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To no one’s surprise, Maya isn't anywhere to be found on move-in day.
Lucas is lugging all of their boxes up three flights of stairs because the elevator, conveniently – thanks so much, Father Who Art in Heaven – broke down the day before they were scheduled to arrive. Zay’s helping too, although Lucas could do without his constant complaints about how he's going to throw his back with all this shit he's carrying for them because he's such a good best friend and Jesus, Lucas, did you really have to bring all your high school trophies with you? He decided it's best to ignore it because if this, somehow, ended up going horribly wrong then he's going to need someone to help him take all of his stuff back home.
When he walks in to his new place, room 316 with a balcony that overlooks the city, he sees Riley setting up the dining room, placing framed pictures on the coffee table and rearranging the ceramic pieces Maya handmade in her tenth grade art class.
“Hey, Riles,” he addresses, setting the box down on the rug by the couch. The floor’s a nice hardwood, just like Maya wanted. She’d always tell him about how she’d get into trouble growing up because of her tendency to constantly spill grape juice on Katy’s white carpet, and she didn't want to have to deal with that anymore. “Thanks for helping us out. You really didn't have to.”
She turns to him then, and he cringes when he sees her wide-eyed Bambi eyes grow a little glassy. “It was no problem; I wanted to.”
Lucas smiles at her, gives her a nod, and moves to grab the box of kitchenware.
“I'm just so happy for you guys, you know?” she starts. He sets the box down and leans back on the heels of his shoes. He's been waiting for this. “I mean - you've been talking about getting a place together since high school and now you're both in college and you both have relatively stable jobs and it's happening. It's happening for real. And, gosh, Maya’s so happy – “
“Really doesn't seem like it right now,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes flickering to their opened door. Maya’s absence is such a loud thing.
Riley tilts her head and gives him a smile. “Believe me – she is so happy, Lucas. You make her so happy, and this place is going to make her so happy.”
“A thesaurus is on my Christmas list for you, sugar.” Zay drops the last of the boxes on the couch with a grunt and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Whew. Don't know if I'm going to be able to walk for another two weeks,” he says as he lets himself fall on the couch, mindful of the boxes with any glass or breakables.
“Has anyone seen Farkle?” Riley asks then, eyebrows furrowing as she glances around the room.
“Maybe we should just file a missing person’s report,” Lucas says cheerfully. “Since my girlfriend and your boyfriend both seem to be conveniently MIA at the same time.”
“They could just be taking a lovely stroll down the park,” Zay suggests unhelpfully. “This place is right next to one. Saw a couple food trucks out there too. You know Farkle would never be able to stop her if she had her eyes set on some empanadas.”
The door opens and slams shut before Lucas could say anything, and Maya struts in with a coffee cup in one hand and a take-out carrier with four in the other. “Top o’ the morning to ya!”
The three of them stare at her, unamused. Lucas blinks.
“Ooh. Rough crowd. Not really feeling the Irish accent? That's fine; I'll work on it.” She sets the carrier down on the coffee table and straightens up, pushing the sleeves of Lucas’s long sleeved thermal up to her elbows. “So, you all ready yet? What are your lazy asses doing sitting down – we got a lot of boxes to move, people! Our whole lives worth, you know.”
Lucas just pointedly looks around the room until she catches on.
“Oh, darn! You got all the boxes from downstairs already? Jeez, can't believe I missed out on all the fun. Tsk, tsk, what a shame.” Maya picks a cup and hands it to each of them. “Aren't ya glad I got some caffeine then? We could use a break, we've worked hard enough today.”
“Maya, you've done nothing,” Zay says mildly, but accepts the coffee nonetheless. “Did you know that the elevator was broken? Did you know that we had to lug all those boxes up ourselves? Did you know that they told us they were gonna send up someone to help us but – surprise! – no one came.”
She clicks her tongue and pouts, rubbing his arm in mock comfort. He isn't falling for it. “Poor baby just needs to relax.”
“Maya, the view is so beautiful here,” Riley interrupts with a grin on her face. Something tells Lucas that she doesn't really care if Maya was there helping them or not. She's here now, so that's all that matters. “You're gonna have to kick me out, you know, because I'm never gonna wanna leave.”
“It's gonna be great painting out here,” Maya replies, walking over to stand next to Riley, her hands in her pockets. Lucas sees paint on the sleeve of his shirt that hadn’t been there earlier today. She does that sometimes, disappears for hours on end when she gets too overwhelmed to let out all her frustration on a blank, unsuspecting canvas. “Can you even believe the lighting in this place? Told Lucas I'd rather live in a cardboard box if we didn't get it.”
“Hey, lost princess,” Zay calls out. “You seen Farkle while you were out chasing the lights?”
She spins around on her heels, confused, brows furrowed. “Yeah, he was right behind – “
The door opens once again, and in comes Farkle carrying a box of donuts. Zay jumps up from his seat to flip it open and grab a couple once he sees it, throws a “thanks, man” his way, and tosses a chocolate-covered sprinkle donut at Lucas.
“Sorry, I went to the wrong floor,” he explains as he sets the box down on the table, knocking a frame down on its face. “Some guy stopped me to try to sell me stuff he made purely out of scotch tape. You guys have some very eccentric neighbors.”
“Can't wait to meet them all,” replies Maya. She moves to stand next to Lucas, wraps her arms around his waist and stretches her neck to tear a bite of his donut with her teeth. He doesn't object much, just wipes the chocolate from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “Sorry I missed out on helping.”
He snorts. “No, you're not.”
“You're right, but I figured that apologizing was the decent thing to do.”
Maya leans on her toes to kiss his cheek, her arms moving up to circle around his neck. She smells like him, which isn't something uncommon, but still something he has yet to get used to. He likes that she wears his clothes – he'd never imagined that Maya in his shirt would be a thing for him, but he's not going to waste time questioning the inner workings of his brain when it comes to her.
“You guys hungry?” Riley asks the group, grabbing her phone from somewhere underneath the mess of stuff on the coffee table. “I think we should order some pizza. That sound good?”
“Molto bene!”
There's grumbling from every person in the room and a fond “God, Maya, do you ever shut up,” that she's sure came from Zay.
“What, no Italian either? Can I do anything right?”
“You're really good at not showing up to places when you're supposed to,” Lucas replies and she rolls her eyes. “How do I know you're not going to do this on our wedding day? I'm gonna be standing there at the altar like a fool and you're gonna show up an hour late like, ‘oh, was there something going on here? What'd I miss?’ Oh no, Maya, it was just one of the most important days of our lives, but no big deal or anything.”
“Does coffee always make you this dramatic? Maybe you should cut back. It'll stunt your growth, you know.”
“Maya, we’re twenty-one. We're done growing. You've been done growing since you were thirteen.”
“Hey.” Maya pokes his chest. “In our terms and conditions, you agreed you weren't going to make fun of my height anymore – what happened to that? Are we barbarians now? Are we just allowed to break the rules whenever we feel like?”
“I'm not sure if I should dignify that with a response.”
“Pizza!” Riley butts in with a cough, waving the hand that's holding her phone in the air to catch their attention. “The pizza should be coming in about fifteen minutes.”
“Y'all give me migraines,” Zay mutters, taking a generous bite of his donut.
“Great,” Lucas answers. “You remembered to order half anchovies, right? Maya’s going through a phase.”
She shoves at his chest even though he's a brick wall, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, leaving a quick, chaste kiss on top of her head. Farkle sets up the television while they wait for the pizza, Riley and Zay arguing over which awful Nicholas Sparks movie they want to watch and which one they've already seen. Lucas knows Maya’s going to get bored within the first five minutes and will inevitably end up grabbing a pen to draw on whatever exposed skin she can find on him. And he knows Farkle’s going to try to watch, for Riley, but his eyes will glaze over and he'll probably end up asleep after half an hour. That's the way it goes.
Once everyone leaves, and it's just the two of them and a handful of boxes containing their entire lives inside them, Maya and Lucas turn off the tv and sit in the silence for a while.
“This is kind of a little bit terrifying, isn't it?” she asks, biting her lip.
“Yeah. Just a little bit.”
“I mean,” she huffs and turns to him. “This is like – we’re adults now. We have our own place. We have to buy our own groceries and clean the house – the bathroom – and pay the bills on time and be nice to the neighbors.”
Lucas snorts at this. There's no chance in hell that Maya's going to be nice to the neighbors, and they both know it.
“We're going to forget to get the milk all the time and you're gonna have to run back to the store to buy some because I can't have coffee without milk and I can't function in the day without coffee.”
“We’ll make it work,” he says, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “It'll be fine. We can be adults.”
“You sure?”
“Well, I can,” he corrects himself. “I found an opened pack of pop tarts in your laundry basket yesterday so I can't say much about you.”
“I knew I forgot it somewhere.”
He smiles at her, a little too fond.
“So were you serious?” she asks, a bit hesitantly, her teeth catching on her lower lip once again. “About the wedding thing.”
“Of course I was. You're gonna be a disaster at your own wedding.”
“No, I mean – you said our wedding. Which implies that you were there. Which implies that you were the groom. Which implies that you'd be marrying me. Were you serious?”
He doesn't speak for a couple moments and Maya doesn't let herself breathe until he does. “I can't see myself with anyone else but you. So yeah. Yeah, I guess I was serious.”
“That's not very reassuring,” she replies but there's a smile on her face that threatens to split her face in two. “That's so gross. You love me so much.”
“I tell you all the time, Maya,” he says with an exasperated eye roll.
“Yeah, but – you love me. You’re crazy about me. You can't live without me. I make the sun rise and set every day for you. The moon pulls the ocean into waves because of me. The planets align because of me – “
“What is this?” he interrupts, “one of Shakespeare's sonnets? I don't remember it.”
“You wish. Shakespeare has nothing on me.”
“I love you. You know this already. Why are you acting like this is something that needs to be broadcasted on CNN.”
She's smiling up at him and he loves her. She sits up on her knees so she can wrap her arms around him and he loves her. She's Maya and he loves her, all the time, in every way, and he'd marry her in a heartbeat. He'd marry her right now, in his shirt that smells slightly like antiseptic, surrounded by half opened moving boxes and a half eaten pizza crust on the coffee table.
“I’m just never gonna get tired of hearing it,” she replies, scrunching her nose at him. “But you're gonna have to come up with a better proposal than that.”
“I wasn't proposing to you.”
“I’m just saying,” she says and hops up from the couch, pulling him up with her by his sleeve. He knows what she wants. She's already got her fuzzy socks on and she scrummages inside the box with his clothes, withdraws a pair of his own socks and tosses them at him. “I'm expecting a fan-fare – strippers riding on elephants, Zay popping out of a huge cake – “
“I'm letting you know right now that none of that is going to happen.”
“Okay, that's fair. I don't think I'd really like all that anyway,” she says, a shine in her eyes that’s so inherently Maya, as she drags him to the middle of their living room, dancing and skating around in their socks, tripping and falling over each other. “Just as long as you'll be there.”
“Wouldn't miss it.”
*
The one good thing about summer break is that it's summer break. Which, to Maya, means getting to ignore the sun leaking through their pale blue curtains and sleeping in until noon and not having to worry about responsibilities and schoolwork and –
“Knock, knock; it’s Riley! Your best friend in the whole world! Rise and shine, sleeping beauties!”
The clock on her bedside table blinks back 7:45am in harsh red digits. Maya groans and rolls over on her side, picking up Lucas’s arm so she can curl into him. He's warm, and all soft skin and hard muscle. And he’s warm. “Make the mean lady go away.”
“Riley, go away,” he mumbles even though she probably can't hear.
“Well, I guess I'm gonna have to come in then!” she continues. “By the way – thanks for the key, Maya, I hope you're decent!”
Lucas cracks one eye open to glare, mildly for lack of energy, at Maya. So that's how she managed to get into their apartment. “You gave her a key to our place already.”
“Of course I did,” she replies, pressing her face into his shoulder to stifle a yawn. “She's my best friend. Although I'm very quickly deciding to rescind that privilege.”
“That'd be a good idea, yes. For the sake of my health and your sanity.”
“He-llo.” Maya really wishes Riley came with a mute button sometimes. “Guys – I don't have all day; I have to go into town to visit my parents and Auggie –“
“Okay, okay, just wait two seconds,” she finally responds. “We just need to put some clothes on and we’ll be right out.”
“That requires actually moving, you know!” Riley exclaims, but soon Maya hears her footsteps fade away, the television turning on with its volume just a little too high.
“I really don't wanna move,” she mumbles and sticks her head underneath her pillow, but Lucas is quick in picking it off her.
“Come on, sunshine, time to hustle. I'll make breakfast this morning,” he says and smacks a loud kiss on her cheek that she wipes away with a groan. Maya sits up in bed, which she can consider as progress, and watches as Lucas slips on a shirt, his pajama pants low on his hips. “You know she's never gonna leave if you don't get up.”
Maya slides off the bed reluctantly, grabs one of Lucas’s flannel shirts from the floor and buttons it up. It's been two weeks since they've moved in and her half of the room is still packed in boxes, clothes spilling out of suitcases, books and sketch pads scattered on the floor. Lucas's side, however, is neat and tidy and makes Maya want to bleach her eyes. He'd told her he could help her unpack all of her belongings, but she said she would do it all on her own. She just didn't mention when she would do it all on her own.
“Let's go,” she mumbles, gathering all of her hair into a half-assed bun. She wraps her arms around Lucas’s middle and stands on his feet, her head resting on his chest. He holds her still with an arm banding around her waist and, with a quick kiss on the top of her head and a sigh, he takes careful steps to maneuver them both into the living room. They find Riley on their couch, her phone to her ear as she lays out her entire day’s schedule to Farkle on the other end. She gives them a big smile when she sees them, waves her hand and puts up a finger. Give me one sec.
“Coffee,” is all Maya has to say before he's taking them to the kitchen to start the pot. He obviously can't make breakfast with her hanging around him like a koala bear, so she detaches herself from him and wraps her arms around him from behind instead.
“Hey, no falling asleep allowed,” he warns her as he turns on the stove and retrieves a pan from the cabinet. “You're gonna have to wait until she leaves to go back to bed.”
“It's not even eight yet and I'm awake,” she grumbles. “There should be a law against this. I can't be held accountable for any crime I commit this early in the morning.”
“I'll visit you in prison.”
Maya places a kiss in the space between his shoulder blades and unwinds her arms from him, choosing to sit on the bar stool so he can move freely. “Fortunately, I look really good in orange,” she says as she watches him crack the eggs, her chin resting heavily in her palm. She hears the coffee brewing and the resentment she feels for having been woken up so early eases just a bit.
“What do you wanna do today?” he asks, and Maya can't help but smile. She's never going to get used to this. Being domestic, with Lucas of all people. It's not something she'd ever thought she'd be able to have. Waking up with him, cooking breakfast, planning their day together. It's nauseating and exciting in equal measures. “You should probably unpack your side before we go out, though.”
“Or,” she begins and Lucas doesn't think he wants to hear the rest of it, “we could pay Riley and Farkle to do it while we go to the beach.”
“Maya, I literally asked you if you wanted me to help you unpack – for free – and you said you had it covered. Now you want to pay someone else to do it?”
“You're right. I won’t pay them. They'd do it anyway.”
“I can't believe you're like this.”
She grins cheekily at him even though he can't see, but he knows her well enough.
Riley saddles up next to Maya a few moments later, looping her arm around her neck and planting a big kiss to her cheek. “Good morning, my love and my light!”
“Ugh,” Maya grumbles. “Keep your good mood to yourself. It's offensive.”
“Your place is really turning out great, Lucas,” Riley continues like she hadn’t even spoken. “I like what you did with your decorations, and the pictures of all of us on the wall is a very cute and much appreciated touch.”
“Thanks,” Lucas replies as he grabs three mugs from the shelf above him, pouring some coffee into each. Maya knows which one is hers when he fills the last cup to the brim. “Sucks that we can't actually paint the walls, though.”
“We could,” Maya says, taking a sip of her coffee without waiting for it to cool when Lucas hands it to her, ignoring his exasperated look when she inevitably burns her tongue. “It wouldn't be legal, but who cares about that.”
“I would like to continue living here, thanks,” Lucas says. He's done with the eggs, so he moves on to the pancakes. “And I would like for you to continue to live here with me too. So, sorry, but no painting the walls. Not until we get our own house.”
“With a real mortgage and a real yard and maybe even a pool for Lucas Jr. and BethanyAnnMarie.”
“I already told you we are not naming our children that.”
“B.A.M for short.” Maya laughs then. “Wait, can you imagine? Her initials would literally be B-A-M-F. I just thought of that.”
“Would the full name be hyphenated?” Riley asks.
“Of course not,” says Maya, “Hyphenation is for amateurs.”
“Hmm. I like it,” Riley chirps, pouring too much cream and sugar into her cup. Maya wonders if she can even taste the coffee at all anymore. “It's different.”
“We are not naming them that, Maya,” Lucas interjects again but no one is listening. “Why do you hate our unborn children.”
“Thank you, Riles. At least someone appreciates my creativity. I should look into becoming a baby-naming expert since I'm so good at it, don't you agree?”
“Sure, peaches,” Riley says with a fond smile and an eye roll. She makes her way into their kitchen space, steals a pancake and comes back to sit in the stool next to Maya. She offers her a bite and she takes one willingly, just to temporarily calm the rumbling in her stomach.
“Also, explain to me how Lucas Jr. is in any way creative,” he asks.
“Don't question a professional,” she replies, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “And hurry up with the food, huckleberry, I’m eating for three now. It's like you're just asking to go to jail for negligence.”
“Maya, you're not even pregnant,” Lucas counters with a sigh.
She lifts an eyebrow when he glances back at her. “Are you one hundred percent positive?”
“Yes. Kind of.” He sets down the whisk he's using and turns to face her, resting his hands firmly on the counter top to give her a pointed look. “Maya, please don't tell me you're pregnant; you forgot to feed your hamster for four days straight in high school and it died.”
Maya shakes her head somberly, places a hand over her heart. “Rest in peace, Ricky.”
Riley tilts her head. “Casablanca?”
“Martin.”
“Jesus,” Lucas mutters and turns back around to finish making breakfast as Riley “ah”s in response.
“You don't think I'd be a good mom, huckleberry?” Maya asks a little later as they're sitting cross-legged on the couch with their breakfast, her hands greasy from the turkey bacon. Riley’s not having any since she's a vegetarian now, which is fine because that just means there's more for Maya.
Lucas glances over at her. She's licking her fingers clean, gives Riley a little bit more of her eggs to even it out some. He smiles softly at her when she looks back up at him, expectant. “I think you'd be a great mom.”
She grins, eyes shining and smile bright. He'd do anything to keep that there. “Really?”
“Of course. I just hope they won't end up with your cleaning habits. Or lack of.”
Maya shoves his shoulder with the back of her palm, but doesn't object to his statement. He grabs her wrist in one hand before she pulls back, the other at the nape of her neck to drag her closer as he tugs lightly on her bottom lip with his teeth before slanting his mouth over hers, swallowing her soft laugh.
When he remembers that Riley’s sitting not even three feet away, he pulls back a little, gives her a peck and leans back into the couch. Maya takes both of their plates and places them on the coffee table so she can rest her head in his lap as he combs his fingers through her hair.
Riley tells them about the plans she has with Zay and Smackle later on, after she visits her parents, and suggests that that they should all come over after for board games. Maybe order Chinese food and drink too much peach schnapps.
And he thinks, yeah, he could probably get used to this.
*
When he comes back home from the vet center some nights, she's sitting on the floor in the studio working on one of her paintings. She wears his shirts most of the time, manages to stain almost all of them, and he'd gotten over being mad about it a long time ago.
Lucas knocks softly on the door so he doesn't startle her, but she jumps anyway. He holds up a take-out bag. “Hey. You hungry? Got you some food.”
“Chimichangas?” she asks hopefully, wiping her hands on her shirt. Which is, of course, really his shirt that she claimed ownership over.
“Obviously,” he replies and sits down on the floor across from her. “How's the painting going?”
She takes a bite and Lucas learned a while ago that Maya doesn't care too much about manners so she speaks with her mouth full. “Fine, I guess. I’ve got two days to finish this because the commissioner’s coming into the gallery on Friday, so if I'm cranky until then I've got good reason.”
“I promise I won't hold it against you,” he replies. She sees him squint his eyes as he glances over at the painting. “But it – it looks really nice.”
Maya gives him a crooked smile and leans forward to leave a quick kiss on his cheek. “I know you have no idea what it's supposed to be, but thanks for saying that anyway.”
He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “What else am I good for beside moral support?”
“See, I would answer that question, but you'd just break up with me.” He rolls his eyes and she grins wide and unabashed, her eyes squinting at the corners, and he can't find it in himself to be mad at her when she looks like that.
“So what's it saying?” he asks. “The painting, I mean.”
“This is going up in a gallery for hundreds of people to see,” she responds, “and each of them will have a different interpretation on what it means to them.”
“Doesn't answer my question.”
She hesitates before: “Okay – if you could say something, anything, in front of that many people, and they're all listening. What would you say?”
Lucas leans forward to tug on her ponytail. “I'd tell them about you.”
“God, don't be fucking gross.”
But he smiles when he sees her blush all the way to the tips of her ears.
On Friday, he shows up at the gallery after his shift in a nice dress shirt. Maya’s standing by her painting and talking animatedly, gesturing with her hands, to some guy with a fancy suit and expensive Italian shoes. He looks charmed by her, which isn't surprising, because Maya has this way of making people want to listen to what she has to say.
Lucas walks around the gallery a bit, stopping to look at the paintings he's able to understand, until he's sure Maya's alone, and goes up to her when she is.
“Don't you think you're a little underdressed?” he asks over her shoulder.
She smacks his arm when she's sure no one is looking. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing? And what are you wearing? This isn't Easter service at church, you know.”
He tugs at the bottom of her leather jacket. “I like what you're wearing, but this place seems a bit high end, don't you think?”
Maya just shrugs. “I'll wear whatever the hell I want, huckleberry. What're they gonna do? Fire me? That'd be pretty stupid considering I bring in the most commissions.”
“You could've at least brushed your hair.”
She scoffs. “Who has the time.”
A server walks by with two silver platters, an assortment of cubed cheese on one and a couple wine glasses in the other. Maya snatches one of each before he leaves. When she's done with the cheese she leaves the toothpick between her teeth, only taking it out when someone walks up to her to ask about buying some of her paintings.
“You are the most unprofessional professional I've ever seen,” he tells her. “You're lucky you're the best at what you do.”
“Love it when you talk dirty to me.”
Lucas rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth automatically lifting into a half smile.
“Hey,” she says, gently tugging on his tie. He wore a tie. “I'm almost done here; you can go home – you look exhausted. How many animals did you save today anyway?”
“You know, the usual amount. About six thousand.”
“Mm. What a hero.”
“I think I'll stay for a bit and wait for you to finish. I don't mind walking around. I could use more knowledge in the arts anyway; it's exhausting listening to you talk about Impressionism and not knowing what it means.” He leans down to give her a quick kiss. “Plus, I saw a cool sculpture that I think is supposed to be Batman, so I'll be over there if you need me.”
“It's probably not Batman.”
“Just let me have this.”
“Fine.” Maya calls out with a grin as he starts to walk in the opposite direction. “Oh – one more thing.”
Lucas turns around, his hands in his pockets. “For our wedding? I'd be there on time. I'd get there early actually, with Riley, probably on a white horse because she'd make me. And I'd be in a dress, even. Maybe some make up if I feel like it. But I'd be there, because I love you, and I wanna marry you. Just to let you know.”
The crooked smile on his face and the pink along his neck makes something warm explode inside her chest. She's been warm ever since she first met him. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“That wasn't me proposing, by the way,” she clarifies. “You'll know when it happens.”
“Not if I get to it first.”
“Bet you fifty bucks I'll propose before you,” she says, raising her eyebrows in a challenge, extending her hand out for him to shake.
“You're on.”
*
Maya gets sick one day and she's terrible at being a person when she's sick. It's a little past eight in the morning so Lucas is rushing to get ready for work on time, but he’s too worried about her that he almost considers calling in sick himself.
She's moaning and grumbling as he places a hand on her forehead, mutters to himself when he realizes that she's running a high fever.
“It was – “ she begins, her voice rough and husky. “It was probably that gross Shepard’s pie with the mushrooms you made me eat last night. Disgusting.”
“Maya, you have a fever,” he tells her and clicks his tongue when she kicks the blanket off her that he tried to cover her with.
“Too hot, too hot,” she mumbles but she's shivering, breaking out in a cold sweat.
Lucas runs to the bathroom, grabs the Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, and runs to the kitchen next for a glass of water. “I already called in for you,” he says, leaving the remedies on the bedside table. “I'll make some tea for you when I get home, okay?”
Maya groans an affirmation, and he hesitates by her door. “Go, Lucas. ‘M fine. Dying a little, but ‘m fine.”
“Okay, I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'll see if I can leave earlier, but call me if you need anything.”
“Jesus, okay.”
She calls him six times during his shift, each time to say that she's leaving a will and all of her stuff goes to him and Riley if she dies. He rolls his eyes, knows that she's only calling because she's bored and lonely.
He gets texts throughout the day too, when he banned her from calling unless it's an emergency.
Maya
12:45pm
what are u wearing, cowboy? ;)
Lucas
1:04pm
incredibly sexy blue scrubs. go back to bed
Maya
5:17pm
why isn’t spy kids in my movie shelf. did you hide it from me again
Lucas
5:32pm
yes
you won't be able to find it bc that actually means u have to move
Maya
5:35pm
asshole
wtf am i supposed to do now
i guess i’m just gonna have to call riley and tell her to come over and get her sick so i’d have someone to hang out with me
Lucas
5:56pm
ok
When Lucas gets home with chicken noodle soup and a Twix bar, Maya’s favorite candy, Riley’s sitting in his desk chair and she smiles when she sees him.
“I see that you weren't kidding,” he greets her as he sets the container on the bed.
Maya shuffles up and shoves the crumpled up tissues away from her to grab the soup. Her hair is in a poor excuse of a bun, her cheeks and nose flushed pink, eyes bloodshot. She looks awful. He wants to marry her. “She insisted on coming over after I told her I was on my deathbed. If she gets sick, it's her own fault.”
“How you feeling?” he asks, a hand on her burning forehead again. “Any better?”
“Not really,” she answers. “But you know what would have made it better? Spy Kids.”
Lucas rolls his eyes. “I'm gonna make you some tea.”
“If you don't come back in here with my movie, I'm banning you from my apartment, buddy!”
“My name is on the lease too, Maya!” he calls back and she just grumbles in response.
He was going to propose that night, get down on his knee with the ring he bought a few years back, but she was fast asleep before the tea was finished. He smiles at her when he sees her curled into herself, her mouth slightly parted, her hand limp in Riley’s, who's asleep next to her. Later, he decided.
*
“Let's go on a date,” Maya says around her toothbrush one morning as they're standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the bathroom mirror. His elbow bumps into her arm a couple times.
Lucas’s voice is muffled when he says, “What do you have in mind?”
“Home Depot,” she replies, spitting into the sink, accepting the towel he hands over to her. “Pick out color swatches for our new house.”
“You do realize that we're not getting a house for a few years, right.”
“Obviously. So you wanna go? You can even wear one of your fancy dress shirts to impress me.”
“Okay, sure. And I know that you're an artist and probably already have good complementary colors in mind or whatever, but you have to at least be open to my ideas, too.”
“Fine,” she agrees, placing a hand on his shoulder to anchor her as she leans on her toes to give him a kiss. “Just as long as you don't make us buy horse print wallpaper.”
“You already said no to that a long time ago. I've accepted it.”
Maya grins and straightens his shirt. He tucks a flyaway hair behind her ear. “Good. Pick me up at seven.”
“Maya, we live together.”
She gives him a wave as she rushes out the door for class. “Don't be late!”
*
She's the one who ends up proposing first.
They're in the kitchen, slightly buzzed on wine, sharing the burden of making dinner together after a long and exhausting day. She's stirring the spaghetti sauce on the stove, hip-bumping him out of the way to grab the oregano next to him because she's saving her voice. He's boiling the water, snapping the noodles and dropping them into the pot.
“Why are you wearing cowboy boots, Maya,” he asks, squinting his eyes in suspicion. “This is never a good sign.”
She shrugs. “Felt like it. They're cute, right?”
“Cute? Did you just call something country related cute? Last time I wore cowboy boots, you said I was an embarrassment to mankind.”
“You still are, but I'm trying to compromise here. That's what a good relationship is based on, right? Compromise?”
He smiles then, grabbing two plates for them. “Yeah, but. For important stuff. I don't mind that you don't like these kind of things, Maya. You don't have to wear cowboy boots for me.”
“I want to,” she tells him, scooping out spaghetti onto each of their plates after she turns the stove off when they're done. “And…if you want, in the future, when we get our own house, you can buy a little bit of that hideous horse print wallpaper for our bedroom.” He starts to grin so she quickly adds in: “But only a little tiny section, behind our bed where no one can see it, especially me.”
Lucas leans down and steals a quick kiss. “Thanks, Maya, you're so generous.”
“One more little thing,” she says and leans down, slipping something out of her boot. She holds it in her fist and swallows past the lump in her throat. She knows it's irrational to be nervous considering getting married is something they haven't really talked about in detail but it's something they both want, so there's no way he'd say no. And even though Maya’s moved past the “hope is for suckers” ideology, it's still terrifying. There's still a piece of her that thinks maybe she doesn't deserve this, that as soon as they get married, something’s going to go wrong because she'll inevitably fuck up and she'll end up fulfilling Riley’s prophecy of being that person who gets divorced five times in their life. She doesn't want to be that person. She wants to marry Lucas. She wants this to work.
Maya bites her lip as Lucas bores holes into her hand.
“What's that?” he asks, his voice thick so she thinks he might already know.
“Hey, Lucas.”
His eyes don't move from her hand. “Yeah, Maya.”
“I love you a lot,” she tells him. “I've never loved anyone like I love you, and that's really scary for me, but you make it okay. You're one of my best friends in the entire world and I want to spend the rest of my life with you – “
He chokes on his words. “Maya – “
“No, let me finish,” she interjects, and uncurls her hand, a plastic ring from a toy capsule vending machine that she got for twenty-five cents sits in the middle of her palm. “I don't care if we live here for the rest of our lives, or if we get a new house, or if we end up living in a box, because. Anywhere feels like home with you.”
She glances up at him and thinks she sees his eyes turn glassy. She'll make fun of him for it later.
“So, I guess –“ she takes a deep breath, tries her best to calm her heart, “will you marry – “
Before she can finish the question, he tugs on her arm and pulls her in to kiss her. “Does it still count if you didn't finish saying it because I was literally about to propose to you tomorrow – I had it all planned out and everything, you know. I was gonna pick you from class and take you to your favorite art museum, take you to look at that one Monet painting you love so much, but in its place would have been a replica with the words will you marry me? painted over it and when you'd turned around I’d be down on one knee. It's already switched out and waiting for you there. I already hired a film crew to video tape it and post it online so it'd go viral.”
He feels her grin against his teeth. “You owe me fifty bucks.”
“What if I say no.”
“Then you're gonna have to look for somebody else to use that proposal on.”
“Fine. Yes. Of course I wanna marry you.” He takes the plastic ring and slips it on. “I'm gonna wear this forever. You're gonna have to pry it off my cold, dead hand.”
She rolls her eyes. “You're still taking me to the art museum to propose, though.”
“I figured.”
“Hey.” She tugs on his collar. “Thanks for saying yes.”
He grins, slides his fingers in her hair and kisses the tip of her nose. “Anytime.”
“This means you're stuck with me, you know. Aren't you Catholic? Don't they think divorce is a sin? You don't wanna go to hell, do you?”
“Good thing I don't plan on divorcing you, then.”
“Promise?” she asks, extending her pinky.
He curls his own around hers. “Promise.”