The wedding hangover wasn’t booze; it was family. Laughter still in my ears, rice in my shoes, glitter in places glitter shouldn’t be. I landed back in the city with two things: keys to a new apartment and a to-do list that could bruise an ox.
Maya met me at the curb with a dolly and a speech I didn’t let her finish. We loaded boxes, argued about lamps, and bullied Tari into labeling cables like a sane person. By late afternoon the sky turned that hot, bright white that means rain is coming whether you asked for it or not.
“Two more trips,” I said, shouldering a box marked BOOKS (HEAVY, I WARNED YOU).
“Your back says no,” Maya said.
“My pride says watch me.”
We swung by the old place for the last stack: the swan lamp wrapped in a towel, a box of kitchen mistakes, and a bag of clothes
