Chapter Three - Maya: Making Room
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Maya had never noticed how much of her life fit inside twelve hundred square feet until she had to put it into boxes.
She stood in the middle of her living room, staring at the evidence.
Boxes lined the wall beneath the television.
More sat near the kitchen.
Three were stacked beside the front door, each labeled in her handwriting.
KITCHEN.
WORK FILES.
DO NOT LET JOSIAH TOUCH.
Maya stared at the last one.
Maybe that was excessive.
She picked up the marker and drew one line through JOSIAH.
Then she wrote beneath it:
ANYONE.
Better.
“What exactly is in that box?”
Maya turned.
Chloe stood near the kitchen counter with a roll of packing tape in one hand and entirely too much interest in her business.
Maya had known her long enough to recognize that look. Best friend, lead coordinator, and occasional self-appointed investigator—Chloe rarely let a question go once she decided she wanted an answer.
“Things.”
“What kind of things?”
“My things.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“It answers enough of it.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes.
Maya capped the marker.
“Why are you worried about that box when there are approximately twenty others you could be helping me with?”
“Because none of the others threatened me.”
“It says not to touch it.”
“Exactly. Now I need to know why.”
Maya pointed toward the stack beside her.
“Pack.”
Chloe laughed but finally turned away.
Maya looked around the apartment again.
It didn't look like hers anymore.
That bothered her more than she expected.
The framed photographs were gone from the wall.
The bookshelves were nearly empty.
The throw pillows she'd spent entirely too much money on were stuffed inside a box somewhere.
Even the plant near the window was gone, already transported to the new house by her father two days before the wedding because, according to him, somebody had to make sure it survived the transition.
She had lived here for four years.
Four years of coming home and locking the door behind her.
Four years of deciding when she wanted company and when she didn't.
Four years of waking up on Saturday mornings with absolutely no obligation to explain to another human being why she planned to stay in pajamas until noon.
She had chosen every piece of furniture.
Every picture.
Every candle.
Every unnecessary decorative object Chloe had told her she didn't need.
It had been hers.
Completely.
Maya rested her hands on her hips.
And by the end of the day, it wouldn't be.
“You're doing that thing.”
Maya looked over.
Chloe was watching her now.
“What thing?”
“The staring.”
“I'm looking at my apartment.”
“You've been looking at the same wall for like two minutes.”
“I like the wall.”
“The wall is empty.”
“Maybe that's what I like about it.”
Chloe's mouth twitched.
Maya ignored her and reached for another box.
She had been home from the honeymoon for less than twenty-four hours.
Technically, home wasn't the right word anymore.
That was part of the problem.
The new house was home.
Or it was supposed to be.
She and Josiah had chosen it together.
They had walked through it together before the wedding, discussing bedrooms and furniture and whether the kitchen had enough cabinet space. She had liked it immediately.
So had he.
Neither of them had lived there before.
Neither had memories attached to it.
No routines.
No favorite chair.
No side of the closet already claimed.
It belonged equally to both of them.
That had been important to Maya.
She just hadn't realized choosing something new would make leaving something old feel quite so final.
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Maya glanced at it.
Josiah.
Something in her still reacted to seeing his name differently than it had a week ago.
A week ago, Josiah Walker had been the man she was about to marry.
Now she knew he took his coffee with enough sugar to make her question whether it could still legally be called coffee.
She knew he couldn't sleep if the television was on.
She knew he prayed before his feet touched the floor in the morning.
She knew he was far funnier when there wasn't an entire church watching him.
And she knew—
Maya stopped herself.
There were some things about the honeymoon she wasn't going to stand in the middle of her apartment and think about while Chloe was ten feet away.
Absolutely not.
She reached for her phone.
Josiah: How's it going?
Maya typed back.
Maya: I'm surrounded by boxes and questioning every possession I've ever purchased.
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Josiah: So good?
She smiled.
Maya: Wonderful.
Josiah: Need help?
Maya's fingers moved before she thought about it.
Maya: No. I've got it.
She hit send.
Then stared at the message.
It was true.
Her mother and Sara were supposed to arrive soon. Chloe was already there. The movers would handle the larger furniture she was keeping, and half of the apartment had been packed before the wedding.
She didn't need help.
Another message appeared.
Josiah: Okay. Call me if that changes.
That was it.
No insistence.
No I'm coming anyway.
No reminder that she was his wife now.
Just okay.
Maya looked at the screen a little longer than necessary.
“Is that your husband?”
She locked the phone.
“No.”
Chloe stared at her.
Maya sighed.
“Yes.”
A grin spread across Chloe's face.
“Your husband.”
“Don't start.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You said it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you're waiting for me to react.”
“I am.”
Maya picked up the tape.
“You're going to be disappointed.”
“You've been married a week.”
“And?”
“And I haven't seen you since the wedding. I have questions.”
“No.”
“I haven't asked any yet.”
“I'm saving us both time.”
Chloe laughed.
Maya smiled despite herself and turned toward another box.
But as she reached for it, her gaze caught on the faint rectangle on the wall where one of her pictures had hung.
The smile faded.
For years, Maya had thought marriage would mean adding someone to her life.
She hadn't spent much time considering how much of marriage involved leaving one life behind to create another.
Not abandoning it.
Not erasing it.
But leaving it.
There was a difference.
At least, she hoped there was.
She picked up the marker again.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s next?”
And this time, when Chloe pointed toward the bedroom, Maya followed.
The bedroom was worse.
Maya stopped in the doorway.
Her closet doors stood open.
Half the clothes were gone.
The dresser was empty except for a lamp, a bottle of lotion, and the small ceramic dish that normally held her jewelry.
Her bed was still there, but without the decorative pillows and throw blanket, even that looked unfamiliar.
Chloe walked past her.
“You know staring at this room isn't going to pack it either.”
“I know.”
“You sure?”
Maya gave her a look.
Chloe smiled and reached for the empty box on the floor.
“I’m just checking.”
Maya crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
Empty.
She closed it again.
Her mother had asked her a few weeks before the wedding if she was ready to move.
Maya had said yes.
And she had been.
She was.
She had signed the paperwork for the new house with Josiah. Chosen paint colors. Measured walls. Spent an entire Saturday arguing with herself over whether their living room needed one large rug or two smaller ones.
Josiah had listened to the debate for approximately seven minutes before asking a question Maya still hadn't forgiven him for.
Does it matter?
It did.
He knew that now.
Maya smiled at the memory.
The honeymoon had helped.
Not with rugs.
Josiah still had no opinion about rugs.
But with everything else.
A week without church members watching them had given them room to stop feeling like the bride and groom everyone expected them to be.
They had just been Maya and Josiah.
Two people trying to figure out what to talk about over breakfast.
Who got the bathroom first.
Whether silence meant something was wrong or simply that neither of them had anything to say.
The first morning had been awkward.
The second had been better.
By the third, Maya had stopped noticing every time his hand brushed hers.
By the end of the trip—
“Maya.”
She blinked.
Chloe was staring at her.
“What?”
“That smile.”
“What smile?”
“That one.”
Maya immediately stopped smiling.
Chloe's eyes widened.
“Oh.”
“No.”
“I didn't even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I really wasn't.”
“You absolutely were.”
Chloe slowly put both hands in the air.
“I respect the sanctity of marriage.”
Maya stared at her.
“For the next thirty seconds.”
“Chloe.”
She laughed.
Maya grabbed a stack of folded shirts from the bed and placed them in the box.
“We had a nice honeymoon.”
“I am very happy for you.”
“And that is all the information you're getting.”
“I didn't ask for information.”
“You didn't have to.”
Chloe's grin only widened.
Maya pointed toward the closet.
“Please find something productive to do.”
“Yes, Mrs. Walker.”
Maya groaned.
Apparently she was never escaping that.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Then the door opened.
“Maya?”
“Back here, Mama.”
Lydia appeared in the doorway a few seconds later carrying two reusable grocery bags.
Sara came behind her with a drink carrier balanced in one hand and her phone in the other.
“I brought coffee,” Sara announced.
Maya looked at her mother.
“What did you bring?”
“Food.”
Maya smiled.
Of course she had.
Lydia glanced around the bedroom.
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Maya saw it.
Sara apparently did too.
“Oh, no.”
Lydia looked at her.
“What?”
“Don't get emotional.”
“I am not emotional.”
“You made the face.”
“What face?”
“The mama face.”
Lydia shook her head and walked farther into the room.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You definitely know what I'm talking about.”
Maya took one of the grocery bags from her.
“What did you bring?”
“Sandwiches. Fruit. Chips.”
“We're moving, not going on a field trip.”
“And you still need to eat.”
Chloe appeared behind them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks.”
Maya turned.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side with lunch.”
“Smart girl,” Lydia said.
Sara handed Maya one of the coffees.
“And I got yours exactly the way you like it.”
Maya took a sip.
Then frowned.
“This isn't mine.”
Sara froze.
“What?”
“This has caramel.”
Sara looked down at the remaining cups.
“Oh.”
“You don't know me anymore.”
“You got married. Everything changed.”
“It has been one week.”
“Exactly. Who knows what Josiah has done to you?”
Maya stared at her.
Lydia sighed.
“Please ignore your sister.”
“I usually do.”
Sara handed her another cup.
“Try that one.”
Maya did.
“That one's mine.”
“See? I know you.”
“You had a twenty-five percent chance.”
“And I succeeded.”
Chloe took one of the remaining cups.
“I like those odds.”
For the next hour, the apartment filled with noise.
Sara played music from her phone.
Chloe kept finding things Maya had forgotten to pack.
Lydia somehow cleaned while packing, which Maya hadn't realized was possible.
And Maya moved from room to room answering questions.
“Keeping this?”
“Yes.”
“This?”
“No.”
“What about these?”
“Why do I still own those?”
“That isn't an answer.”
“Throw them away.”
Every decision made the apartment emptier.
Eventually, the movers arrived.
The couch disappeared first.
Then the dining table.
Then the bed.
Maya stood against the kitchen counter as two men carried the mattress through the front door.
She watched until it disappeared down the hallway.
Her apartment suddenly echoed.
That was new.
She had never heard an echo in here before.
Sara walked past carrying a small box.
“Where does this go?”
Maya didn't answer.
Sara stopped.
“Maya?”
“Hmm?”
“The box?”
Maya looked at it.
“Kitchen.”
Sara nodded but didn't move.
“You okay?”
There it was again.
Maya almost laughed.
Apparently marriage had resulted in everyone asking her that question.
“I'm fine.”
Sara studied her.
Maya waited for the joke.
It didn't come.
Instead, Sara put the box down.
“This is weird, isn't it?”
Maya looked around.
“Kind of.”
Sara leaned against the opposite counter.
“I remember when you moved in here.”
Maya did too.
Sara had complained about carrying boxes up the stairs for three straight days.
“You said you were never helping me move again.”
“I was younger.”
“It was four years ago.”
“I've matured.”
Maya looked pointedly at the box she'd just put down.
Sara frowned.
“Emotionally.”
That made Maya laugh.
Sara smiled.
Then her expression softened.
“You were so excited.”
“I was.”
“You bought everything at once.”
“I needed furniture.”
“You needed a couch. You did not need seventeen throw pillows.”
“There were not seventeen.”
“Close enough.”
Maya looked toward the living room.
The couch was gone now.
So were the pillows.
She remembered standing in that room the first night she'd moved in.
Boxes everywhere.
No curtains yet.
Nothing on the walls.
She had ordered takeout, sat cross-legged on the floor and looked around at something that belonged completely to her.
She'd been proud.
Not because the apartment was impressive.
It wasn't.
But because she had built a life she liked.
A life she hadn't been waiting for someone else to complete.
And she still liked that life.
That was the strange part.
God hadn't called her away from something she hated.
He had asked her to leave something she loved.
Maya looked down at her coffee.
“I thought this would feel easier.”
Sara was quiet.
Maya glanced at her.
“Don't make a big deal out of that.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was literally standing here.”
“I know you.”
Sara smiled.
“Apparently not. I bought you caramel coffee.”
Maya laughed again.
Then Sara stepped closer.
“You can be happy and still miss this.”
Maya looked at her.
For once, her little sister wasn't joking.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Maya didn't answer immediately.
Sara shrugged.
“I'm just saying. You don't have to act like you're thrilled about every single part of this because you know God told you to do it.”
That landed harder than Maya expected.
Sara picked up the box again.
“Also, if you cry, I'm telling everybody.”
Maya blinked.
“There she is.”
“I was getting uncomfortable.”
“Go put the box by the door.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Sara walked away.
Maya remained where she was.
She could be happy and still miss this.
The thought settled somewhere deep.
Maybe leaving didn't require pretending there was nothing worth looking back at.
Maybe that was why leaving mattered.
You couldn't leave something you had never belonged to.
“Maya?”
Her mother stood at the edge of the living room.
Everyone else had gone downstairs.
For the first time all afternoon, the apartment was nearly silent.
“We're almost done,” Lydia said.
Maya nodded.
“I know.”
Lydia looked around.
Then at her.
“You ready?”
Maya opened her mouth.
The automatic answer came first.
Yes.
She swallowed it.
“I don't know.”
Her mother's expression softened.
Maya looked toward the windows.
“I want to go.”
“I know.”
“I want my marriage.”
“I know that too.”
“So why does this feel like I'm losing something?”
Lydia walked toward her.
“Because you are.”
Maya looked at her.
Her mother didn't rush to correct it.
Didn't tell her she was gaining more than she was losing.
Didn't remind her that she had prayed about this.
She simply stood beside her.
“You built a life here,” Lydia said. “There's nothing wrong with grieving the end of one season while you're grateful for the beginning of another.”
Maya looked around again.
“It feels dramatic when you say grieving.”
Lydia smiled.
“Then don't call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“Leaving.”
Maya went still.
Her mother looked toward the open front door.
“Leaving doesn't mean what was here was bad, Maya.”
The words sat between them.
“It just means you can't stay here and go where you're going at the same time.”
Maya lowered her eyes.
She knew the Scripture.
She had heard it at weddings.
Read it in marriage books.
Heard her father teach from Genesis more times than she could count.
A man would leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife.
Leaving.
Cleaving.
It had always sounded beautiful when it belonged to somebody else.
Much less beautiful surrounded by cardboard boxes and empty walls.
Maya smiled faintly.
“I don't think anybody puts this part in the wedding pictures.”
Lydia laughed.
“No.”
She slipped an arm around Maya's shoulders.
“They probably should.”
Maya leaned into her mother.
Only for a moment.
Then a little longer.
She had a new home waiting for her.
A husband waiting for her.
A life she had willingly said yes to.
But standing in the apartment she had once been so proud to call her own, Maya finally understood something.
Saying I do had been one kind of leaving.
This was another.
And this one came with boxes.
Lydia squeezed her shoulder.
“Come on.”
Maya nodded.
She took one last look around the apartment.
The empty living room.
The kitchen where she'd spent Sunday afternoons meal prepping for a week she would inevitably become too busy to follow the meal plan for.
The corner near the window where she'd sat with her Bible in the mornings.
The dining table wasn't there anymore, but she could still picture her laptop open across it, contracts spread beside her, Chloe sitting opposite her while they worked through an event that had somehow changed its entire color palette three days before setup.
Her life had happened here.
Quietly.
Ordinarily.
And now it wouldn't anymore.
Maya walked toward the door.
She stopped with her hand on the knob.
“Wait.”
Lydia turned.
Maya pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture.”
“Of an empty apartment?”
“Yes.”
Her mother smiled.
Maya stepped back and took one.
Nothing special.
Empty walls.
A few boxes by the door.
Sunlight coming through bare windows.
She looked at the picture.
It didn't capture what the apartment had been.
But maybe it didn't need to.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket.
“Okay.”
This time, she walked out.
Maya locked the door behind them.
Then she stared at the key in her hand.
She would return it tomorrow.
After that, somebody else would live here.
Someone else's furniture would fill the rooms.
Someone else's pictures would hang on the walls.
The thought should have bothered her.
It did.
Just not as much as it had an hour ago.
“Ready?” Lydia asked.
Maya looked toward the stairs.
Boxes waited downstairs.
Her sister was probably complaining.
Chloe was probably encouraging her.
And somewhere across town, Josiah was packing up the last pieces of his own life too.
That thought made Maya pause.
She had been so focused on leaving her apartment that she hadn't thought much about his.
Josiah was leaving too.
His home.
His routines.
Whatever version of his life had existed before her.
They weren't moving her things into his space.
He wasn't moving his things into hers.
They were both walking away from something.
Toward something neither of them had lived in before.
Maya tightened her fingers around the key.
“Yeah.”
She smiled.
“I'm ready.”
She was not ready.
Maya stood in the middle of the new living room two hours later and stared at a box labeled BATHROOM.
“Why is this in here?”
Josiah looked up from where he was crouched beside the television stand.
“I have no idea.”
“It says bathroom.”
“I see that.”
“So why is it in the living room?”
“Maybe it wanted a change of scenery.”
Maya looked at him.
Josiah straightened.
“I'm guessing that's not helpful.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He walked over and picked up the box.
“Which bathroom?”
Maya opened her mouth.
Stopped.
There were three.
“The one upstairs.”
“Which one upstairs?”
“The main one.”
He nodded.
Then frowned.
“Main meaning ours?”
Maya looked at him.
“What other main bathroom would there be?”
“I don't know. I'm learning the terminology.”
“It's the bathroom attached to our bedroom.”
“So ours.”
“Yes.”
“Could've led with that.”
“Josiah.”
He smiled.
Maya pointed toward the stairs.
“Please move the box.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She watched him carry it away.
Then looked around.
Chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Boxes covered nearly every available section of floor.
Some were hers.
Some were his.
Some had labels.
Some did not.
One simply said STUFF, which Maya already knew had come from Josiah's apartment because she would never label a box stuff.
She walked over to it.
“What is in here?”
His voice came from upstairs.
“Stuff.”
Maya closed her eyes.
Of course.
She lifted one flap.
Basketball.
Two books.
A phone charger.
A framed photograph.
Three hoodies.
Something that looked suspiciously like an extension cord.
Maya stared into the box.
There was no category.
No system.
No reason.
“Josiah?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you pack this?”
A pause.
“Which box?”
“The one labeled stuff.”
Another pause.
“Possibly.”
Maya looked toward the ceiling.
“Possibly?”
“I had help.”
“From who?”
“Brandon.”
That explained absolutely everything.
Josiah came back down the stairs.
“Problem?”
Maya pointed into the box.
“What room does this go in?”
He looked inside.
Then at her.
“Several.”
“That is not how boxes work.”
“Apparently it is.”
“There's a basketball with a phone charger.”
“I might need to charge the basketball.”
Maya stared at him.
He tried not to smile.
Failed.
“You think this is funny.”
“A little.”
Maya folded her arms.
“I'm trying to organize our house.”
“I know.”
“And your stuff is everywhere.”
“So is yours.”
“My stuff is labeled.”
“Your stuff has instructions.”
“Exactly.”
“One of your boxes says fragile three times.”
“Because it's fragile.”
“I gathered that after the second one.”
Maya fought a smile.
She didn't want to encourage him.
Josiah reached into the box and pulled out the framed photograph.
Maya hadn't looked closely before.
It was a picture of Josiah and Brandon.
Younger.
Much younger.
Josiah couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen.
Brandon looked like a child beside him.
They stood on an outdoor basketball court, Josiah's arm hooked around his brother's neck while Brandon tried to push him away.
Both were laughing.
Maya smiled.
“How old were you?”
Josiah looked at the picture.
“Seventeen, maybe.”
“Brandon looks twelve.”
“He probably was.”
“You look exactly the same.”
“That is a lie.”
“You do.”
“I had no beard.”
“Okay. You look mostly the same.”
Josiah took the picture from her.
For a moment, his expression changed.
Not sad.
Just distant.
Maya noticed.
Before she could ask, he set the frame carefully on the mantel.
“There.”
Maya looked at it.
“That stays?”
“Unless you hate it.”
“I don't hate it.”
“You sure? I know there's probably a system.”
“There is not a system for family pictures.”
“Good.”
“Yet.”
He laughed.
Maya looked at the photograph again.
One piece of his life.
In their house.
She glanced around at the boxes.
Her things.
His things.
Suddenly the disorder looked different.
Not better.
She still wanted everything unpacked immediately.
But different.
This wasn't her apartment.
It wasn't Josiah's either.
There wasn't supposed to be a place where all of his things belonged yet.
They had to decide that.
Together.
Maya reached into the stuff box and pulled out the basketball.
“Garage?”
Josiah looked offended.
“You're putting my basketball in the garage?”
“Where would you like it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then garage.”
He took it from her.
“I'll find somewhere.”
Maya narrowed her eyes.
“If I find that under our bed—”
“You won't.”
“Josiah.”
“You probably won't.”
She pointed toward him.
He laughed and tucked the ball under his arm.
The front door opened.
“Please tell me y'all have somewhere to put another twelve boxes.”
Maya turned.
Brandon walked inside carrying one.
Behind him came Sara.
And behind Sara, Chloe.
Maya stared.
“Why are there twelve more?”
Brandon lowered the box to the floor.
“Because your husband owns things.”
“Why aren't they labeled?”
Brandon looked at Josiah.
Josiah looked at Brandon.
Maya looked between them.
“Oh, no.”
Sara started laughing.
“What?”
“I know that look.”
“What look?” Josiah asked.
“The one where two men silently agree not to tell the woman something.”
Brandon shook his head.
“That is not what's happening.”
“Then what's in the boxes?”
Silence.
Maya folded her arms.
Josiah cleared his throat.
“Stuff.”
Maya closed her eyes.
Chloe burst out laughing.
By six o'clock, Maya had accepted three things.
First, they owned too much.
Second, Brandon should never be allowed to assist with packing again.
Third, there was no possibility of getting the house completely organized tonight.
The third one had taken the longest.
Everyone else had gone home.
Her mother had hugged her twice before leaving.
Sara had threatened to return uninvited.
Chloe had reminded Maya that they had work in two days and told her not to spend tomorrow reorganizing the entire house.
Maya had made no promises.
Now the house was quiet.
Not empty.
Quiet.
There was a difference.
Maya stood in the kitchen opening cabinets.
Plates.
Glasses.
Bowls.
She moved the glasses one cabinet over.
Stepped back.
Looked.
Moved them back.
“Okay.”
Maya turned.
Josiah stood in the doorway.
“What?”
He leaned against the frame.
“I've watched you move those glasses twice.”
“I didn't like them over there.”
“You put them there.”
“And then I changed my mind.”
“Then you put them back.”
“Correct.”
“So now they're exactly where they started.”
Maya closed the cabinet.
“Yes.”
Josiah nodded slowly.
“Productive.”
She gave him a look.
He smiled.
Then he glanced around the kitchen.
“You hungry?”
Maya looked at the clock.
She hadn't realized how late it was.
“A little.”
“I can order something.”
“We have food.”
“Where?”
Maya opened the refrigerator.
Then stopped.
There was milk.
Bottled water.
Condiments.
Half a container of fruit Lydia had left.
And absolutely nothing that could reasonably become dinner.
Josiah leaned around her shoulder.
“I'm seeing ingredients.”
“For what?”
“I don't know.”
“Exactly.”
“Takeout?”
Maya sighed.
“Takeout.”
“What do you want?”
“You choose.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“You want me to choose?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why are you acting like I've given you power of attorney?”
“Because you've had an opinion about everything in this house for the last four hours.”
Maya turned toward him.
“That's because things need places.”
“I agree.”
“You labeled one box stuff.”
“That was Brandon.”
“You admitted you might have packed it.”
“I was under pressure.”
She laughed.
Josiah smiled.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“Chinese?”
“Fine.”
“Pizza?”
“Also fine.”
“Tacos?”
“Josiah.”
“I'm testing how serious you are about me choosing.”
“Choose food.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
He looked at the screen.
Maya leaned back against the counter.
Her feet hurt.
Her back hurt.
There were boxes upstairs.
Boxes downstairs.
She had no idea where her favorite mug was.
And tomorrow morning she would wake up here.
Not at the hotel.
Not on the honeymoon.
Not in her apartment.
Here.
With him.
Josiah looked up.
“Tacos.”
“Okay.”
“You made a face.”
“I didn't make a face.”
“You did.”
“I like tacos.”
“Then why did your eyebrows do that?”
“My eyebrows didn't do anything.”
He stared at her.
Maya stared back.
Then she laughed.
“I really do like tacos.”
“I'm learning not to trust your eyebrows.”
“Order the food.”
He did.
Maya looked toward the living room.
The photograph of Josiah and Brandon was still on the mantel.
Beside it now sat one of her framed pictures of her family.
She hadn't put it there.
She looked back at him.
“Did you do that?”
Josiah followed her gaze.
“The picture?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged.
“Figured mine looked lonely.”
Something small shifted in her chest.
“Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
Maya looked at the two photographs.
Two families.
Side by side.
“Yeah.”
She smiled.
“It's okay.”
Josiah nodded and returned to his phone.
Maya stayed where she was.
She had spent the afternoon thinking about everything she was leaving.
Her apartment.
Her routines.
The life she had arranged exactly the way she liked it.
But maybe cleaving wasn't about replacing any of those things.
Maybe it was this.
His picture beside hers.
His badly labeled boxes mixed with her perfectly organized ones.
His basketball looking for a place in the same house as her seventeen—
Fine.
Twelve throw pillows.
Two lives that had existed perfectly well on their own now making room for each other.
Messily.
Slowly.
On purpose.
Josiah slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Thirty minutes.”
Maya nodded.
“Okay.”
He looked toward the living room.
“Want to unpack another box?”
Maya considered it.
Then shook her head.
“No.”
Josiah blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Don't ruin it.”
He laughed.
Maya walked past him toward the living room.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To sit down.”
“There's no couch.”
Maya stopped.
The movers hadn't delivered the new one yet.
She looked at the empty space where it would eventually go.
Then at the floor.
Josiah followed her gaze.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We have chairs.”
“They're covered in boxes.”
“We can move them.”
Maya sat on the floor.
Josiah stared at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“I've just never seen you willingly sit in the middle of a mess before.”
“We’ve only been married a week.”
“Good point.”
He lowered himself beside her.
Not too close.
Then, after a second, Maya shifted until her shoulder rested against his.
That still felt new.
Not uncomfortable anymore.
Just new.
Josiah looked down at her.
Maya looked straight ahead.
“Don't make it weird.”
“I wasn't going to say anything.”
“Good.”
A moment passed.
Then his shoulder moved slightly with a quiet laugh.
Maya elbowed him.
“Ow.”
“That didn't hurt.”
“It hurt emotionally.”
She smiled.
The house was nowhere near finished.
There were boxes everywhere.
The walls were mostly bare.
Their bedroom looked like two separate closets had exploded into one.
Nothing had a rhythm yet.
Nothing felt completely familiar.
But sitting on the floor beside her husband, surrounded by pieces of the lives they'd both left behind, Maya realized something.
Home didn't feel like home yet.
Maybe it wasn't supposed to.
Maybe home wasn't something they had walked into that afternoon.
Maybe it was something they were going to build.
Together.