there's a tablecloth under us.”
She looked down at it.
Then back at him.
“I don't want anything on my clothes.”
“That makes sense.”
“It usually does.”
Josiah smiled and took another bite.
The house had gotten quieter since the food arrived.
Not silent.
The refrigerator hummed from the kitchen. Every few minutes, one of the vents made a sound he hadn't figured out yet. Somewhere upstairs, something settled with a faint creak.
But nobody was carrying boxes through the front door anymore.
Nobody was calling Maya's name from another room.
Brandon wasn't asking where something went only to put it somewhere else anyway.
It was just them.
Josiah looked around the living room.
Boxes.
Bare walls.
A television that wasn't connected to anything.
Two framed photographs on the mantel.
And Maya sitting beside him eating a taco like she was trying very hard not to drop a single piece of lettuce.
His wife.
That still caught him sometimes.
Not the fact that he had married her.
He remembered that part clearly.
It was the ordinary moments that made the word feel different.
Watching her brush her teeth.
Hearing her say his name from another room.
Waking up and realizing the person beside him wasn't going anywhere when the trip ended.
The honeymoon had given them a week to get used to being married.
This felt different.
There had always been a checkout date at the hotel.
This house didn't have one.
Josiah looked down at his food.
He had wanted this.
Prayed about it.
Had peace about it before he ever stood in front of a church and promised Maya the rest of his life.
Still, nobody had explained how strange it would feel to realize that the rest of his life apparently included deciding where a basketball belonged.
He glanced toward the corner.
Maya had won.
The basketball was in the garage.
Temporarily.
“What?”
Josiah looked at her.
“What?”
“You're smiling.”
“I can't smile?”
“You can.”
“Thank you.”
“But you're smiling at nothing.”
“I was thinking.”
“That explains it.”
Josiah stared at her.
Maya took another bite.
“Was that an insult?”
“No.”
“It felt like one.”
“That's unfortunate.”
He laughed.
She smiled.
For a few minutes, they ate without talking.
A week ago, Josiah would have noticed the silence.
On the first morning of their honeymoon, he had noticed every second of it.
Should he say something?
Was she uncomfortable?
Was he supposed to keep conversation going?
Did married people sit quietly at breakfast?
By the third day, he'd figured out that Maya could sit beside someone she liked for twenty minutes without saying a word and consider it perfectly normal.
That had been useful information.
There was still plenty he didn't know.
Josiah looked around the room again.
Maya followed his gaze.
“We have too much stuff.”
“You have too much stuff.”
Her head turned.
“Excuse me?”
“I had twelve boxes.”
“You had more than twelve boxes.”
“Brandon said twelve.”
“Brandon also packed a basketball, three hoodies, an extension cord and a phone charger in the same box.”
“Efficient use of space.”
“That is not what efficient means.”
“It all fit.”
“That doesn't make it a system.”
“I never claimed to have a system.”
“That is becoming increasingly obvious.”
Josiah laughed.
Maya reached for another taco.
He watched her for a moment.
She looked tired.
Not unhappy.
There was a difference, and he was beginning to learn it.
Her shoulders had dropped sometime after everyone left. She wasn't moving from room to room anymore. She wasn't checking labels or opening cabinets.
She was just sitting.
Josiah liked seeing her sit.
Mostly because she rarely did.
“You okay?”
Maya looked at him.
He almost took the question back.
She had probably heard it fifteen times today.
“I'm tired.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Josiah waited.
Then she looked down at the container in her lap.
“I'm okay.”
He nodded.
That could mean she was actually okay.
It could also mean she didn't want to talk about whatever wasn't okay.
A week wasn't long enough to know the difference.
So he didn't push.
“Good.”
Maya looked at him again.
Something in her expression shifted.
Small enough that he might have missed it before the honeymoon.
“You?”
Josiah paused.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I'm good.”
“That was fast.”
“What?”
“You answered too fast.”
Josiah smiled.
“Now who's investigating?”
“I asked one question.”
“And rejected my answer.”
“I didn't reject it.”
“You criticized the speed.”
“Because it was suspicious.”
He shook his head.
Maya waited.
Josiah looked toward the mantel.
His picture with Brandon sat beside the photograph of Maya's family he'd put there earlier.
He had packed up his apartment that morning.
Or what was left of it.
He hadn't stood in the middle of the empty rooms thinking about years of independence the way Maya probably had.
He hadn't taken a picture before leaving.
He'd loaded the last few boxes into Brandon's truck, locked the door behind him and left.
Simple.
At least he'd thought it was.
Now, sitting in a house where he couldn't find half his things, Josiah wasn't as sure.
“It's strange,” he said.
Maya's expression softened.
“Yeah.”
“I didn't think it would be.”
“Neither did I.”
He looked at her.
“You liked your apartment.”
“I did.”
“I liked mine too.”
“I know.”
Josiah nodded.
That was all.
He didn't need her to tell him this was better.
He didn't need to tell her either.
They had both chosen this.
That didn't mean everything before it had suddenly stopped mattering.
Maya set her empty container aside.
“We should probably clean this up.”
Josiah looked at the boxes around them.
“The tacos or our entire life?”
“The tacos.”
“Good.”
“Tonight.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“The entire life part can wait until tomorrow.”
Josiah slowly lowered his container.
“Who are you?”
“Don't.”
“What did you do with Maya?”
“Josiah.”
“Should I call somebody?”
She started gathering the containers.
He laughed and reached for his.
“I knew the honeymoon changed things, but—”
Maya's head snapped toward him.
Josiah stopped.
He had not meant it like that.
The look on her face told him she knew exactly how it sounded.
A smile pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I really wasn't.”
“You had the face.”
“What face?”
Maya stood.
“That face.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
Josiah watched her go.
Then smiled to himself.
Apparently he had a face now.
He gathered the napkins and followed her.
Maybe that was part of living with somebody too.
Eventually, they learned your faces.
Twenty minutes later, Josiah discovered that Maya had lied.
Not intentionally.
At least he didn't think so.
But the woman who had declared that their entire life could wait until tomorrow was standing in the middle of the bedroom opening boxes.
Josiah leaned against the doorway.
“I thought we were done.”
“We are.”
He looked at the open box.
Maya followed his gaze.
“This is different.”
“How?”
“I need to find my pajamas.”
“That sounds like unpacking.”
“I'm not unpacking. I'm looking.”
“Inside a box.”
“Yes.”
“And removing things.”
“If necessary.”
Josiah nodded.
“Got it.”
Maya ignored him.
He walked into the room.
Their room.
That was another phrase that hadn't settled yet.
The bed had been delivered before the wedding, along with some of the other furniture they'd chosen together, but neither of them had slept here.
Tonight would be the first time.
Josiah looked at the bed for a moment.
It was strange how something could belong to you and still feel completely unfamiliar.
Maya looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Thinking and making faces.”
“Apparently my face is very expressive.”
“It is tonight.”
Josiah looked toward the closet.
Half the boxes stacked near it belonged to him.
The other half belonged to Maya.
He walked over and opened one.
Shoes.
All his.
At least Brandon had managed that.
He picked up a pair and carried them toward the closet.
Then stopped.
Maya's clothes already occupied part of it.
His were on the other side, still hanging beneath plastic from the move.
There was plenty of room.
Probably.
Josiah looked at the shelves.
Empty.
He put the shoes on one.
Then moved them to another.
Maya appeared beside him.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting my shoes away.”
“Why did you move them?”
“I changed my mind.”
She looked at him.
Josiah smiled.
“I've learned from the best.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Looks the same from here.”
Maya shook her head and turned toward another box.
Josiah looked at the shelf again.
Then at her.
“Do you care which side I use?”
“Of the closet?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He started arranging the shoes.
Behind him, tape ripped.
Then silence.
Josiah looked over his shoulder.
Maya had opened another box.
Not hers.
His.
She was holding one of his books.
Josiah waited.
Maya looked at the box.
Then toward the bedroom door.
Then back at him.
“Where do you want these?”
He glanced inside.
Books.
A few notebooks.
Two folders from The Bridge.
His old Bible.
“Wherever.”
Maya didn't move.
“Wherever where?”
“I don't know.”
“There are bookshelves downstairs.”
“Okay.”
“And there's one in the office.”
“Okay.”
She stared at him.
Josiah stared back.
“What?”
“Which one do you want?”
He shrugged.
“Whichever makes sense.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“They're your things.”
“In our house.”
“Exactly.”
Josiah frowned slightly.
Maya put the book back into the box.
“You get an opinion.”
He looked at her.
She said it casually.
Like she was talking about books.
Maybe she was.
But Josiah had watched her organize enough things that afternoon to know Maya usually had an answer before most people finished asking the question.
Where did the plates go?
She knew.
Which bathroom got which towels?
She knew.
Where should the lamp go?
She had known before the lamp made it through the front door.
Now she was standing over a box she could have emptied in five minutes asking him what he wanted.
Josiah looked toward the hallway.
“The office.”
“Okay.”
“Probably.”
Maya sighed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
She reached for the box.
Josiah got there first.
“I've got it.”
“I can carry a box.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you take it?”
“Because I'm going to the office.”
“You weren't.”
“I am now.”
Maya looked at him.
He waited.
Finally, she let go.
“Fine.”
Josiah carried the box toward the door.
“Josiah?”
He turned.
Maya pointed toward the closet.
“You can use whichever shelves you want.”
He glanced back at them.
“All of them?”
“Don't push it.”
He laughed.
“Good to know.”
He headed down the hallway with the box in his arms.
It wasn't much.
A shelf.
A box of books.
A question she hadn't technically needed to ask.
But Josiah understood what she had done.
She had made room.
Not just for his things.
For him.
And for the first time since he'd locked his apartment behind him that morning , Josiah felt something inside him settle.
Maybe that was how this worked.
Not one big moment when the house suddenly became theirs.
Just small ones.
One shelf.
One box.
One question at a time.
Josiah carried the box down the hall to the office.
Calling it an office was generous.
At the moment, it was a room with two desks, one chair, six boxes and a printer sitting on the floor because neither of them had decided where it belonged.
Josiah set the box beside the bookshelf.
His desk was easy to identify.
It was the empty one.
Maya's already had a planner sitting on top of it.
Of course it did.
He smiled and crouched beside the box.
The books could wait.
He'd learned enough tonight not to test Maya's declaration that they were done unpacking by actually unpacking something.
He stood and turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
A box sat beneath the window.
BIBLE STUDY.
Maya's handwriting.
Josiah looked at it for a moment.
He remembered the corner in her apartment.
He'd been there enough times before the wedding to know she used it in the mornings. A chair near the window. Her Bible. Usually a notebook. Sometimes a mug sitting somewhere close enough that he had wondered more than once how she hadn't knocked it over.
The chair she'd used there was downstairs now.
Buried behind three boxes.
Josiah walked back into the hallway.
Maya was still in the bedroom.
He could hear her moving things around.
He went downstairs.
The chair wasn't hard to find.
Getting to it was another story.
Josiah moved one box.
Then another.
He stopped at the third.
FRAGILE.
FRAGILE.
FRAGILE.
He stared at it.
Maya had not exaggerated.
Josiah picked it up carefully and moved it out of the way.
The chair sat behind it.
He pulled it free.
“What are you doing?”
Josiah turned.
Maya stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“Nothing.”
“You're carrying a chair.”
“I noticed.”
“Why?”
Josiah looked at the chair.
Then at her.
“Where do you want it?”
Maya frowned.
“What?”
“The chair.”
“I can see the chair.”
“That makes this easier.”
“Josiah.”
He smiled.
“The one you had by the window.”
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
“You remembered that?”
“Yeah.”
Maya looked toward the office.
Then back at him.
“I hadn't decided where I wanted it yet.”
“That's why I'm asking.”
Something about her face made Josiah glad he hadn't carried it upstairs first.
He adjusted his grip.
“So?”
Maya thought about it.
“The office.”
“By the window?”
She looked toward the hallway again.
Then nodded.
“Yeah.”
Josiah carried it into the office.
Maya followed.
He set the chair near the window and stepped back.
“Here?”
“A little to the left.”
Josiah moved it.
“More.”
He moved it again.
“That's too far.”
He looked at her.
Maya pressed her lips together.
“I'm sorry.”
“No, you're not.”
She laughed.
“Move it back a little.”
Josiah did.
“There.”
He stepped away.
Maya looked at the chair.
The late evening light coming through the window fell across one side of it.
Her Bible-study box sat nearby.
Josiah reached for the box.
Maya stopped him.
“I can get it.”
His hand paused.
“Okay.”
He let go.
Maya looked at him.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Then she crouched and opened the box.
Her Bible was on top.
Beneath it were two notebooks, a pouch of pens and a devotional.
Josiah leaned against the desk.
“I wasn't trying to set it up for you.”
“I know.”
“I just figured you'd want the chair.”
“I do.”
He nodded.
Maya ran her hand over the cover of her Bible.
Then looked up.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
That was it.
No speech.
No discussion about why he'd remembered.
Maya closed the box again and stood.
But when she walked past him, her hand brushed his.
Then caught it.
Josiah looked down.
Her fingers slipped between his.
It still surprised him sometimes when she did that first.
Maya tugged gently.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because we're done.”
Josiah glanced at the open box.
“You opened another one.”
“I closed it.”
“That's growth.”
She let go of his hand.
Josiah laughed and followed her downstairs.
They made it exactly eleven minutes before Maya found something else to do.
Josiah was in the kitchen throwing away the last of the takeout containers when he heard a cabinet open behind him.
He didn't turn around.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“We're done.”
“I know.”
Another cabinet opened.
He looked over his shoulder.
She was standing on her toes trying to reach the top shelf.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You're halfway inside a cabinet.”
“I need a glass.”
“The glasses are down there.”
“I moved them.”
Josiah stared at her.
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“You moved them back.”
“I moved them again.”
“Why?”
“I changed my mind.”
He leaned against the counter.
“Where are they now?”
“Up there.”
“Why?”
“I thought we'd use this cabinet more.”
“You can't reach them.”
“I can reach them.”
She stretched higher.
Her fingers barely touched the bottom of a glass.
Josiah walked over.
Maya immediately looked at him.
“I've got it.”
“I can see that.”
“I almost had it.”
Josiah reached over her and took down the glass.
He handed it to her.
Maya accepted it.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
She filled it with water.
Josiah looked at the cabinet.
Then at her.
“Do you want those up there?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Maya took a drink.
Josiah reached for his own glass from the lower cabinet.
She noticed.
“Yours are down there?”
“Apparently.”
“I didn't put them there.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“While you were moving yours around.”
Maya looked between the cabinets.
“So we're keeping our glasses in two different places?”
“I guess.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if you can't reach yours.”
“I can reach them.”
Josiah looked at her.
Maya looked back.
Then at the cabinet.
“I can mostly reach them.”
He laughed.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
Josiah rinsed his glass and put it in the sink.
Maya watched him.
Then looked at the sink.
Then at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
She hesitated.
Josiah waited.
“Are you going to leave that there?”
He looked at the glass.
“Probably not forever.”
“Josiah.”
He smiled.
“You want me to wash it.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You asked if I was going to leave it there.”
“Because I wanted to know.”
“No, you didn't.”
Maya folded her arms.
Josiah picked up the glass.
“Where does it go?”
“In the dishwasher.”
“See? Communication.”
She tried not to smile.
Josiah opened the dishwasher and put the glass inside.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Are you one of those people who has a system for this too?”
“For the dishwasher?”
“Yeah.”
Maya stared at him.
Josiah slowly reached for the glass.
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Maya.”
“I'm leaving it.”
“Good.”
He closed the dishwasher.
She looked at it.
Josiah waited.
Maya looked at him.
“It's fine.”
“I didn't ask.”
“You were thinking it.”
He laughed.
Maya shook her head and walked toward the stairs.
Josiah followed.
Halfway up, she stopped.
He nearly walked into her.
“What?”
Maya turned.
“If I do that, tell me.”
“Stop in the middle of the stairs?”
“No.”
“What?”
She looked almost annoyed that she had to explain it.
“If I start making decisions about everything.”
Josiah's smile faded.
Maya glanced toward the kitchen.
“I've lived alone for four years. I'm used to putting things where I want them and doing things the way I want them done.”
“I know.”
“And you're…” She paused.
“Brave man. Choose wisely.”
Maya smiled.
“Different.”
“That's safe.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
She rested one hand on the railing.
“I don't want you to feel like you moved into my house.”
Josiah looked at her.
The words hit somewhere he hadn't expected.
Because he hadn't felt that way.
Not exactly.
But he could see how easily it could happen.
Maya knew where she wanted the glasses.
Where the towels went.
Which boxes needed to be unpacked first.
Josiah had spent most of the afternoon asking where things belonged because most of the time, she already knew.
He hadn't minded.
But maybe there was a difference between not minding and not having an opinion.
“You didn't move into mine either,” he said.
“I know.”
“So we'll figure it out.”
Maya nodded.
Josiah looked at her for another second.
“And if something bothers you, tell me.”
“I will.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“I mean tell me. Don't say you're fine and then reorganize a cabinet about it.”
“I don't do that.”
Josiah looked toward the kitchen.
“That cabinet has had three different arrangements today.”
“That was unrelated.”
“Sure.”
Maya turned to continue upstairs.
Josiah caught her hand.
She stopped.
He wasn't smiling now.
“I'm serious.”
Maya looked down at their hands.
Then at him.
“So am I.”
“If something bothers you, tell me.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“And I'll tell you.”
Maya studied him.
“You promise?”
The question was quiet.
Simple.
But Josiah knew better than to answer it carelessly.
“I promise.”
Maya held his gaze another second.
Then squeezed his hand once.
“Okay.”
Josiah let her lead him upstairs.
He didn't know what would bother either of them yet.
Maybe the dishwasher.
Maybe the closet.
Maybe something neither of them could laugh about.
A promise made on a staircase surrounded by boxes didn't seem like much.
But Josiah had spent enough of his life around people to know trust wasn't usually built in the moments everybody could see.
It was built afterward.
When nobody was watching to make sure you kept your word.
By the time Josiah finished showering, Maya had found her pajamas.
Apparently that had required opening three more boxes.
He didn't mention it.
He was learning.
He stepped into the bedroom, rubbing a towel over his hair.
Maya sat on the edge of the bed with one leg tucked beneath her, looking at her phone.
She looked up.
Then immediately looked back down.
Josiah stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He lowered the towel.
“You looked at me.”
“I look at you all the time.”
“Not like that.”
Maya's eyes lifted again.
“Like what?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know I did it?”
Josiah considered that.
“Good point.”
Maya returned to her phone.
Josiah smiled and walked toward the closet.
The honeymoon had taught him something else about his wife.
She could pretend not to look at him with impressive commitment.
He decided to let her have it.
He hung the towel over the back of a chair.
Behind him, Maya cleared her throat.
“That's not staying there, right?”
Josiah looked at the towel.
Then at her.
“You made it almost thirty minutes.”
“I asked a question.”
“You did.”
“Is it?”
He picked the towel back up.
“No.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
He carried it into the bathroom.
There were two towel hooks on the wall.
One already held Maya's.
Josiah reached for the other.
Then paused.
He looked toward the bedroom.
“Maya?”
“What?”
“This hook taken?”
Silence.
Then her face appeared around the bathroom doorway.
“What hook?”
“This one.”
She looked at it.
“No.”
“Okay.”
Josiah hung the towel.
Maya remained in the doorway.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“You don't have to ask me about every single thing.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I didn't know if you were using it.”
“There are two hooks.”
“Yes.”
“And two of us.”
“Yes.”
“So…”
“One for each of us?”
“Exactly.”
“Look at us figuring things out.”
Maya rolled her eyes.
Josiah smiled.
Then she did too.
She disappeared back into the bedroom.
Josiah brushed his teeth.
When he returned, Maya had plugged her phone into the charger beside the bed.
His charger sat on the opposite nightstand.
He hadn't put it there.
Josiah looked at it.
Then at her.
Maya was pulling the covers back.
“You found my charger?”
She glanced over.
“It was in the stuff box.”
“Ah.”
“I figured you might need it.”
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Josiah picked it up.
“You didn't put it on my side?”
Maya stopped.
“Isn't that your side?”
“I don't know.”
“You slept on that side all week.”
“That was the hotel.”
“So you want this side?”
“No.”
“Then that's your side.”
Josiah looked at the nightstand.
Then at the bed.
“Apparently I have a side.”
“You do now.”
He plugged his phone in.
Another decision made.
No meeting required.
Maya climbed into bed.
Josiah turned off the overhead light, leaving the lamp beside her on.
He walked around to his side.
His side.
Apparently.
Then stopped.
Maya looked up.
“What now?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring at the bed.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Josiah sat down.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
He looked around the room.
The walls were still bare.
A box sat near the dresser.
Another was tucked beside the closet.
His shoes occupied two shelves.
Maya's jewelry dish sat on the dresser.
His phone was charging beside the bed.
Her Bible was in the office near the chair she'd chosen.
Pieces of both of them.
Not arranged particularly well yet.
But there.
“This is our first night here.”
Maya looked around too.
“Yeah.”
“Feels weird.”
“A little.”
Josiah leaned back against the headboard.
“The hotel didn't.”
“It did the first night.”
He looked at her.
“For you?”
“Did you think you were the only one?”
“I don't know.”
Maya smiled.
“You were nervous.”
Josiah stared at her.
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you kept asking if I was okay.”
“I was being considerate.”
“You asked me four times.”
“That sounds exaggerated.”
“It isn't.”
Josiah shook his head.
“I wasn't nervous.”
“Okay.”
“You don't believe me.”
“No.”
He laughed.
Maya set her phone on the nightstand.
“The hotel was different.”
“That's what I was thinking.”
“We knew we were leaving.”
“Exactly.”
Maya pulled the blanket higher over her legs.
“This feels more permanent.”
Josiah looked at her.
The word didn't scare him.
But it had weight.
Permanent.
He had promised forever in front of God, their families and an entire church.
He had meant it.
But forever had been a word then.
This was a mortgage.
Closet shelves.
Two towel hooks.
A phone charger beside the bed.
Forever had gotten very practical very quickly.
“Good permanent?” he asked.
Maya looked at him.
He hadn't meant for the question to sound serious.
Apparently it did.
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she nodded.
“Good permanent.”
Something in Josiah relaxed.
“Good.”
Maya studied him.
“Were you worried?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
Josiah sighed.
“A little.”
She smiled.
“Don't enjoy that.”
Josiah smiled.
“Too late.”
Maya reached over and turned off the lamp.
Darkness settled over the room.
Not complete darkness.
Light from outside slipped through the blinds, enough for Josiah to make out the boxes near the wall.
The mattress shifted as Maya settled beside him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Josiah stared at the ceiling.
He had spent years living alone.
He knew the sounds of his apartment at night.
The air conditioner clicking on.
The neighbor upstairs dropping something at an unreasonable hour.
The pipes whenever somebody used the shower.
He had known which floorboard near the kitchen made noise and exactly how far he could open the bedroom window before it stuck.
He knew none of the sounds here.
The house creaked again.
Maya moved.
“You hear that?”
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“The house.”
“I know it's the house.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“What part of the house?”
“I don't know.”
Another creak.
Maya was quiet.
Then—
“Go check.”
Josiah turned his head.
“What?”
“Go check.”
He laughed.
“Why?”
“Because you're closer to the door.”
“That is not how this works.”
“You're the husband.”
“Oh, now I'm the husband.”
“You've been the husband all week.”
“Interesting that it became relevant when the house made a noise.”
Maya pushed his shoulder.
“Josiah.”
He laughed and sat up.
“It's the house settling.”
“You don't know that.”
“And you don't know that it isn't.”
“Exactly. Go check.”
Josiah got out of bed.
He made it three steps before another sound came from somewhere downstairs.
He stopped.
Maya sat up.
“What was that?”
Josiah looked toward the door.
“I don't know.”
“See?”
“Stay here.”
Maya stared at him.
“I was already staying here.”
“Right.”
He walked into the hallway.
The house was dark.
Quiet.
Josiah checked downstairs.
Nothing.
The front door was locked.
The back door was locked.
The windows were closed.
One of the boxes in the living room had shifted slightly because another box had been stacked badly on top of it.
Brandon.
Josiah fixed it and went back upstairs.
Maya was waiting.
“Well?”
“Robbers.”
Her eyes widened.
Josiah smiled.
“I'm kidding.”
“Josiah!”
He laughed as she grabbed a pillow.
“Don't.”
She threw it.
Josiah caught it.
“You should have seen your face.”
“You are not funny.”
“I disagree.”
“You cannot joke about somebody being in the house.”
“Noted.”
“Give me my pillow.”
He tossed it back.
Maya caught it and dropped it beside her.
“What was it?”
“A box.”
“A box made that noise?”
“A Brandon-packed box.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
Maya lay back down.
Josiah climbed into bed again.
This time when he settled, she moved closer without hesitation.
Her head rested against his shoulder.
Josiah looked down at her.
“You know, if there had actually been somebody downstairs, sending me alone was questionable.”
Maya's eyes stayed closed.
“You would've been fine.”
“Based on?”
“Faith.”
Josiah laughed.
“That is not how faith works.”
“Goodnight, Josiah.”
He smiled.
“Goodnight, Maya.”
Silence returned.
The house made another small sound.
Maya's hand caught the front of his shirt.
Josiah didn't say anything.
He wanted to.
Badly.
But he also wanted to survive their first night in the house.
So he kept quiet.
After a few minutes, her grip loosened.
Her breathing changed.
Josiah knew that too now.
He could tell when she had fallen asleep.
He stared into the dark.
He thought about the promise they'd made on the stairs.
If something bothers you, tell me.
Simple enough tonight.
Everything was simple when the biggest disagreements involved glasses and dishwasher placement.
He knew it wouldn't always be.
There would be things harder to say.
Things harder to hear.
Days when one of them wouldn't find the other funny.
Probably Maya first.
Josiah smiled.
But tonight she had asked him where he wanted his books.
He had remembered her chair.
She had found his charger.
He had asked before using a towel hook that probably didn't require permission.
None of it was big enough to tell anybody about.
Maybe that was the point.
Josiah looked around the dark bedroom.
He couldn't see much.
But he could feel Maya beside him.
He had spent years thinking faithfulness would be tested in the big moments.
The vows.
The decisions.
The things that required sacrifice.
Maybe it would.
But maybe it started here too.
With remembering.
Asking.
Listening.
Making room.
Keeping the small promises so that when the bigger ones were tested, there was already something underneath them.
Trust.
Josiah closed his eyes.
The house still didn't feel completely like home.
But Maya's hand was resting against his chest.
His shoes were in the closet.
Her chair was by the window.
And somewhere between the questions, the compromises and the promises that seemed too small to matter, they had begun their first night under one roof.
Not perfectly.
But faithfully