Page 75 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“What hurts?” I say, rubbing my hands up and down her arms. “What hurts, sweetheart?”

She tries to point at her stubbed toe, only to realize her arm is in a splint. She looks at the splint for a second, confused, before switching to look at her uninjured arm. Then she looks up at me, her bottom lip trembling.

“My arm fell off,” she says—and she begins to cry.

I must not laugh at the loopy woman. I must not laugh at the loopy woman.

“No,” I say gently, steering her into the bedroom. We sit on the edge of the bed, and I rub her back. “No, it didn’t fall off. It’s just in a sling, see?” I point at the sling. “It’s in there.”

She stares at the sling before looking back up at me, her lower lip trembling again as a fresh wave of tears enters her eyes. “You promise?” she says.

“Yeah, baby,” I say, wiping away her tears with my thumb. “I promise. It’s still there. Your arm is still there.”

“Because I have to be able to hold Archer,” she says, more tears falling. “Oh, he’s such a good baby. Isn’t he a good baby? He’s so sweet.”

She looks expectantly at me, which is how I know I’m supposed to agree out loud. “Yes, he is,” I say. “He’s a good baby. Now let’s get you to bed, okay? Sleep this off,” I add under my breath.

“I miss my good baby,” Maya says, ignoring me. “My good baby. My sweet, good baby. I miss him.”

“I know you do,” I say, giving her good arm a little tug. “Come on. Into bed you go.”

She stands up, wobbling, and then, without so much as a glance in my direction, pulls on the bow at her waist. The knot comes undone, her dress falling open.

My eyes widen and then snap shut. “Maya!” I say. “Tell me before you do that so I can look away.”

“How do I—I can’t—stupid sling,” she mutters to herself.

My eyes fly open again. “No, no, here,” I say, because she’s now trying to get out of her sling. Keeping my eyes on her forehead—I’m not even trusting my peripheral vision here—I add, “Let’s keep the dress on, okay? Just for tonight.”

She nods, grabbing at the front of her dress and pulling it closed.

Phew. Crisis averted.

The things this woman does to my self-control…

“Now let’s get you to bed. You really need to rest.” I pull down the covers and steady her as she sits, swinging her feet up over the side of the bed and then snuggling down into the blankets.

“Mmm,” she hums, smiling, her eyes shut. “So cozy.”

She’s freaking adorable.

“I’m glad,” I say, covering her, trying not to smile. “I’m going to stay here with you until you fall asleep, okay?” Because I mostly trust normal Maya, but I’m not sure this version of Maya wouldn’t randomly decide she needed to go to the beach at four in the morning or something and then try to get there on her own. “And then tomorrow we’ll go home, and you’ll get to see Archer.”

Except this turns out to have been the wrong thing to say.

“Archer,” Maya says, her eyes opening. She half attempts to sit up, looking over at me. “I was supposed to call Archer! And Frank! Franky-Franky-Frank. I was supposed to…to call…” And then, as I could have guessed would happen, some more tears show up. They well up in her eyes, glistening as they brim over, but only a few actually fall.

Thank goodness. This evening has taught me that a crying Maya is apparently my weakness. I can’t stand that sad look of hers.

“Tell you what,” I say, putting one hand gently on her shoulder so she doesn’t try to move around more and hurt herself. “I’ll text Frank and tell him what happened, okay? How is that?”

“Good,” she mumbles, some of her frantic energy subsiding. She flops backward. “Good. And tell Scarlett we kissed.”

I blink, surprised. “What?”

“Promised Scar I would tell her if our lips touched.” She puckers her lips in an exaggerated kissing face. “Lips. See? I promised if they touched, I would tell her.”

“I don’t know who Scarlett is, but I—”

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