Page 56 of Maid of Dishonor
Carter isin an excellent mood by the time we’re ready to leave Jeremy’s house. I’m pretty sure part of that is just because he doesn’t like Jeremy, but I know he’s also excited about the possibility of getting through to Maya.
I can see in the way Jeremy looks at me that he still has feelings for me, which makes guilt pool in the pit of my stomach. Because I’m not sure I ever had strong feelings for Jeremy, despite the fact that we dated for a year.
I know, it’s horrible.I’mhorrible. I just…I was so crazy about Carter, but I knew it was never going to happen. Jeremy and I had a lot of fun at prom together, and I liked him, but he never set my heart racing. He never made me laugh until my sides hurt. I never daydreamed about our future together.
He was comfortable. Kind and sweet. And I was content with that, especially because I could tell how hurt he would be if I broke up with him. I really, really didn’t want to hurt him. So I waited until we graduated and then used the excuse that we were going to different schools.
When Jeremy walks me to the door—completely leaving Carter to fend for himself, by the way, which is sort of hilarious—discomfort is pulsing in the pit of my stomach. I’m praying he doesn’t say anything about seeing each other again, though I’d be open to it if he knew we could only be friends. The problem is, he’s not looking at me like a friend.
He speaks just as my hand is about to grasp the handle of the front door.So close.
“Hey,” he says softly. He glances over his shoulder at Carter’s approaching figure, sighing in resignation. “Can’t get any privacy, I guess.” Looking back at me, he says, “I’m here for the rest of the month. Can I take you to dinner sometime? Next week, maybe?”
Crap. Crappity crappity crap. “I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle. I hesitate before going on, “I’m not really emotionally available at the moment.” It’s a stupid attempt to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t really work as well as it did with Vance earlier; Jeremy’s laugh is forced.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, giving valiant effort at a smile. “I get it. That’s fine.”
“Thank you so much, though, for helping with this,” I say quickly. “And it really was great to see you again.”
“You too,” he says, opening his front door. “Take care of yourself, Sam.”
He doesn’t request the same of Carter, and nor does Carter offer him any more than a grunt of thanks and one of those manly head jerks. When the door shuts behind us, I think both men are glad.
I chew on my lip as we head back to our cars. “I feel bad,” I say, glancing back at the house. “He was so nice to help us with this.”
“So send him a gift basket,” Carter says, rolling his eyes. “Look, Sam, you don’t owe anyone a date just because they’re nice or helpful. Go ahead and send him a thank you note or something. But you don’t have to date anyone as repayment for a favor. That’s not how that works.”
I sigh. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just…” I trail off, biting my lip again. Leaning back against Carter’s car, I go on, “I still feel so guilty about our relationship. Carter”—my voice is lowered to a whisper now, even though no one is listening in—“I never really—I mean, I didn’t—I wasn’t in love with Jeremy. Even though we were together for so long, I didn’t really feel broken-hearted when we ended things. I think I stayed with him because it was comfortable, but…I think I mostly just saw him as a good friend.” And, before I can stop them, the next words fly out: “I actually had a crush onyouin high school.”
As soon as I hear myself speak, I wish I could reel the words back in. But it’s too late; they’re out now.
And Carter heard them, despite how softly I was speaking. He blinks once. Twice. His jaw has dropped, his eyebrows raised. “No way,” he finally says.
I nod slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on his forehead so I don’t have to meet his gaze directly.
“I had a crush on you in high school, too,” he says, smiling.
My mouth falls open unflatteringly, but I’m too surprised to change it. “You did not,” I say. “Did you really?”
He nods. “Yeah, totally. I mean, I tried to sort of brush it off, because we’re friends, but yeah. Huh,” he says after a second, eyeing me and grinning, though it looks maybe a little forced. “That’s funny.”
“Funny,” I repeat weakly, pushing a laugh past my lips.
Funny? He thinks it’sfunnythat I had a crush on him? Funny that we had a window where we could have been together, and we missed it? Great. That’s another mark straight in the It’s-Never-Going-To-Happen column.
Moving on, Sam,I think.You already know it’s never going to happen. Change the subject so you don’t start crying like a child with a scraped knee, except the scraped knee is your heart and it’s bleeding out slowly and painfully.
“Ready to go try on our wedding stuff?” I say.
But I don’t wait for his answer. I know he’s not ready. I just straighten up, push off his car, and go to my own, grateful for a few minutes to compose myself.
* * *
The dress Mayahas chosen for me is not something I’d normally wear—let’s just put it that way.
The thing about people as beautiful as Maya is that they take for granted how good they look in everything. Maya could wear a literal pillowcase and still look incredible. And she could make this dress look amazing, I have no doubt.
I cannot say the same about myself. I hold the dress up after the seamstress at the bridal shop hands it to me and ushers me into a stall. I give her a vague response as she excuses herself, listening as Carter makes himself comfortable in one of the plush seats just outside the changing room.
