October arrived with cold wind and grey skies.
Maya woke one morning to find frost on her window. The glass was cold to the touch. She pressed her palm against it and watched her breath fog the surface.
The garden was dead now. The tomatoes had fallen from the vines. The basil had turned black. The buckets were covered in a thin layer of ice.
She hadn't been to the roof in a week.
Leo noticed. He found her in the hallway one morning, carrying a bag of trash to the chute.
"You're avoiding the roof," he said.
"I'm not avoiding. There's nothing to see."
"There's the painting."
"I've seen the painting."
He took the bag from her and dropped it down the chute. The metal door clanged shut.
"Talk to me," he said.
Maya leaned against the wall. The new lightbulbs were bright. The hallway smelled of Mr. Chen's floor wax.
"The garden is dead," she said. "Mrs. Patterson is in a facility. The building might still be sold. And I haven't drawn anything in weeks."
"So draw something."
"I don't have anything to draw."
Leo looked at her for a long moment. Then he took her hand and led her to the stairs.
"Where are we going?"
"The roof."
"I don't want to."
"Too bad."
He pulled her up the stairs. The door was propped open with the brick. The cold air hit her face.
The garden was worse than she remembered. The buckets were cracked from the frost. The soil was hard. The wooden stakes leaned at odd angles.
Leo walked to the easel. The painting was still there. Covered with a plastic sheet he'd tied to the legs.
"I covered it last week," he said. "To protect it from the weather."
Maya walked to the painting. Leo pulled off the sheet.
Her face looked back at her. The garden. The water tank. The painted eye. The small figure in the window.
"It's still good," she said.
"It's still unfinished."
"What's missing?"
He pointed at the sky. "The stars. I never painted the stars."
"There are no stars in the city. Too much light pollution."
"There are always stars. You just can't see them."
Maya looked at the grey sky. The clouds were thick. No sun. No stars.
"You're being philosophical," she said.
"I'm being honest."
She turned to him. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of losing this. The building. The garden. You." She pulled her jacket tighter. "Everything I care about is falling apart."
Leo stepped closer. "The garden will grow back in the spring. The building is still standing. And I'm not going anywhere."
"You don't know that."
"I know that I love you. That's not nothing."
She closed her eyes. The wind blew. The water tank hummed.
"I love you too," she said.
"Then stop being scared."
"That's not how fear works."
"I know. But I can hope."
---
They went down to the sixth floor.
Leo made tea on the hot plate. The water took forever to boil. The tea was weak. They drank it sitting on the floor.
"I need to find a job," Leo said.
"I know."
"I've been looking. Paralegal positions. Document review. Anything."
"What about the bar? You're a lawyer."
"Lawyers need clients. I don't have any."
"Vanessa might know someone."
Leo shook his head. "I don't want to ask her for help. She's already done so much."
"She's a good person. She'll want to help."
"I'll think about it."
Maya set down her cup. "My mother called again."
"When?"
"Yesterday. She wants to visit."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "Visit? Here?"
"She wants to see where I live. Meet you." Maya pulled her knees up to her chest. "I haven't seen her in two years."
"What did you say?"
"I said I'd think about it."
"Are you going to let her come?"
Maya looked at the window. The street below was busy. The bodega's awning flapped.
"I don't know," she said.
---
That afternoon, Maya went to the facility.
Mrs. Patterson was in the common room. The game show was on. The volume was low. A new resident sat next to her – an old man in a wheelchair, asleep.
"Who's that?" Maya asked.
"That's Harold. He doesn't talk. But he likes the company."
Maya sat on the other side of Mrs. Patterson. "My mother wants to visit."
Mrs. Patterson turned to look at her. "Your mother? The one who never calls?"
"The same."
"What changed?"
"I don't know. Maybe she saw my portfolio. Maybe she's lonely. Maybe she's dying."
"Don't joke about dying."
"I'm not joking."
Mrs. Patterson took her hand. "Let her come. What's the worst that could happen?"
"She could hate my life. She could hate Leo. She could tell me I'm wasting my time."
"And?"
"And I'd have to listen to it."
Mrs. Patterson shook her head. "You don't have to listen to anything. You're an adult. You pay your own rent. You fought a landlord and won." She squeezed Maya's fingers. "Your mother doesn't have power over you anymore. You give her that power. You can take it back."
Maya looked at the old man in the wheelchair. He was still asleep. His mouth was open.
"I'll think about it," she said.
"That's what you always say."
"That's what I always do."
---
That night, Maya called her mother.
The phone rang twice. "Maya?"
"Hi, Mom."
"I was hoping you'd call."
"About the visit. You can come. But not this week. Next week."
"I'll take the bus. Greyhound. It's cheap."
"I'll meet you at the station."
"Okay."
A pause. Then her mother said, "Is he there? The boy?"
"His name is Leo."
"Is he good to you?"
"Yes."
Another pause. "Then I want to meet him."
"He wants to meet you too."
Her mother laughed. It was a short sound. Surprised. "He doesn't know me."
"Neither do I, Mom. Not really."
The line was quiet for a long moment.
"I'm sorry," her mother said.
"For what?"
"For everything."
Maya didn't know what to say. So she said, "Me too."
---
The next morning, Maya told Leo about the call.
"She's coming next week," she said.
Leo was sitting on the floor, sharpening a pencil with a pocket knife. He looked up.
"Are you nervous?"
"Yes."
"Me too."
"Why? You've never met her."
"Because she's your mother. That matters."
Maya sat next to him. "She's not scary. She's just sad."
"Sad people are sometimes the scariest."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "We'll get through it."
"I know."
---
The week passed slowly.
Maya cleaned her apartment. She washed the sheets. She swept the floor. She organized her art supplies.
Leo helped. He fixed the lock on her door. He patched a crack in the wall with spackle. He hung the painting from the roof on her wall – the one of her face, the garden, the water tank.
"It looks good there," she said.
"It looks like home."
She kissed him. The spackle was still wet. It got on her shirt. She didn't care.
---
On Friday, she went to the bus station.
The Greyhound terminal was crowded. People slept on benches. A child cried. A man argued with the ticket agent.
Maya stood by the arrival gate. Her hands were cold. She shoved them in her pockets.
The bus arrived at 2 PM. The doors opened. People spilled out.
And then her mother.
She looked older than Maya remembered. Her hair was grey at the temples. Her face was lined. She carried a duffel bag and a purse.
"Maya."
"Mom."
They stood there for a moment. Then her mother stepped forward and hugged her. It was a stiff hug. Awkward. But real.
"You look good," her mother said.
"You look tired."
"I'm always tired."
Maya took the duffel bag. "Let's go home."
---
The subway was crowded. Her mother stood holding a pole, looking at the tunnels.
"You live in Brooklyn now," her mother said.
"I've always lived in Brooklyn."
"Not this part."
"It's not so bad."
Her mother didn't respond.
They got off at Maya's stop. The street was busy. The bodega's awning flapped. The newspaper stand was open.
Her mother looked at the building. "This is where you live?"
"Yes."
"It's old."
"It's home."
They climbed the stairs. The new lightbulbs were bright. The steps were clean.
Maya opened her door. Her mother stepped inside.
The room was small. The mattress on the floor. The desk made from a door. The clothes on the folding chair. The painting on the wall.
Her mother looked at the painting. "Who did that?"
"Leo."
"He's good."
"Yes."
Her mother turned to her. "Where is he?"
"Sixth floor. He has an apartment up there."
"He lives in the same building?"
"It's a long story."
Her mother sat on the mattress. The springs creaked. "I have time."
---
Maya told her. About the roof. About the sketchbook. About the letters. About the eviction. About Franklin Holdings. About Leo's job. About the basement. About the painting.
Her mother listened without interrupting. When Maya finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"You've been through a lot," her mother said.
"We all have."
"I didn't know."
"You didn't ask."
Her mother looked at her hands. "I'm asking now."
Maya sat next to her. "I'm okay, Mom. I'm not rich. I'm not famous. But I'm okay."
Her mother nodded slowly. "Can I meet him? Leo?"
"I'll call him."
---
Leo came down ten minutes later.
He was wearing a clean shirt. His hair was combed. He looked nervous.
"Mrs. Reyes," he said. "It's nice to meet you."
Her mother looked him up and down. "You're the lawyer."
"I was a lawyer. Now I'm unemployed."
"You quit your job for my daughter."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Leo looked at Maya. Then back at her mother. "Because she was worth it."
Her mother was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. "Sit down."
Leo sat on the floor. Maya sat next to him. Her mother sat on the mattress.
They talked for hours. About the building. About the tenant association. About Mrs. Patterson. About Leo's mother. About Maya's father.
Her mother didn't cry. But her eyes were wet.
"I should have been here," her mother said.
"You're here now."
"That's not enough."
"It's a start."
---
That night, Maya made dinner on the hot plate.
Pasta with jarred sauce. The same thing Leo had made weeks ago. It was still terrible.
Her mother ate it without complaining.
"It's not good," her mother said.
"I know."
"But you made it."
"Yes."
"Thank you."
Maya didn't know what to say. So she just nodded.
---
After dinner, they went to the roof.
The garden was dead. The buckets were cracked. The soil was hard. The water tank hummed.
Her mother looked at the garden. "This is what you've been fighting for?"
"This is part of it."
Her mother walked to the water tank. She touched the painted eye. "Who painted this?"
"We don't know."
"It's good."
Maya stood next to her. The wind blew. The city lights flickered.
"I'm proud of you," her mother said.
Maya's throat tightened. "What?"
"I said I'm proud of you. You've built something here. A community. A home. A life." Her mother turned to look at her. "I didn't think you could do it."
"Thanks for the confidence."
"I was wrong. I'm sorry."
Maya looked at the sky. The clouds had cleared. A few stars were visible.
"There are stars," she said.
"There are always stars. You just can't see them."
"That's what Leo said."
"He's smart."
"He's annoying."
"But you love him."
"Yes."
Her mother took her hand. "Then hold onto him. Good men are hard to find."
Maya squeezed her fingers. "I will."