Page 44 of Maid of Dishonor
My mind skips back to the batting cages, trying to perfect my swing, listening to the voice in the back of my mind saying that I should try to be good at something my mom would never get to do.
I sigh, rubbing my forehead. I guess making things right is one thing, but logically I can admit that getting good at my swing isn’t going to make things right.
In fact, nothing is going to make things right. Nothingcanmake things right. So…I guess maybe that’s what the article means by reevaluating my standards? If I’m looking for a way to un-crash the car, to repair my mom’s broken body…it’s not going to happen.
It’s not going to happen. Itcan’thappen.
Therefore…perfection is automatically impossible.
Perfection is impossible.
I let out a shuddered breath, blinking past the sting in my eyes as I skim the article again.
I halfway regret making Carter this promise. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to look at these feelings under a microscope. Because he’s right about me, and my insides hurt.
I inhale for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and then exhale for eight seconds—a breathing technique I learned years ago in one of my general ed courses on productivity and stress reduction. I do it again, and then again, and then keep reading.
What will happen if you aren’t perfect?
Nothing.Crap.The realization sinks in. Nothing will happen to my mom if I don’t perfect my swing. Nothing will happen to her if I don’t donate every cent I have to a children’s charity. Nothing will happen.
In for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight.
What’s more, nothing will happen tomeif I don’t perfect my swing—nothing other than having an average baseball swing. The status of my baseball swing will in no way affect my culpability for the car crash.
Four. Seven. Eight.
I can’t change what happened. I can’t fix what happened. I can do good things, but it’s not going to change anything about my mom.
Four seven eight four seven eight four seven eight—
“Gah!” I say, standing abruptly and wiping angrily at my eyes. I sway a little on my feet from the rush of blood to my head, but once my vision clears of the little spots, I shut my laptop. I glance over at Stan the Man. “Feelings are hard, Stan,” I say quietly. His happy little leaves seem to wave at me in sympathy, which is nice of him.
But it’s not enough. I need to hit the reset button. So I go to my bedroom, and without bothering to get under the covers, I lie down, letting my tense muscles relax and then following my racing thoughts as they speed toward an overwhelmed sleep.
Twelve
Carter
Two daysafter I send Sam that article, she and I go to Maya’s to tell her about the venue where her esteemed nuptials will be taking place.Cue eye roll.
“I have bad news,” I say, sitting on the couch. Sam moves past me and into the kitchen before returning two seconds later with the trash can.
Although—and maybe it’s just wishful thinking—Maya does look a little better today. I don’t know how morning sickness works, but maybe she’s having a good day? Her hair is wet and her skin pink rather than sallow, so I think she at least was able to shower. That’s a good sign.
“Where’s Chad?” Sam says as she sits next to me. She looks at Maya. “Does he want to hear about where he’s getting married?”
“He’s working this morning,” Maya says, rolling her eyes. “Or maybe flirting with his coworker who he originally insisted was just a friend before he informed me this was an open relationship.” She shakes her head with a scowl. “But he probably wouldn’t have shown anyway, the coward.”
My eyebrows shoot all the way up to my hairline at these harsh words.
Maya must see my surprise, because she sighs. “Look, he’s not a bad guy, okay? He’s not unfeeling. He just likes the easy way out.”
I shake my head slowly. Why is she marrying him? And why on earth is Chet agreeing to marry her? Why would he bother? What’s he getting out of this? Maya is awesome, no doubt, but I’m not sure Chet thinks she’s so amazing that he wants to get married and help her raise a baby. So why is he doing this?
“And you still…want to marry him?” Sam asks slowly.
Several emotions flit over Maya’s face in rapid succession—confusion, anxiety, defiance.
