Work Text:
Maya starts setting up her stuff on the floor and I don’t understand why. We’ve been friends for years and it is apparent in this moment that her notion of the way that relationship works is that she - sleeps on the floor? I laugh at her when she pats her pillow with her foot. “It’s been a long time since I’ve set up a bed on the ground. I’m feeling a bit nostalgic!”
Without another moment of hesitation or confusion, I bend over and swipe the blankets straight up. “Not a chance,” I say.
“You have a studio apartment. I could spit into your kitchen sink from the window sill. Where else am I supposed to sleep? On your coffee table?” Maya mocks my refusal to let her sleep on the floor. She came here because she had nowhere else to go and her life is falling apart. A deep part of me wants to mock her, sass her back like I used to, but I know that this is something completely different. Being homeless, helpless, and lost is a new caliber of derailing, even for Maya.
I gesture to my bed, “I’m sorry, shortstack, but you’ve suffered enough, and I think a lady deserves to sleep in a bed when she tucks in for the night. You can saddle your way under my covers tonight.”
Maya waves her hands at me. “No way,” she half-scoffs, half-laughs.
I bunch up her blankets and hold them close to my chest. Staring her down furiously, I stand my ground. “It’s the only option, Hart.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Friar,” she hisses before taking two very impressive lunches over at me so that she can swipe her bedding back to set up on the floor again. I just hold the covers higher than she can reach and grin from ear to ear. “This isn’t fair!”
I laugh, “What isn’t fair? That you’re short, or that I really do get to be the boss of you this time?”
Maya huffs and throws herself dramatically on the bed. It isn’t the sort of 'dramatic' that I’d seen Riley do hundreds of times when we were dating-not dating-dating throughout high school. When Riley tossed herself back into the absurd collection of pillows she kept on her bed, she rolled her eyes and puffed out her cheeks and bounced multiple times. It was light and airy and childish, the way that Riley Matthews was meant to be, even when she was angry.
Maya Hart could be that way too, and I’d seen plenty of those moments too. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those times. I sit next to her on the mattress and look to my ceiling. “I can’t pretend to get it, and I can’t say that it’s going to be magically better tomorrow. You’re not going to wake up feeling better tomorrow, most likely, and it’s going to be a long road ahead before you’re on your feet again. Losing your job and your home in the same two weeks isn’t just tough. That is the kind of thing that literally stops your whole world from spinning.”
“It hasn’t been spinning,” Maya breathes, clearing trying to hide that she is tearing up.
I don’t want to pressure her to tell me everything that is happening, nor do I want to seem disinterested in what she’s saying. Being an adult and navigating these types of situations isn’t easy. I remember when Maya would come into Riley’s bedroom without warning and get angry about how dangerous her neighborhood was to live in. It would literally make me drop my jaw, and Riley almost always cried. Maya Hart has seen the worst of this world.
So why would I make her relive it?
Instead, I place a hand over her wrist and squeeze gently. I’ve been reading about emotional wellness and how that correlates to nutrition for my thesis paper, and when I was reading about mental distress I had read that a physical touch that is non-threatening can be a positive input. I am hoping that it is true for Maya as I pull my hand away.
“I don’t know what direction to go anymore. I can’t keep a job so I can’t afford to go to college. I can’t keep a place long enough to call it home, and my friends don’t ever come to check in on me because I live in the parts of New York nobody wants to see. Where do I go when all paths take me to failure?” By the end of her thoughts, unloading everything and nothing all at once, Maya is crying. She rolls over into my side with her hands covering her eyes. I wrap my arm around the back of her hand and rub her back to give her comfort.
We stay like this for so long that I almost don’t even realize when she stops crying and is just breathing next to me. I only notice when she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“For what,” I ask gently, moving so that she can sit up properly. “What did you do to apologize for?”
“Coming into your home and expecting you to throw your own life into chaos to help an old friend,” she laughs, though not ironically. Maya is genuinely laughing at herself as if the idea was totally heinous and ridiculous. I stand up and point directly at her.
“First off, you’re not an old friend, you’re a forever friend. From the moment you dumped a smoothie on my head. Real friends make things weird so that aren’t weird anymore,” I correct her quickly, and somewhat playfully. She receives it well, which tells me I’m on the right track, which is awesome because I didn’t want to be the jokester. “Secondly, you don’t owe anyone an apology. If anything, a lot of people owe you an apology.”
Maya rolls her eyes and stands up to meet me. “And thirdly, I’ll sleep in the damn bed, Friar. Are you happy now?”
“Yes.” And I am. My body deflates and relaxes, and I feel completely at ease.
For about a tenth of a second. “But the bed is big enough for both of us, so, if I have to sleep there, so do you, buckaroo.”
There’s a twinkle in Maya’s eyes that is so familiar that my heart flutters. She’s right, though, about her friends. We don’t check in on her enough and she deserves it. I can’t think of a time when Maya didn’t lay her life out for the people that she believed would always have her back. Even Riley gets so caught up in her college responsibilities that she’ll text Maya instead of swinging by to have a quick visit. I won’t tell her, but I know that I owe her this.
And so, that’s how I end up crawling into bed next to Maya Hart, thinking back to every single time I had the opportunity to tell her how important she is to me. I can’t imagine who I would’ve been if I hadn’t met her, and I can’t imagine who I would’ve become if she didn’t show up with a suitcase and a cold coffee in her hand tonight. All I can say is that I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like who that man would be.
Maya crawls in next to me, her back turned only partially. I think she’s waiting for something, maybe it’s for the courage to say what’s on her mind or for me to say what’s on mine. She stays that way for a few minutes before she lays flat on her back and faces me dead on. “Thank you, Lucas Friar. You’re too good for this city.”
It makes me numb the way she hurts so much and compliments everyone and everything around her with a smile on her face. I’m too good for this city? Did she forget what landed me here in the first place?
“I guess I’ll have to keep you around to temper me out then, huh?”
“Careful what you wish for, Huckleberry,” she sighs, though I can see the smile on her face.
I like that smile. She wants me to be careful inviting her to stay her indefinitely, but she’s got another thing coming.
I can’t wish for it hard enough.