Page 69 of Maid of Dishonor
But Maya cuts off as the doorbell rings, and her face grows downright murderous. “I swear,” she fumes, “if that’s him again…”
She all but launches herself off the couch, stomping her way to the front door.
I look at Carter. “You think that’s him?” I say, just as traces of Maya’s strained voice trickle back to us.
“Yes,” Carter says as the voices at the front door get louder. He and I both stand, rounding the sofa and positioning ourselves so we can see what’s going on like the two nosy eavesdroppers we apparently are—though, to be fair, Maya clearly is not concerned about an audience, judging by how loud she’s speaking now.
“I stood up for you, Chet!” she’s saying. She pokes him hard in the chest, and he flinches away. “I stuck my neck out for you! I told people I wassooocertain I wanted to marry you”—she rolls her eyes and scoffs—“because I was positive I could get you to drop this stupid idea! But you know what? No.” She folds her arms tightly across her chest, positively fuming. “No, Chet.”
Carter and I shoot looks at each other, part concern, part disbelief.
Maya is still going strong. “You may not borrow money to takeYolandaon a date,” she says to Chet, the name falling bitterly off her lips. “You may not borrow a single dime. And youdefinitelymay not set up another appointment with the bank, since my money is all you seem interested in.” She throws her hands up in the air. “I’m not even rich! You’re just an irresponsible man-child who can’t be bothered to earn his own living. Go away,” she says.
“Baby—” Chet begins weakly.
“No,” she says. She points out the door and says, “Get out. I need to cool down. Leave. We’ll talk later.”
Carter and I exchange one more glance before scurrying back to our places on the sofa. We’re just in time to get seated and put on our most innocent expressions before the door slams shut, and then Maya comes storming back into the room. She throws herself down on her couch before looking over at us.
And then she starts to cry.
“Being pregnant sucks,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “And being a single mom would be so hard, and—and—” She takes a breath before her tears continue. “And I just want someone to love me through it and to love my baby.”
Here’s the thing about sympathetic crying: I don’t know if it’s even actually athing. It’s not like tears just spring to my eyes even though I feel fine otherwise; it’s that when I see someone crying, I feel so bad for them and I feel their pain so strongly that I start to cry, too.
I have a lot of feelings, okay? It’s why books and commercials and movies and advertisements make me weepy, often even if it’s not the time of month when my lady bits are betraying me.
Maya at least has the excuse of being genuinely sad and definitely pregnant.
Carter looks at me with concern as a few tears streak silently down my face. He reaches over and rubs my knee gently, and Maya watches the motion, her gaze sharp, before her eyes become glassy again. As one, Carter and I go to her, sitting on either side of her and wrapping our arms around her.
“You’re not alone,” I tell her, blinking my tears away. “Not now, and not then, either. You know we’ll be there for you when the baby is born—”
“Nottherethere,” Carter clarifies. “Like, not in the room.”
I roll my eyes. “She knew what I meant. We’ll be here for you, Maya. We’ll help you as much as we can.” I pause, then add, “And you know we’ll be completely obsessed with the baby.”
She nods, sniffling, as she rubs her tummy. “I know. And I appreciate it. I just—I wish Chet…”
She wishes Chet…what? She wishes Chet would be more supportive? She wishes Chet would be less of an idiot? She wishes Chet would shower more?
But she doesn’t finish her sentence. She just shrugs, looking down at her nonexistent baby bump. “But I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
Pain sears my heart as I watch her—not just because of what she’s going through but because of what I’m going through, too. My hurts seem inconsequential compared with hers, but…I want the same thing. I want a partner. Someone to love me, someone I can love in return. And it’s killing me to have Carter so close and yet not have from him what I so desperately want.
Especially because he’s the king of mixed signals today. Sniffing my hair? Cuddling with me? Holding my hand? Those are coupley things. We’ve cuddled before, but today was different—and I don’t think we’veeverheld hands. But there we were, our fingers intertwined, for a few glorious seconds.
And yet he told me to my face that he’s determined never to fall in love, never to settle down. What am I supposed to do with that? WhatcanI do?
I sigh as despair settles into the tired corners of my heart. Nothing. I can do nothing. I could choose to respond to his actions rather than his words—take his action as a yes where his words say no—but I’m not going to force myself on him. His attraction to me, or his desire to be close, does not at all mean he’s willing to fight for a relationship.
Ugh. A fresh wave of tears stings the corners of my eyes. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I don’t know how much longer I can be with this man, day in, day out, taking only friendship from him. And I don’t know that I can just get over him, either. Because how can I not love him? How can I not love the way he’s currently telling Maya he wants to buy her some sort of wrist band to help with her nausea? How can I not love his completely sincere promise to stay with her after the baby is born so that he can help with nighttime feedings? How can I not love his loyalty, his caring nature, his thoughtfulness?
Maya’s tears are abating, but I’m still able to pass my own crying off as a response to hers. It’s a good thing, too. I don’t know what I would say if Carter asked.I’m fine, thanks, just dying of my love for you.
I have a sneaking suspicion that wouldn’t go so well. Carter’s head would probably explode and then he’d run, putting a solid ten miles of space between us because love apparently freaks him outthatmuch.
A few minutes later, Maya sighs and looks between Carter and me.
