The morning after the wedding, Maya woke to sunlight on her face.
She lay still for a moment, listening. Leo was breathing beside her. The radiator hissed. A bird sang somewhere outside the window.
She turned her head. Leo was awake, looking at her.
"How long have you been watching me?" she asked.
"Long enough."
"You're creepy."
"I'm married. There's a difference."
She almost smiled. "What time is it?"
"Late. We slept through the morning."
The clock on her phone said 11:47 AM. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept that late.
"We should get up," she said.
"We should stay here."
"We have a garden to water."
"The garden can wait."
He kissed her. The radiator hissed. The bird sang.
---
They finally got up at noon.
The courtyard was bright. The morning glories were open. The tomato plants were heavy with fruit.
Maya knelt in the dirt. The soil was warm. The basil smelled like summer.
Leo brought coffee. They sat on the ground, drinking, watching the garden.
"Marco texted," Leo said. "He wants to know if we're going on a honeymoon."
"A honeymoon?"
"Somewhere far. The beach. The mountains. Somewhere with no landlords and no evictions."
Maya looked at the garden. The tomatoes. The basil. The morning glories.
"I don't want to go anywhere," she said.
"Neither do I."
"Then we stay here."
Leo set down his cup. "We should at least go to Coney Island. One day. Ride the Cyclone. Eat hot dogs."
"That's not a honeymoon. That's a Tuesday."
"Tuesdays are underrated."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Okay. Coney Island. Next week."
"Next week."
---
The week passed slowly.
Maya drew. She drew the courtyard in the morning, when the light was golden. She drew the garden in the afternoon, when the shadows were long. She drew Leo in the evening, when he was tired from work.
She filled sketchbooks. Page after page.
Leo worked. The law firm kept him busy. Tenant rights. Eviction defense. He came home with stories. A family in Bed-Stuy. An old woman in Bushwick. A young couple in Crown Heights.
"You're doing good work," Maya said.
"I'm trying."
"You're succeeding."
He sat on the floor. The desk lamp flickered.
"One of my clients died today," he said. "Old man. Heart attack. His landlord was trying to evict him."
Maya sat next to him. "I'm sorry."
"He had no family. No one to claim his body."
"What happened?"
"The city took him."
Leo looked at the painting on the wall. Mrs. Patterson on the milk crate.
"It's not fair," he said.
"No. It's not."
"I want to change that."
"Then change it."
He turned to look at her. "How?"
"One client at a time. One case at a time. One life at a time."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. "That's what Mrs. Patterson would have said."
"She was smart."
"She was stubborn."
"Same thing."
---
Coney Island was crowded.
The boardwalk was packed with families. Children ran with balloons. Old men played chess. The Cyclone roared in the background.
Maya and Leo walked along the beach. The sand was hot. The water was cold.
"I haven't been here since I was a kid," Maya said.
"Neither have I."
"My father took me. We rode the Cyclone three times. I threw up after the third."
Leo laughed. It was a real laugh. Loud. Unselfconscious.
"I threw up on the Wonder Wheel," he said. "My mother was so embarrassed."
"Did she take you again?"
"No. But she bought me a hot dog."
They sat on the boardwalk. The hot dogs were greasy. The mustard was spicy.
"I'm glad we came," Maya said.
"Me too."
"This is a good honeymoon."
"It's a Tuesday."
"I told you. Tuesdays are underrated."
He kissed her. The Cyclone roared. The seagulls screamed.