The Status of All Things: A Novel

by Liz Fenton

  I bite my lip through the three encores, trying to hide my disdain as Max tells Courtney she owes him a beer for guessing the order correctly. God, I had been so blind.

  I lean my head against Max’s shoulder once we’re back in the limo, exhausted from pretending all night. Pretending to care about Soul Asylum, pretending I didn’t notice the stolen glances Courtney threw at Max, pretending that I was still sure I could fix my relationship with him. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back—to try to rewrite fate. But Ruby had said I’d been given this power because I needed it. So what did I need it for if it wasn’t to make things right with Max? Because I seriously doubted the universe gave a shit how my hair looked or if Jules had washboard abs.

  “Did you have fun?” Max asks as we pull away from the curb.

  “It was fantastic!” I lie enthusiastically.

  Max tilts his head slightly. “Really? I wasn’t sure.”

  I pull my head off his shoulder and look him in the eye. “What are you talking about? I danced all night. I didn’t even sit down!”

  What did I have to do to prove it to him? Rush the stage? Start a mosh pit? Get Soul Asylum tattooed across my chest?

  “I know you did,” Max backtracks. “And don’t get me wrong, I love that you came, that you got us great tickets and the limo—” His voice falls off.

  “But?” I ask.

  “It’s just, I don’t know. Never mind. I’m drunk.” He laughs and kisses me. “Forget I said anything.”

  But he didn’t have to finish his sentence. I already knew what he was too scared to say. That although I had been there with a smile pasted across my face, he could tell that my heart wasn’t in it. A knot forms in my throat as I realize he had seen right through me.

  “I’m sorry,” I offer.

  Max sits up and pulls me back into him. “Don’t be! It was a great night. And, Kate?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to pretend to like Soul Asylum for me. Just be you.”

  I tried that the first time around and it didn’t work.

  “What gave me away?” I say sheepishly.

  “Let’s just say it was pretty obvious you had heard of, maybe, one of their songs. And I hate to break the news, but I don’t think a career in lip-synching is going to work out for you.” He laughs and kisses me deeper, his hand finding its way under my dress as he raises the privacy window. “But I love that you tried,” he breathes to me between kisses.

  As he takes me right there, like we’re a couple of rock stars on the way home from the Grammys, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe I hadn’t put on the best show, but he seemed happy that I’d made the effort. And for now, that would have to be enough.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You want to do what?” Stella, my wedding planner, asks, releasing a high-pitched cackle into the phone.

  “Make a few changes,” I repeat.

  Stella lets out a long breath, and I imagine her tugging on one of her short, bouncy curls, her cheeks flushing a deep red as she considers what I’ve just told her—that I want to rethink how we’ve planned everything: the rehearsal dinner, the wedding ceremony, and the reception. “You’re not just suggesting switching out gerbera daisies for roses, Kate. I’ve just written down”—she pauses and I hear her counting quietly—“at least twenty things you want to do differently.”

  After Max gently used the word hoity-toity to describe the event that I’d spent almost a year planning, it had felt like a punch in my gut. Even though I’d asked him to tell me honestly what he’d change, I was surprised when he’d had such specific ideas, wondering why they were so different from my own. In fact, they couldn’t have been more opposite. I hadn’t pushed for his involvement, only because I had assumed we were on the same page. Or maybe I had just chosen to assume that, taking off with the planning like a horse running free from the barn—never looking back. Until it was too late. Almost.

  Maybe I had gotten carried away with things that didn’t matter—like the ice sculpture, the chocolate fountain, and the customized dinner menus. The truth was, it wouldn’t kill me if we made things a bit more casual or if we embraced the local culture. At this point, I’d consider letting Thai Elvis marry us at city hall if that’s what Max wanted—if that would make him happy.

  “A pig roast, really?” Stella’s question snaps me to attention.

  “Yes, a pig roast,” I say more curtly than I mean to, just as Courtney passes in front of my office door, shooting me a questioning look.

  Stella continues. “I mean, luaus are very popular here—obviously. And hula dancers and flame throwers and all that Hawaiian tradition you’re now considering is what a lot of people want. But it just doesn’t sound anything like you—”

  “Look, I can enjoy a fireball being tossed in the air just like the best of them, okay?” I snap.

  “Of course. Of course you can,” Stella says. “Let me get my head around all of this and see what I can figure out. I’ll give you a call back with a plan by tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Yes, thank you—and sorry I barked at you,” I say.

  “Oh, that was nothing!” Stella chuckles. “On a scale from one to ten of bridezilla moments I’ve dealt with, I’d give yours a negative five! You should’ve seen the bride who screamed at me like a banshee when the door of the dove’s cage got stuck and the birds couldn’t fly into the sky at the end of her ceremony! Or the one who hurled a platter of strawberries across the room because she claimed she’d told me to cover them in dark chocolate, not white.” She laughs again. “The bitchy ’tudes are all part of the job. That’s why I charge so much!

  “So how did you calm them down?” I ask, shaking my head as I imagine the scenes she’s just described—realizing my stuck-zipper situation must have severely paled in comparison. “Sounds like you need to raise your rates even more,” I add, laughing. “I mean after my wedding.”

  She giggles. “Maybe so. But in the meantime, let’s just say there’s no situation a shot of tequila and a piece of wedding cake can’t solve.”

  Mental note: give Max tequila, not champagne, at the rehearsal dinner.

  After we hang up, I rest my head against the back of my chair, hoping Stella is able to pull a miracle out of her ass and change my entire wedding with only a little over three weeks to go. I tell myself that I don’t need to intervene, that this is her job and, after hearing her crazed-bride stories, one she can clearly handle. In fact, I’m now starting to think that Stella could probably arrange the ceremony atop an active volcano if she put her mind to it. I pray Max won’t ask for that next.

  “Knock-knock!” Courtney says as she hovers by my door. “So last night was fun, huh?” she says unconvincingly.

  Yeah, about as fun as a colonoscopy.

  I bob my head up and down once because technically I did have fun—but it was only in the back of the limo on the way home from the concert. “What’s up?” I ask, shuffling some papers around on my desk. “I have that meeting with the vodka people in twenty minutes.”

  “I was just curious—did I hear you talking about a pig roast?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Oh, I was just going to ask if that’s for your wedding.”

  “Yeah, we’re making a few changes.”

  Why am I telling her this?

  Courtney smiles as if she’s thinking back on something.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just think that’s awesome! I have always wanted to get married right on the beach, not even wear shoes—maybe just flip-flops or even go barefoot. And then have a party on the sand—a luau with the whole nine yards. The flame throwers, hula dancers, and a pig roast—I mean, how cool would that be, just being super laid back with those you love the most? Without all that hoity-toity stuff ?”

  “Why did you just use that word?”

  “Which word?
” Courtney asks, her eyes widening.

  “Hoi . . . ty . . . toi . . . ty.” I drag out each syllable dramatically, never unlocking my gaze from hers.

  Has she been talking to Max about this?

  “I don’t know. That’s just how I’d describe most weddings . . . Sorry, did I upset you?”

  “That word really just popped into your head? You didn’t hear it from someone else?”

  Like my fiancé?

  “No . . . I swear!” Courtney gives me a bemused expression. “This is the first I’m hearing of your wedding having any changes to it at all. The last time you and I talked, you were trying to decide if you should serve chocolate fondue at the reception.”

  I stare at her for a moment, searching for any signs of deception, then almost laugh out loud because how would I even know if she was telling the truth? She’d already fallen for my fiancé right under my nose once; what’s to say she wouldn’t lie to me now? But there was still something about her reaction, which seemed so raw and unrehearsed, that made me believe her. She really did want to wear a damn coconut bra on her wedding day. Which meant she shared the same opinion as Max did just because—another thing they had in common. No-frills weddings and bad nineties bands. What was next? I didn’t want to find out.

  “I swear, Kate, you’ve been acting really strange the past few days. One second you’re up, the next you’re down. Are you okay?”

  No, I’m not okay! And you are the reason why!

  I swallow the urge to accuse her of having serious feelings for Max. To ask her why, when there are a gazillion other guys on the planet, she would want mine. Why she threw what I thought was a solid friendship away. But I can’t. I need more time. Because the last thing I’d want is for my accusations to throw them closer together.

  “I’m just freaking about how the wedding will turn out,” I say, because it’s the only truthful statement I can think of.

  • • •

  I toss my car keys to the valet at The Grove and run to meet Jules just as the sun is setting that night. Already twenty minutes late, I pull open the door to the Tommy Bahama store and find her sitting on a wicker chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Yeah, this is exactly how I wanted to spend my evening—staring at sixty-year-old men modeling Hawaiian shirts and fisherman sandals for their wives.” She motions her head toward a man griping about not needing a second pair of silk pleated pants, his wife rolling her eyes. “Not help you find something for Max and his groomsmen to wear for the wedding.”

  “Sorry I’m late. There was horrible traffic.”

  “You could have solved that problem with a few clicks,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “I can’t, because, like I mentioned in my text the other night, I have to be more conservative with how I use—” I lower my voice as a sales associate walks by. “How I use this power.”

  I fill her in on my run-in with Ruby at Palms Thai and she eyes me skeptically.

  “So then why did you wish up Liam the hot new girlfriend?”

  “She’s not that hot,” I say.

  “Sure, if you don’t count her tiny waist and gorgeous Angelina Jolie–like face.”

  “Anyway,” I say as I start to sift through a pile of linen shorts. “I asked for that for Liam right before Ruby told me the wishes were going to run out eventually. I have no idea how many more are left—she was cryptic, only saying they were finite.”

  “So that means you still have the ability then?” Jules asks, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Why are you acting like I’m a drug dealer and you need some of my crack?” I say, sliding down in the chair next to her. “What’s going on with you? Wasn’t the makeover enough?” I ask. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks. And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I guess I just thought that it would make me feel better than it did—that Ben would notice it more.”

  “What was his response?”

  “He told me I looked hot and then fell asleep when I ran upstairs to turn off the kids’ lights,” she says with a groan. “Then he left again this morning for Orlando, or was it Omaha?”

  “So then, when he gets back home, put the kids to bed early and wait for him in the bedroom and make him take notice. The kids can sleep with the lights on!”

  “It’s not that simple. He’s just so tired all the time.” She looks away and adds quietly, “I’m tired too.”

  “Oh, come on! You’re telling me you guys can’t down a Red Bull one night to make the magic happen?” I joke, then stop as I notice Jules’ eyes fill with tears. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I’m fine. You’re right, I need to try harder.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t saying you aren’t trying. And what do I know anyway? I couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive, let alone raise two kids while working.”

  Jules smiles and wipes her eyes. “True. You wouldn’t last a week.” She smiles.

  I lay my hand on her arm. “Hey, why don’t we shop another time and go grab a glass of wine and talk?”

  Jules’ face closes up. “No! Your wedding is practically around the corner and you’re changing everything. This shopping trip has to come first. Now let’s find the boys some linen!” She marches over to a rack and starts pushing hangers to the side as she looks at each shirt.

  “Jules,” I say quietly. “Tell me what’s going on. All this other stuff can wait.”

  She swivels around quickly and shakes her head, clasping a red, short-sleeve shirt with embroidered white flowers in her hand. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just feeling overwhelmed.”

  Her words seem forced. “Are you sure?” I ask, wondering if I should tell her I heard her and Ben fighting the other day. That I was worried for them.

  “Yes! But I do have a really important question to ask. And I need you to be honest.”

  “Promise,” I say, and lean in.

  A smile plays on her lips. “So you’re really okay with this Maui-wowie bullshit?”

  “This is what Max wants.” I force a smile.

  “Okay, I get that. But what about what you want?”

  “I want Max.”

  “I know you do,” she says slowly, in a way that reminds me of when she once had to break the news that my favorite velour sweat suit was no longer in style. “But I just wonder—to get him back, why do you have to let him dress like Jimmy Buffett? For your wedding ceremony?”

  “First of all, he doesn’t want to wear a Hawaiian shirt like that—I think my dad has that one.” I laugh. “He just wants to be casual beachy, and this is the only place I could think of.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Jules says as she tugs on the silk fabric. “I’m just worried that you’re losing yourself a bit—”

  “Why wouldn’t I give him what he wants for a change?” I say, cutting her off. “Hasn’t our relationship always been about me? Isn’t that the problem?”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself, Kate. It’s not like you had the guy in a choke hold. There were definitely plenty of times when he put himself first too. What about how he always takes his mom’s side when she’s picking on you and then tells you after that he’s sorry but it’s just easier than dealing with her rants? Or when he turned down that promotion at work without even asking for your opinion? It’s easy to look back and only remember the perfect parts, but you need to think about all of it—including the bad. Because, believe me, that’s what he’s doing.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. You know I care about Max, but you are my best friend and I hate to see you blaming yourself for everything that’s happened.”

  “I want to do this for him—okay? Can you please just help me pick some pants and a shirt?” I plead, my eyes welling with tears as I lean against a table covered with straw ha
ts. “I don’t care what he ends up wearing, I just want him to be donning it while he says I do to me.”

  Jules tosses the shirt she’s holding to the side and walks over to me. “I get it, really, I do. But the concert, the island wear . . . I think you might be focusing on the wrong things here,” she says.

  I pick up a leather flip-flop from a shelf, remembering Courtney’s words about wanting the same kind of low-key wedding Max did. Which might be true. But she didn’t know him the way I did. She’d never nursed him through the stomach flu or cried with him when his grandfather died. Max and I were engaged to be married for a reason—and for the first three years of our relationship my lack of knowledge about the band Smashing Pumpkins hadn’t been a deal breaker for him. Courtney had simply been in the right place at the right time when Max was questioning our future—and she’d distracted him. I needed to take him away from unnecessary detours like her so we could focus on each other. Because when was the last time we’d done that?

  “Okay, I know what I should be focusing on,” I say slowly, and Jules raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to surprise him with a weekend away to Big Bear—where we fell in love.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” Jules asks carefully, the look in her eyes saying more than she can.

  “Then I’m going to wish Courtney off to a deserted island!” I say confidently, even though I know I won’t—because it won’t solve anything. But I grab Jules’ hand and we laugh together anyway, our laughter masking the worry I know we’re both feeling inside—that I might already be too late.