Page 66 of Maid of Dishonor
“Yeah, kind of,” I admit. “She seemed straight up excited when you told her you had bad news, remember? Back when we told her about the venue?”
He nods vigorously. “Yeah, exactly. I think it’s her pride stopping her more than anything.” We’re silent for a second. Then he grins, gesturing to the car. “Well, get in and let’s go. We have an omen to fake.”
Eighteen
Carter
Sam callsMaya while I drive, and Maya asks if we can wait a bit to come over. Since the pregnant lady gets what the pregnant lady wants, we agree.
We’re left with some time to kill, so we head over to Sam’s apartment to hang out for a while.
“Look at Albert,” she says, pointing to her aloe vera plant as we come through the door. It’s starting to perk up a little, which Sam is clearly thrilled about; she has a happy little smile on her face as she drifts in Albert’s direction, stroking it fondly. I nod like I can tell a difference between Albert’s current appearance and the way he looked last time I saw him, but honestly, all I can see is that he’s maybe not as droopy. Still, I do all the things a good friend should do when congratulating a plant mom on not killing her plant baby—Sam’s terms, not mine—exclaiming enthusiastically and patting her on the back.
“Thanks,” she says, beaming up at me and hugging her arms around her middle. She looks at Albert once more, still smiling, and I have to hide a smile of my own. I can’t help it; she’s just really cute. She’s so invested in the fate of her plants; how is that not adorable?
I settle in the corner of the couch and wait as Sam waters the rest of her plants, talking to each of them and telling them she believes in them. Then she comes and flops down next to me, sighing loudly.
“It’s not for the faint of heart, this plant business,” she says.
“No?” I say, my lips twitching.
“No way.” She shakes her head, then looks over at me. “You just invest so many emotions in those little guys. It makes it really sad when one of them isn’t doing well.”
I nod. “I see,” I say, keeping my voice solemn. “It’s a noble calling, though, and you’re performing admirably.”
“Shut up,” she says, whacking me in the stomach. I start to laugh, and she shakes her head, grinning. “You’re the worst. I’m being serious!” she says. “I would be so sad if they died. Things wouldn’t be the same without Stan or Albert or McGwire or Sosa or Yadi.”
“Eh,” I say. “We could probably do without Sosa.” Because does a member of the Chicago Cubs really deserve a place among the St. Louis Cardinals? I’m a pretty inclusive guy, but…come on. It’s theCubs.
“Sosa is mostly there to make McGwire feel good about himself,” she admits, and I grin.
“I figured as much.”
Sam sighs and leans her head on my shoulder, the side of her body pressing into mine. It’s like taking a muscle relaxant; feeling her there causes the tension and stress over Maya’s wedding to seep right out of my body. I tilt my own head and let it rest on top of hers.
“This is stressful,” she says into the silence. “This wedding stuff.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I say, nodding.
“We should just run away,” she says suddenly, looking up at me. “Let’s go to Vegas. Wait for this whole thing to blow over. Do that thing where you always bet on black.”
I laugh. “I don’t think you would like Vegas. You’d hate gambling.I’dhate gambling.” I shake my head. “Why risk losing everything you have?”
Sam shrugs. “Because you could have more.”
Shaking my head again, I say, “No. Be happy with what life gives you. Be content.”
She eyes me speculatively, tilting her head a little. “Yes,” she says, drawing the word out. “But I don’t think you should settle, either. I’m not talking about gambling with money here, now,” she adds quickly. “But there’s something to be said for being brave. For reaching formore, if more is what you truly desire.”
Her words make me squirm uncomfortably, because they feel very pointed, even though she’s not giving any indication that she knows about my internal struggles. Still, I change the subject as quickly as possible.
“You have a terrible poker face,” I point out, my voice teasing. “I just don’t think you’d do well in Vegas.”
She frowns, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows. I resist the urge to kiss it, to smooth it away with my lips.
“You’re probably right,” she says. “I would hate taking money from people. I would feel so bad.”
I smile, because I know she’s right. She would feel terrible for the people losing money.
