Page 9 of Maid of Dishonor

“What?” I say stupidly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking surprised. She glances at me and then back to Maya. “Uh, yeah, sure.” Then, forcing some more pep into her tone, she repeats, “Sure!” She glances at me. “And of course Carter will be a groomsman.”

I just watch them, bewildered. Is this actually happening?

It is. It’s happening. This is happening. I’m a groomsman now. And unless I can talk her out of it, Maya is fully planning to marry some glorified frat boy I’ve heard nothing positive about.

Of course, Sam would probably point out that I, too, went through a frat boy phase in college, and I turned out relatively okay.

But I’m ignoring that. Because I never did the stuff Maya has told me about Chet. He walks all over her, and she lets him because she’s a peacekeeper. He’s moody, bordering on unstable. He’s habitually unfaithful, apparently disguising it as a one-sided open relationship. He drinks too much. Maya has lent him money that he hasn’t paid back.

Is he a malicious, mean-hearted jerk? Not necessarily. But he’s not a great guy, either. And certainly not a good fit to marry Maya and help her raise a baby.

I sit stewing for the remainder of the conversation in silence, listening as Sam and Maya talk about the pregnancy—she’s seven weeks along—and the wedding. My horror grows a little with every passing second, and I have to wonder if this is what it feels like to be a dad. To look at someone you feel responsible for and watch as they careen, swiftly and headfirst, into a terrible life choice that will have far-reaching consequences.

Once again, my mind flashes to what Sam would say if she could see my thoughts. She’d encourage me to be positive, to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I guess if Chet really is committed to change, deep,deepdown—

But no. Because it doesn’t seem like Maya is asking him to change much at all. She’s going to let him continue sleeping around. And anyway, people don’t just change on a dime. Plus, Maya never saysanythinggood about him. He had to betalked intogetting married. And Maya said that she wouldn’t ask for my help if there were anyone else, indicating that Chet doesn’t feel the need to help plan his own wedding.

Plus, his name isChet.At least one parent, quite probably two, had a discussion in which that name was decided upon as the best option.

Nope. I’m not impressed with Chet, and I stand by my evaluation that this is a bad idea. Especially since it sounds like Maya wants to get married in approximately a month and a half. Apparently she wants to wear her our grandma’s wedding dress, which she says is in a box in her bedroom closet, and I guess she’s hoping she either won’t be showing or the bump will still be small.

But that feels soon. Isn’t that soon? I’m not a wedding planner or anything, but a month and a half doesn’t feel like a very long time to plan a wedding.

As I listen to Maya lay out her thoughts for this whole shebang, I’m relieved to hear that she’s not expecting us to outright do all the work. It sounds like she just needs someone to do the in-person things she won’t be able to do. She tells Sam she’ll text her a list of things she needs help with, and I feel both guilty and relieved that I’ve already been replaced as the point person here. Sam is going to be much better at this than I am, anyway, and everyone in this room knows it.

Although doing a poor job at planning all this might not be so bad. Maybe it would convince Maya not to get married.

There’s a thought.

When Maya—and, consequently, Sam—begins retching into the trash can again, I know it’s time to go.

“We’ll just let you—” I break off as Maya heaves loudly, and I try again. “We’ll just go, then—” Sam heaves this time, and I rub her back absently. “We’re leaving,” I finally shout over the sounds of two women being sick.

I pull Sam off the couch and give her a little shove in the direction of the door. Then I turn to Maya. “Do you need anything? Crackers or water or something?”

She shakes her head and waves the hand that isn’t clutched to the rim of the trash can.

“Medicine?” I ask.

Again, she shakes her head.

I’m not convinced, but I’ll check in later. “Well, you seem determined, but just—” I break off, searching for the best way to say this. “Just keep your eyes open for signs from the universe, okay? Promise me you’ll be open to changing your mind if the universe sends you signs.” It’s the only way I can think to phrase my request that she might actually take seriously. I wait for her reluctant nod, and then I leave, making my way quickly to the car.

I remind myself to try to be sensitive—and by that I mean I try not to worry about whether Sam has thrown up in my car yet—but I’m relieved to see that other than looking a little pale, she’s fine. She’s in the passenger seat again, and when I get in, she just lifts one hand in greeting.

“This is not your day,” I say to her.

She grimaces. “I’ve had better,” she agrees.

“You good now, though?” I look over at her before checking behind me to back out of the driveway.

“Other than grossed out, yeah.”

“Great. In that case, let’s talk about how you just told Maya that we’d help plan her wedding. We shouldn’t beplanningit, Sam. We should betalking her out of it.”

Sam sighs, buckling her seatbelt. “You heard her, Carter. She’s set on marrying Chet.” Her face brightens. “Ooh, it rhymes! Set on marrying Chet. Set on marrying—”

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