Page 34 of Maid of Dishonor

“So, Chad,” Sam says, leaning back. “Excited about the wedding?”

“It’s Chet,” he says.

She blinks. “I know. Why? What did I say?”

“You said Chad,” he says, looking irritated.

“Hmm,” she says, a little crease forming between her brows. “I must have misspoken. So sorry about that.”

I rub my hand over my mouth so no one will see me smile, but I’m not sure it works; Maya gives me a suspicious look and sidles a little closer to Chet.

“Anyway,” Sam goes on. “Like I was saying. Are you excited about your wedding?”

Chet rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable, while Maya glares at him. Glancing at her, he quickly says, “Yeah, I guess—”

But he breaks off as Maya’s face goes slack, and then as she starts retching into her trash can.

Looking at Sam, I pass her the kitchen trash can as she, too, turns rapidly pale and then starts to heave.

“Oh, look at that,” I say mildly to Chet. “That’s a lot of barf, huh?”

Chet’s eyes swing back and forth between the now-vomiting Sam and Maya, his face the perfect picture of horrified disgust.

I just smile at him. “I’ve gotta say, Chet”—splat—“it’s a good thing you’ve got such a”—retch, retch, splatter—“such a strong stomach. This pregnancy has been hard on Maya so far, so it’s great that you’re here to take care of her.”

Now from Sam comes the loud, rhythmic sound of dry heaving that occurs once the stomach is empty—sort of like a dog when it’s about to vomit. Chet still seems to be struggling with where to look. His frown is pushing wrinkles into his chin, almost completely obscuring the mole I notice there.

I rub Sam’s back, smoothing my hand over her hair as her body continues to try to turn itself inside out. “It’s good that you can give Maya back rubs,” I say to Chet. “Back rubs and lots of kisses”—retch, splat, splatter, and now Chet’s looking a little green, so I decide to push a bit more—“lots andlotsof kisses, because she may be vomiting, but Maya is the love of your life. True love, the kind worth marrying for, is such a beautiful thing, isn’t it, Chad?”

Chet’s eyes are starting to widen, and he looks dazed as his panicked gaze fixes on Maya. The admittedly disgusting sounds of vomit are finally receding, so I hop up and grab glasses of water for Sam and Maya, leaving Chet to stew in his thoughts and the lingering scent of throw up.

Once I start heading back to the living room, I call out, “Hey, Chet, why don’t you go wash out those trash cans real quick?”

Chet’s jaw drops as I pass the glasses of water to the women. “Are you serious?” he says.

I blink at him, moving closer. “Yes, I’m serious,” I say.

“How am I supposed to do that?” he says, looking both panicked and incredulous.

This guy is an idiot. “The bathtub, Chet. The bathtub.”

“Only you should probably make sure there aren’t any chunks that could clog the shower drain,” Sam adds, her voice slightly croaky. “I only threw up a slushie, so mine should be fine, but honestly, who knows what’s in Maya’s trash can? You could ask.”

We all look at poor Maya, who’s just resting her head against the arm of the couch, her breath shallow, her eyes closed. A twinge of concern unfurls in my stomach; I’ll have to ask her when her next doctor’s appointment is.

Chet’s lips curl in disgust at the mention of chunks, but he just grabs the trash cans and stomps away.

Hestomps. Like my first graders when their soccer balls miss the goal.

Once Chet is safely out of the room, Maya’s eyes open, and she gives me alook. Sam has the same one sometimes; it usually promises swift pain for me.

“You’re not being nice,” she says, glaring.

I’m about to answer, but Sam beats me to it. She leans forward, glancing back over Maya’s shoulder to make sure Chet isn’t coming back yet. “Look, Maya,” she says. “We ran into Chad the morning before you told us you were pregnant. He was at Joey’s, and he was completely drunk. He hit on me and asked if he could buy me a drink. He slid his hand up my side. It was uncomfortable and completely inappropriate.”

Twin looks of concern and hurt flash in Maya’s eyes, but just as quickly as they’re there, they’re gone again, replaced by the walls she puts up. “Yeah, sure,” she says sarcastically. “Okay.”

I run one hand through my hair, sitting next to Sam again. “He did, Maya. He had on a blue polo shirt with beer down the front. He had that mole on his chin. He was standing way too close to her—”

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