Page 6 of Maid of Dishonor
Her words, dropped unapologetically into the silent room, register on the most surface of levels, and relief floods me.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I say fervently, letting myself fall into the loveseat across from Maya. “Thank goodness. I—wait.” My brain starts moving again, and her words sink in a little more. “Wait a minute.”
“Aaand there it is,” Maya sighs under her breath.
“You’rewhat?”
“I’m pregnant,” Maya repeats.
I blink once. Twice. Three times. My mind is suddenly cavernously empty, and I’m drawn randomly back into a memory of running through the empty high school gymnasium after basketball practice, the last person there, my footsteps echoing loudly through the deserted room—Maya’s words echo the same way, exploring every corner of my mind and coming up blank.
“You’re…pregnant,” I say slowly. I blink again. “With achild?”
All right. It’s not my finest moment. But Sam doesn’t have to give me that pitying look she now shoots my way—like I’m so dumb I don’t even realize my own stupidity.
“No,” Maya says flatly. “With a wombat.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry, sorry.” My mind works furiously, and I’m vaguely aware of Sam offering warm congratulations from next to me, but I’m not there yet.
Maya is twenty-one.Twenty-one. Dating the world’s biggest loser. Naive. And she’s going to have a baby? My brain keeps whirring and whirring until my voice explodes from me again.
“I’m sorry—pregnant?” I say.
“Yes. You know—I’m with child?” Maya says, her lips twitching.
“She’s in the family way,” Sam supplies.
Maya nods. “There’s a bun in my oven.”
“She ate a watermelon seed.” Sam again, helpful as always.
“I’m—”
“I got it!” I say loudly, cutting Maya off and running a hand through my hair. “I get it.”
“You say that, but you keep asking,” Maya says with a shrug.
She’s right, but to be fair, this is a big deal. My brain is still catching up.
“All right,” I say, forcing myself to take a calming breath. It doesn’t work. “How did this happen?”
“Well,” Maya says, “when a man and a woman—”
“Maya,” I snap.
Maya sighs, and some of her nonchalant bravado slips away as a rare vulnerability sneaks in. Her fingers fiddle absently with the seam of the couch cushion as she shrugs. “It was an accident. But”—she heaves out a gust of air—“I’m sick. Really sick.”
I look over at Sam, who’s both a sympathetic crieranda sympathetic vomiter. If she sees or smells someone throwing up, chances are she’s going to throw up too. She doesn’t look terribly concerned, though. She just nods as though Maya’s morning sickness isn’t news.
But it’s news to me, and for the first time I notice the trash can next to the foot of the couch, the bag of ginger hard candies on the floor, the roll of paper towels. It really does look like Maya has set up shop right here in her living room.
I’m pulled out of my observing as Maya goes on, still looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I broke the news to Chet this morning, and we decided…well, we decided to get married. But I need—well, I was wondering, anyway—if you might be able to help.”
Married?Married? To Chet?
“Help with what?” I ask, wary. I’m still processing, still figuring out how this situation happened or is going to work.
“With the wedding. I wouldn’t ask if there were anyone else, but…” She trails off into silence, and I rub my temples, trying to catch up.