by Willow Aster
* * * *
Maybe Maby
Copyright © 2014 by Willow Aster
Cover Design by Blade
Formatting and interior design by JT Formatting
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Title Page
What Others Are Saying About Maybe Maby
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
And Then…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
What Others Are Saying About
“Chaotic and passionate, Maybe Maby is an outstanding display of emotions. This book hurt in the best possible way, and I’m not sure I’ve ever rooted for a character more than Maby. She is such a beautiful soul haunted by her own demons, and watching her overcome them was nothing short of miraculous. And her champion…he is just the perfect kind of swoon. Their moments were hot, intense, and tender, making me fall for the two of them hard and fast. A romance that is so much more—touching…unique...unforgettable—Maybe Maby is a phenomenal read you can’t miss.” – A.L. Jackson, New York Times Bestselling Author
“I have a new book boyfriend and he resides within the pages of this book. Sharp wit, swoon-worthy romantic gestures and the tackling of difficult, but very real, topics come together beautifully in Maybe Maby.” – Melissa Brown, author of Picturing Perfect
“Quirky, funny, sexy, heartwarming, swoon-worthy perfection. I can think of a million words to describe this book and all of them make me smile. Maby is adorable. Saul makes my insides flutter. Dalton clouded my head. And Coen made me feel … so much. I love this story! I just finished it and I already want to go back and read it again!” – Claire Contreras, author of The Darkness Series, Catch Me, and The Contracts and Deceptions Series
“Maybe Maby is a book I will pick up often, and fall in love with again and again. Well done, Ms. Aster. This is a masterpiece.” – Maggi Myers, The Final Piece and Lily Love
“Willow Aster knows how to tug at the heart strings. Maybe Maby is an adorably witty story that shows you love’s strength and its grand vulnerability.” – MJ Abraham, author of Happenstance and Resplendent
“A brilliantly written romance of a beautifully dysfunctional mind.” – Leslie Fear, author of Villere House
“Loved it. It's Willow Aster's best work yet. Maby's pain is raw and real and, at times, hard to read because of how much of her I found in myself. Yet, still there is so much hope to be found in this story and the romance was touching, it was tender but with just the right amount of that urgency you feel when two people have to be together despite their flaws or their own perception of unworthiness. Perfection.” – Rebecca Espinoza, author of Binds
“Navigating the labyrinth of Maby’s mind was an exercise in self-discovery—not just Maybe discovery. Maybe she’s you. Maybe she’s your best friend. No matter where you start, Maybe Maby will be there to hold you when you come out the other side.” – Andrea Randall, author of In the Stillness
“The writing is pure perfection, although that is not surprising since I loved her previous work, but it's this story...this quirky, unusual, totally out-of-the-box story that is holding me captive.” – Natasha is a Book Junkie
“Maybe Maby takes you on journey. This is a story about healing, letting the past go, learning to accept yourself, and learning to allow others to love you in return. From the first words in the prologue to the last words written in the epilogue, I loved it. I was in love with each character, the story line, the sexual tension and the perfect way each and every word flowed. There is a connection so strong with these characters you just can’t help but feel.” – Jodie from Lustful Literature blog
“Do you ever feel like you can relate to a character a little too well? Maby Armstrong is that character. She's a mess. She embraces that mess. Her story is one that made me cry, it made me laugh (out loud at some points even) and it gave me a feeling of infinite happiness. A book that can pull all of those emotions out of me is definitely a worthy read.” – Laura Wilson from Word
“The awesomeness that is Mabel Armstrong will rock your world.” – Randi from Always A Book Lover
“This unique story has a brilliant mix of humor and pain. Maby's the kind of heroine you not only want to root for, but also want to fight for.” – Judging Books By Their Covers
“We absolutely fell in love with Maybe Maby! It has the perfect balance of witty humor, real-life drama and scintillating steam. All of that blended with Willow's signature heartfelt & irresistible characters will keep you captivated and falling in love till the very end. It’s right on top of our best books of the year list!” – Jessica and Rachel from Bookslapped
“Willow Aster is an amazing (magical) storyteller. She knows how to make you laugh, cry, swoon, and fall completely in love with her characters. Maybe Maby is a breath of fresh air—so completely different from anything I’ve read. You will be Maby’s biggest supporter, cheering her on to find her happily ever after! I loved every word!!! Hands down, another Willow book in my top 5!!!” – Jennifer from Schmexy Girl Book Blog
“Willow has the amazing ability to write heartfelt stories wi
th diverse characters that not only entertain, but make the reader connect to the characters and their actions. It's not your average book and Willow isn't your average author! Maybe Maby is the latest example of the brilliance of Willow Aster.” – Amanda from The Novel Tease
“When a book reaches into your chest and moves things around...when you feel its words drip-dropping onto your brain with a sizzle and pop...when you relate with a character so much that you fear for your own sanity...that's when it's good.” – Maria Milano from K&M's Book Haven
“Obsessively good, couldn’t put it down even if I tried.” – Belen Rojas
“You know when you get to the end of the book and you keep trying to turn the page because it’s so good it just can’t possibly be over? Maybe Maby definitely fits into this category.” – Dawnita Kiefer
“This novel is excellent. 5 stars! Such a fun read!” – Robin Segnitz
To my sweet Mama, who made a ‘touch of OCD’ look graceful and beautiful.
You are forever in my heart.
I’M HAVING A meltdown. I don’t think it is the put-her-in-the-loony-bin kind, but the rock-in-the-corner-so-I-can-breathe kind. Maybe they’re one and the same and I really do need to be put away, but I think I just need a little air. I’m bone tired. My eyes look like I haven’t slept in weeks. I’m eating my feelings and developing a pudge that isn’t gonna go anywhere if I keep binging on chocolate, nachos, and wine.
I’m 28 and everyone has left me. I have no friends. My boyfriend left. My mom died, so technically she left me too. I hate my job. I never have enough money and am sick of trying to scrape by. I’ve been told I’m attractive, but I probably couldn’t prove it now. I’m chalking my looks up to another thing that’s gone.
The only way I find any relief is by counting … everything … repeatedly.
In some ways, for someone with the non-hoarder type of OCD like mine, being in a psych ward is probably one of the best places to be. Everything is orderly, stark, and sterilized. But in every other horrific way that greatly outweighs any good, it’s the worst.
The constriction feels like a noose around my neck.
The realization that I CANNOT GET OUT OF HERE.
The feeling of constantly being watched.
Knowing that if I have to pull my clothes apart or go wash my hands X amount of times, it will be analyzed to death.
And then there is the fact that I’m surrounded by other people who are either equally or more tormented than me. It’s terrifying.
I had a 5-7 day stint in one (I can’t remember exactly) and I wish I could say it was enough to cure me for life, but sadly, it wasn’t. It just made me look at death with a lot more affection.
For myself.
Not for anyone I love.
I can’t lose another person I love.
But the thought is so enticing for me. I get this overwhelming oh my God, is this what my life is gonna be? feeling and I want to die.
Curl up and die.
And since I don’t feel my heartbeat fading or my breathing getting even slightly faint, I panic that I’m gonna have to live.
I just don’t think I can live like this anymore.
I BARELY MAKE it to the subway on an early Monday morning and sit beside a smelly old man. It is the only open seat. I can hold my breath. Maybe I’ll die that way. My obituary will read: She held her breath trying to avoid inhaling body odor. It doesn’t work. I have to keep sneaking quick breaths and the old man asks what my problem is. It kills me when people who haven’t bathed in weeks have the audacity to think I’m weird.
I ignore him and when another open seat is available, I hop up and take it. Old smelly man shakes his head at me and I wave. I can be much friendlier from afar. I smooth down my corduroy skirt and try to subtly yank up my tights. It’s December in New York and cold.
My stop comes and I rush to get off, along with dozens of other people. I count to 127 as the crowd pushes and nudges and smacks their gum around me. I will never get used to all these people in my space, but the alternative is worse: the thought of driving in the city is terrifying. On the 128th step, I turn to the right and take the 17 steps to my destination. I rub my finger through the ribbing on my skirt with each step. 14, 15, 16, 17. Unlock the store.
Whatnot Alley is a gifts and furnishings boutique owned by Anna Whitmore. She used to be a friend of mine, but ever since she had a baby—and became the owner of her flourishing shop—she doesn’t have time for anything as quaint as friendship. I came to work for her as a favor and have now run the store for 3 years. She comes in at least once a week, and my skin is on edge the entire time. Whenever she engages in conversation, it’s to moan about how she never has time for anything. But she would like to have one more child, just one more … as long as it’s a boy. She’s already run ragged, but let’s throw another in the mix for good measure. That’s what nannies are for!
I lock the door behind me. We won’t be opening for a while yet. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Okay, I can move on. Moving to the back of the store, I hang my coat on the hook to my right. My gloves go in my purse, which I lock away in the bottom drawer of my desk. Unlock. Lock. If I’m going to have a good day, it takes 28 steps to do all of the above before I start the coffee. If I’m going to have a bad day, it takes 29. It’s a 44 steps kind of day. I have to go back and redo my first steps because it just didn’t feel right.
My grandmother, Mabel, who I’m named after, also had OCD. Speaking of leaving, she sure left me behind with a couple of doozies. Between the disorder and the name, I feel like she should have stuck around longer than my 11th birthday to make sure I survived.
Before I do anything else, I put my earphones in and begin playing my ocean sounds mix. Music is too stimulating. I find it hard to concentrate on anything but the music. The crashing waves calm me. It feels nice to know that somewhere it is more tumultuous than in my mind. Once the store opens, I will have to take off my earphones, but when it’s just me, I keep everything turned off. When Anna is in the store, she plays Top 40 radio. Some days it’s bearable; other days I’m certain I will break every trinket within close range. I usually stay behind the counter on those days, where I can only do damage with the cash register.
I take a sip of the coffee I pour in my smoky blue Zojirushi stainless steel mug, rated highest on Amazon for quality. It doesn’t leak, and it keeps the coffee hot for 6 hours. I’ve tested it and found it to be true. I chose smoky blue because it suits my moods more than the cheerful lilac or the completely soulless black. Smoky blue maintains mystery but still has the touch of melancholy. I wish I were a lilac person, but I’m not.
I made my list for today before I left on Friday and I take a look at it this morning. I can already check off 4 things, so I immediately do. I then add to the list all of the vendors I have to call today and check which shipments might be coming in. I tidy up the throw pillows on the few pieces of furniture we carry and straighten the pictures over and over again. Symmetry is a requirement. Anything else is … evil.
At 8:30, I set my phone alarm to go off at 8:53, so I will have plenty of time to gather my notes for the monthly meeting in the small side room. Anna and a couple of part-time employees come to the meetings before we open. I’m the only full-time employee, so Anna asks that I’m always ready to give input if she needs it.
But at 8:37, I begin to get the unbearable urge to wash my hands. The hand sanitizer behind the front counter doesn’t get rid of the dirt. 1, 2, 3, 4 times. I have to wash with water and soap. I take off my headphones and rush to the bathroom, forgetting my phone. I lose track of time in the bathroom washing my hands over and over again. It’s getting worse. I’m not sure what to do.
When I finally get back to my desk, I have just a few minutes left. I take a deep breath, pick up my phone, laptop, and coffee mug and make my way to the back. I’ll be the first one there. It’s hard working with other people who are slow, lazy … normal.
I haven’t even started working yet and
I’m already exhausted.
I GET BACK to the room for the meeting and no one is there.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
No one answers. My phone rings and it’s Anna.
“I’ve changed the meeting to 9:30. Forgot to tell you,” she says before I can even say hello.
I frown. “Okay. I will—” and the line goes dead. “Okay,” I say to myself.
All of a sudden there’s a loud banging above me. I look at the ceiling and my heart starts thumping out of control. I hold my phone and start shaking when it happens again.
“Hello?” I call out. Nothing.
The banging gets louder.
“Who’s there?” my voice shakes.
Still no one answers.
“I have my phone and I’ll … call the police,” I stutter.
“Watch out,” a voice calls.
“I mean it!” I try to sound scary.
The ceiling tile opens up to the right of where I’m standing and out jumps a hard, solid wall of man. I crouch down and my cell phone goes flying. Long, thick fingers pick it up and hand it to me, and when I get brave enough to look up, I see Saul Mayes.
“Dropped your phone,” he says, in that slow, lazy way that always drove me crazy. The kind of crazy that wells up in your chest in a good, comforting way, when you’re not terrified. He starts laughing and can’t catch his breath.
I stand straight and hold my hand up to show him how hard I’m shaking. “What … the hell?” I subtly take out a wet wipe and clean my phone while glaring up at him. “How did you get in?”
“Anna gave me the key. Sorry to scare you.” He bursts out laughing again. “That was hilarious. ‘I’m gonna call the police’,” he mimics. “Here you missed a spot.” He points at my phone and hands me another wet wipe. He knows. “It’s good to see you, Maby,” he says with a grin.