The Status of All Things: A Novel

by Liz Fenton

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Orange is NOT the new black #justsaying

  “Do you have this in orange?” I ask the salesgirl, trying not to cringe as I finger the delicate fabric of the comforter Max had pointed out as he looked over my shoulder at the Pottery Barn catalog last night, mentioning that he had always thought we needed this color in our neutral bedroom. My mouth gaping open, I asked, “Since when do you care about interior design? Are you the same man who didn’t know what a duvet was when we moved in together?”

  “What? You’re the one who always makes me watch HGTV with you—I saw it on an episode of House Hunters,” he’d replied, his face turning crimson. “It looked really cool.”

  “Really? HGTV?” I had asked, careful to keep my voice even. When I started urging him to tell me what kind of wedding he really wanted, it was as if I’d opened the floodgates. Suddenly he was asserting his opinion about everything, from the type of cottage cheese we should start buying (large curd!) to his admission that he was tired of watching reality TV and wanted me to start watching more sports with him. While I was happy to finally hear what was on his mind, it had shocked me yet again that his opinions were so different from my own.

  I lay awake again last night, sleep proving more and more elusive with each passing day, patiently waiting for Max’s steady breathing to arrive before sitting up and staring at the contours of his face, wondering again how we had arrived here. I thought back to what Jules had said at the store—was winning Max back still a victory if it meant I was losing myself in the process?

  The Pottery Barn saleswoman nods before disappearing to the back, returning with the orange duvet cased in plastic. “You’re sure?” she asks when she sees my face. Much to my chagrin, the shade of blood orange did not look better in person than it did in the glossy pages of the magazine. It was a shame; the crushed chiffonlike fabric was light and airy, and I had practically drooled over the ivory one on display, imagining pairing it with bold red and pale gold accent pillows. But waking up each morning wrapped in Max’s arms was what I wanted. So as I hand the cashier my credit card, I remind myself that it’s the people under the duvet, not the duvet itself, that matter.

  As I make my way back to work, I feel lighter as I embrace the new dynamics of my relationship with Max. Sure, maybe I’d have to be more open to change, but at least I’d finally know the real Max—his opinions and feelings, everything. Maybe this would end up being the best thing that ever happened to me, and to us.

  Holding the comforter under my arm, because I planned to FaceTime with Jules and show her, hoping she’d tell me the color didn’t resemble a prisoner’s jumpsuit, I use my hip to push open the door to our office entrance, nearly colliding with Courtney, who is awkwardly balancing a large box and her even larger striped tote.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, catching my breath as I spy her favorite picture, a framed print of the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk, peeking out the top of the box. Was she fired?

  “I quit,” she says simply.

  “Wait, w-what?” I stammer, a thousand emotions rushing through me—feeling ecstatic, guilty, and evil all at the same moment. Happy she would be gone and most likely distracted by an intensive job search, guilty for the part I played by wishing her onto Magda’s bad side, and evil because my master plan was working.

  “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It wasn’t planned. Magda pulled me off the PumpedUP energy drink account and I just snapped. Remember how hard I worked to get them to sign on? The things I did?”

  I think back to Courtney challenging the CEO to a drinking contest—if she could outlast him, then he would hire us. He happily agreed, thinking that there was no way a 110-pound girl in black jeggings could drink him under the table. But she did as we both looked on in awe.

  “Anyway,” she continues. “Something in me just cracked as I stared at her god-awful red lipstick and birdlike face. I told her to fuck off!”

  “You what?” I smile despite myself, having imagined doing the same thing several times. When Magda took credit for the work we did, when she bit our heads off about things we couldn’t control, when she refused to acknowledge we had been right about something she didn’t agree with.

  “Yep. It felt great, Kate. You should try it sometime.” Courtney grins widely, and for a moment I almost forget that she’s my enemy. That Max is her latest challenge. A flash of regret slices me. Now I’d have to deal with Magda all on my own.

  “Maybe,” I say quietly, glancing around to make sure that Magda or her tattletale assistant aren’t within earshot. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Have a cocktail!” A carefree smile lights up her face. It’s the same one I saw her repeatedly flash Max at the concert—the grin that made my stomach hurt, especially when I saw how he’d smiled back. “Want to join?” she asks hopefully, then quickly adds, “You know we haven’t hung out in a while. You know, just you and me.”

  “I can’t. I’m sure Magda is waiting on me,” I say, holding up the comforter to indicate I’ve already spent enough time out of the office.

  “I understand,” Courtney says sincerely as she eyes the duvet. “Oh my God—did you just buy that?”

  “Oh, this?” I say, pulling the bag to my chest, embarrassed. “I know, it’s—”

  “—totally awesome!” she finishes, setting her box down and pulling the duvet out of the shopping bag as if it’s a pile of money. “They’re saying orange is the new black. It was all over Fashion Week!”

  “Really?” I say weakly, a hard ball of anxiety lodged in my throat. How is it that she and Max agree again—and about something so random? “It’s for our bedroom.” I deliberately linger on the word as I study her reaction.

  She flinches slightly as she leans over to pick up her box. “So I guess this is good-bye,” she says as she stands up, a look I can’t read now flitting in her eyes. “For now, anyway. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Sure,” I say as I watch her glide to the elevator, her feet barely grazing the floor.

  • • •

  Predictably, Magda spends the rest of the day on a rampage, her protégée telling her off and quitting in one fell swoop clearly not sitting well. Even though I had wished Courtney onto Magda’s shit list, the truth was she had always been Magda’s favorite and I knew, even with my interference, it was only a matter of time before she reclaimed her special place in Magda’s heart. But then she’d quit—throwing everything off. I was dependable and consistent, but Courtney had that extra something I didn’t. It was her flashes of brilliance when she knew just how to handle our cranky art director so we could meet our looming deadlines, or when she thought of a fresh idea after hours of brainstorming. Despite how Magda had thought she’d been feeling about Courtney’s work, there was no doubt we were all going to feel the gaping hole her absence would leave.

  Magda raged on about an innocuous mistake a junior associate had made, making me confirm details about a campaign we’d already gone over ad nauseam, and snapped at me when I missed a small typo in a memo she had sent out. As the day wore on, I felt a slow anger burn inside my chest toward Courtney, the image of her practically skipping to the elevator stuck in my head. Angry that once again I was left to deal with a mess she had created. Sure, maybe I had been the one who had set all this into motion, but still. The bottom line was that, so far, my wishes seemed to be creating more problems for me than solutions.

  • • •

  “Hey,” I say as I walk into our living room, immediately noticing Max’s silhouette on the couch, watching the Dodgers game on mute. “You’ll never guess what happened today.” I throw my purse on the table and slide myself into the crook of his arm.

  “I have some crazy news too,” he says. “You first.”

  “Courtney quit,” I say, trying my best to twist the expression on my face into a mix of equal p
arts serious and contemplative. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

  Max breaks into a grin. “She’s going to be just fine!” he declares with more confidence than he had when he convinced me that bungee jumping on my thirty-third birthday would be a great idea.

  Panic rises inside of me. “What do you mean? How would you know that?” I glance at my watch. “She’s been jobless for half a day.”

  “She’s not unemployed anymore,” Max says cryptically.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to hear where this is going but unable to control my impulse to find out. “Care to elaborate?” I ask, trying unsuccessfully to control the clipped tone in my voice.

  “Well, it was a crazy coincidence,” Max starts, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “But long story short, she was hired at my company—in the marketing department. She’s going to be a product manager!”

  “What the fuck?” I blurt.

  “I know, right?” Max says, mistaking my shock as happiness instead of frustration.

  “Okay,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “How did this ­happen?”

  Max tells me how he ran into Courtney while grabbing lunch. He was dining with the senior product manager for an ear implant device they’d just licensed, who had been lamenting to Max that even after two rounds of interviews, they still hadn’t found any suitable candidates for their opening in the marketing department. Courtney just happened to be sitting at the bar, sipping vodka and soda with a twist of lime—a detail Max gave me, although I wasn’t sure I needed it. Apparently, Max had literally bumped into her as he was being escorted to his table—something about the hostess dropping her menus and Max stumbling, which had sent him flying into Courtney. Seeing how down she looked, he invited her to join him and his colleague, and by the time their crème brûlée was served, she was also being handed a job on a silver platter.

  “She starts tomorrow!” Max finished.

  Of course she does.

  I nod my head and bite my lip as Max talks about how it must have been fate that they ran into each other. That it was meant to be.

  That’s what I’m worried about.

  “Listen,” I say later after dinner, after we’ve rehashed yet again how lucky Courtney is. How she had charmed the hell out of the product manager. How fortunate they were to have her on the team. “I know this is last minute, but I think we should try to get away one last time before the wedding.”

  Max raises his eyebrows. “But isn’t the wedding a getaway?”

  “Yes,” I say patiently. “But we’ll be surrounded by other people there. I really just want some time to ourselves.” I reach over and grab his hand and lock my eyes with his. “I’m worried that we’re drifting.”

  Max breaks eye contact for a split second before forcing his eyes back to mine. “Okay.”

  “Remember I mentioned Big Bear the other day?” I say, watching his face intently.

  “Ah.” He smiles and places a soft kiss on my lips. “The place where it all began.”

  “Yes,” I say, relieved. “So, can we? Leave Friday afternoon? I’ve already called and booked it, hoping you’d agree.” Because it was the off-season, I had been able to secure the same cabin we’d stayed in early on in our relationship, when Max had told me he loved me as we sipped hot toddies while cuddled up next to the crackling fire. It would mean I’d have to work until midnight every night before we left to get all my work handled, but I’d decided it was worth it.

  “Sounds fun,” Max says as his phone buzzes on the table, Courtney’s name flashing across the screen. Max looks guilty before saying quickly, “She’s just checking in about tomorrow.”

  “I understand,” I say. I understand that she’ll be using this opportunity to get closer to you. Courtney hadn’t even bothered to text me with her good news. Was it because I’d been shutting her out? Or had she not reached out because now that she worked with Max she didn’t need me?

  I make a noise that’s a cross between a snort and a guffaw, picking up the new Us Weekly to distract me from Max’s text banter with Courtney. “She has a lot of questions,” he says as his fingers fly across his phone.

  “I’m sure,” I say as I take out my frustration on the magazine, turning the pages aggressively until a picture stops me. It’s Liam and Nikki Day, locked in an embrace in front of BLT Steak in West Hollywood, the caption reading “Nikki Day’s New Hottie!”

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture, Liam’s arms wrapped tightly around Nikki’s Barbie doll waist, her hands in his hair as they lock lips. Max finally looks up from his phone and grabs the magazine. “Is that Liam? Holy shit!”

  “I know, right?” I say, pulling the tabloid back from him and staring at the half-page picture again, scanning the story underneath that spills the details of their courtship. How much of this was true, I wondered, as I read about their instant connection, Nikki supposedly telling friends Liam was so different, in a good way, from anyone she’d dated before.

  “He looks pretty cozy. Maybe he’s finally ready to settle down.”

  “Maybe,” I echo, feeling exhausted. Why did it seem like everyone around me was moving forward while I stood still? Courtney escaped Magda without a scratch, Liam finally found a girl who made him happy, and Max seemed to be slipping out of my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on to him.

  “I’m going to head up to bed,” I say, standing up. “Want to come?”

  “In a bit, babe,” Max answers, and I involuntarily look at his phone. Did he want to stay up so he could keep texting with Courtney? My feet feel heavy as I march up the stairs, holding back my tears as I make the bed with our new orange duvet before lying down and pulling it tightly around me, still seeing the bright color in my head when I close my eyes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Max is fumbling with his necktie when I come out of the bathroom the next morning. “Want some help with that?” I ask, but start adjusting the silk into a wide knot before he can answer. I glance from the dark gray tie into his eyes, our chests almost touching as I straighten the fabric, trying to muster the confidence to ask him what I spent last night’s sleepless hours thinking about—a question I’m still not completely sure I want the answer to.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles as he studies something on his phone. “I’m in a hurry . . . need to get into the office—it’s a big day.”

  Because it’s Courtney’s first day?

  I raise my eyebrow but let his mention pass. “Speaking of big days . . .” I pause, watching Max pull on his nicest navy-blue suit jacket, the one that changes the color of his eyes into a deeper shade of green. Had he selected that for her?

  “Have you seen my keys?” Max rushes out of the bedroom to hunt for them, his eyes still glued to his phone.

  “Max—before you go, I wanted to ask you something.” I take the stairs two at a time after him, my fuzzy pink slippers making a squeaking sound with each step.

  “Yeah?” he yells back as I hear him sifting through a drawer in the kitchen, cursing under his breath.

  “Where did you last see them?” I ask. It wasn’t like him to lose anything—ever.

  “In the ignition when I was driving home last night,” he snaps, then stops his ransack of the junk drawer and gives me a sorrowful look. “Sorry—can you drop me off on your way out?” he says, his tone softer.

  “Just take my car,” I answer without thinking and dangle my keys in front of him, watching the stress disappear from his face like the foam dissolving into a hot latte as he folds his hand around them.

  “How are you going to get to work?”

  “I’m sure your keys are around here somewhere. I’ll find them and take yours,” I assure him. “And I know you’re in a rush, but before you go, I have a quick question.”

  “Shoot,” he says, but starts striding toward the front door and I trail behind like a puppy dog cla
moring for a treat.

  “You said today was a big day, which got me thinking about, you know, ours and those very big vows we need to write. I just wanted to check in and see how yours were coming—” I clasp my hands behind my back as I wait for his response.

  “They’re done!” he says proudly. “Been finished for a while now.”

  He has them written? He had something to write? Maybe I haven’t lost him yet.

  “Wow, I’m impressed!” I break into an uncontrollable grin as the pendulum swings back toward hope again. I lightly kiss his lips, tasting his peppermint toothpaste.

  “You seem surprised,” he remarks as he grabs his messenger bag and slings it over his chest.

  I reach over and push a flop of hair away from his forehead. “No—well, yes—but only because I haven’t even started mine.”

  “Have you met me? Have you met you?” He laughs, and for a moment, I feel like us again as we banter. “Of course I’m done and you’re not, Ms. Perfectionist!”

  He was right. I was often paralyzed by projects. My overwhelming desire to make them perfect caused me to fall behind as I considered all the ways I could tackle them. And Max was always ahead of schedule—he was the guy who filed his taxes by February 1.

  “I can’t wait to hear them!” I say quickly before I can pull the words back, watching his face for any signs that I might not ever get that opportunity. But his expression is unreadable.

  “No peeking!” is all he says as he strides out the front door.

  “Of course not,” I lie, heading straight for his journal the moment he’s gone.

  I run my hands over the soft brown leather notebook that conceals Max’s inner thoughts, flipping it back and forth in my hand, debating whether I should open it, whether I should be reading the words he’s written. Even though they are intended for me, it feels wrong. But this could be my only chance to discover what is in Max’s heart leading up to the wedding—and that outweighs the guilt. I peel back the cover and my eyes fall on his familiar loopy handwriting. When I’d first seen his signature, the even shape of his letters reminded me of the words I’d traced in the fourth grade when trying to achieve my cursive license. “You write like a girl!” I’d exclaimed, letting out a cackle, then throwing my hand over my mouth. He’d smiled, his eyes laughing with me as he’d grabbed a Sharpie off his desk, a piece of paper out of his printer tray, and wrote I love you, Katie in his big, curvy scrawl. I still have it.