Page 77 of Maid of Dishonor
I introduce Moby to Albert, Stan, Yadi, McGwire, and Sosa, reassuring them that I’m not going to love them any less just because there’s someone new in the household, before settling him in the middle of my dining table next to the bouquet of sunflowers. Then, because I can’t help it, I take a picture of him and send it to Carter, captioned simply,Thank you.
His response is immediate:Thought you might want someone to talk to.
I try to fight my smile, but it doesn’t work.
Anything from Maya about the tarot cards?I text back.
Nothing,he answers.
I just nod my head and put my phone away before I’m tempted to call him. He’s right: I could use someone to talk to. I mean, the ideal candidate would be someone who could talk back, but Moby does seem to have very expressive eyes, so who knows?
Maybe we’ll be able to converse just fine.
* * *
Several daysafter I asked Carter to give me space, I’m dying. I’m restless and exhausted all at the same time, and I can’t focus on anything, although I do keep wondering if Maya saw the tarot cards and if she’s done anything new. I’m supposed to be doing lesson plans and whatnot, but I know I’m going to have to go over them again in a bit to make sure they aren’t complete crap. I need to get out of the house; I need to talk to someone. How did I not realize before this that my social life is basically just Carter?
So, to distract myself and to give myself something to do, I go visit my mom.
It’s not a Saturday, so I decide to just surprise her. I’ve shoved some tissues in my back pocket, because visiting her always makes me a little emotional, and I want to be prepared, especially since I’m more emotional than usual right now.
“Hi, Mom,” I say softly, sticking my head in the room and knocking on the doorframe. Then I slip in the room and sit on the edge of her bed, where she’s propped up, watching some sort of game show on the TV across from the bed. She turns her head slowly to look at me, and I’m glad to see her smile.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says. “Turn that off?” Her eyes dart to the TV, and I nod, standing and turning it off before sitting back down.
“I thought I would come surprise you,” I say, a lump forming in the back of my throat, because of course it is. I can’t help it, though; I didn’t realize until this exact moment how much I need my mama right now. Sometimes a girl just needs her mom, and I’m hit with a rush of gratitude that I still have mine. She could have died; she could have been unable to speak. She could have been left unable to breathe without support.
I clear my throat against the sudden emotion in me. “I needed to get out of the house and take a break,” I add. “So here I am.”
My mother’s brow furrows as she takes me in; I’m not as sneaky as I’d like to be. I’ve always had a bad poker face.
“What’s wrong?” she says, her voice gentle. “Why are you crying?”
I give a watery laugh. “Because I always cry.” And because I’m one of those people who starts bawling the second someone asks me what’s wrong.
My words don’t answer her question, though, and I sigh. “I’m just stressed and confused and emotionally worn out.” I hesitate before going on, “I told Carter I have feelings for him.”
The smile that lights up her face is absolutely beautiful to see. “You did? You’ve been crazy about that boy for years.”
I blink at her, surprised. “How did you—”
“Sweetheart,” she cuts me off, still smiling. “I’m your mother. I don’t get to see you as often as I like, but I still know you. I’ve watched the two of you together. You look at each other with hearts in your eyes.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Yeah, well. You’re right. I’m pretty crazy about him.”
“And what did he say?” she prompts.
“He has feelings for me, but he doesn’t know what he wants,” I say, my smile fading. “I think he’s really confused. He’s dated before, but he’s never really wanted to fall in love or get married or anything. So having feelings for me kind of goes directly against that.”
“You know,” my mom says, smiling reminiscently, “your father drug his feet too.”
I sit up a little straighter, looking at her. “Did he?” I say with interest. “I thought you guys knew from day one that you wanted to be together.”
“We knew from day one of ourrelationship,” she corrects. “But it took a while to get to that relationship. Your father was scared to settle down, scared to lose his freedom. He was so used to being able to sow his wild oats—”
“Gross,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the thought of my businessman father sowing oats of any kind. “Ew. Don’t tell me that.”
She just smiles but goes on. “But he realized soon enough that he didn’t even want to be with anyone else anymore. He just wanted to be with me.” A far-off look enters her eyes as her smile turns wistful. “He took me dancing for our first date, and we never looked back.”
