by Liz Fenton
Kate,
Everything with you has always been so easy. From the night we met, I’ve known our relationship was special, that you were different. When I look into your eyes I know we have the solid foundation we need to stand the test of time—that we will go as far as we want in life, that we can do anything together. There’s a comfort in knowing I can count on you, I can count on us. That we can go the distance—that we’re built to last.
I love you more than words can say.
I set the notebook back in the bottom drawer of his desk, his words stinging my heart, even though I’m not sure what I had been expecting. Max has never been the most romantic guy, always choosing to let Hallmark do the talking for him on special occasions, his name signed firmly at the bottom of the card. And it’s not like what he’d written was terrible, but it had felt like reading one of those greeting cards—with all the right things printed inside of them, but they were not his words. I had always been confident that he loved me, and had come to accept that like many men, he struggled with translating his feelings onto paper. But as I’d read his vows, I wish he could’ve dug a little deeper just this once, could’ve tried to come up with something that was intimate between us, that didn’t feel so generic. Unless this was the best he could do—saying he was comfortable, that we were built to last. Making me sound more like a Subaru than his future wife.
• • •
With the vows imprinted in my mind like a message written across the sky, I’d tried to concentrate on finding Max’s keys. I’d tossed the couch cushions, searched the laundry hamper, and even checked the freezer, but still couldn’t locate them, finally giving up and calling a cab. I knew the keys were probably dangling right in front of me, but I was too distracted. I was bothered, not just because the vows felt stiff, but because I wasn’t sure I could do a better job with my own. Max didn’t know this, but on the night of our rehearsal dinner, my vows still weren’t written. I’d spent months thinking about what I should say, but I couldn’t decide what combination of words would properly encapsulate us. And now I wonder if there was a deeper reason why the pages in my own journal had remained blank. Did I not have the right words because we weren’t right?
The yellow taxi pulls up and I slip into the backseat. The driver swivels her head around and smiles at me, revealing the familiar gap between her teeth. “Where to, Kate?”
“It’s you,” I say as one of her toffee-colored curls slips out from under her tweed driving cap. I quickly recover from the surprise of seeing her. “I’m meeting my mom at Grub on Seward Street for breakfast.”
“Sounds good,” she says, and makes a U-turn.
“I’m so glad you’re here—I have a million questions I want to ask you!” I exclaim.
“You can ask one.”
“Just one?” I whine.
I meet Ruby’s eyes in the rearview mirror and she narrows them at me. “Fine,” I concede.
As I take several minutes to collect my thoughts, staring out the window at the 10 freeway, I realize there’s only one issue that’s been pressing on my mind. “Why do my wishes keep pushing Max and Courtney closer together instead of driving them apart?” I ask, my heart thudding as I wait for the answer. I have my own theories, but I pray that none of them are right.
Ruby pulls the taxi to a stop in front of Grub and shifts her body toward the backseat. “Fate’s a lot like Mother Nature. Sometimes you just can’t mess with it.”
“So are you saying I can’t use this power to get Max back—my life back?” I ask.
“That’s another question.” Ruby looks at me sympathetically.
“Please,” I plead as I grip the back of her seat. “I can’t keep fighting if I know it won’t change anything.”
Ruby holds my gaze for a minute before answering, ignoring the person in the brightly colored wrap dress standing impatiently outside my door, waiting to get in. “You do have the power to change things, but not everything is as simple as you want it to be. Just have a little faith.” She reaches over and puts her hand over mine. “Now, please, get out before this person loses her mind.” She laughs as the woman throws up her hands in frustration.
Still in a daze from Ruby’s cryptic message, I find my mom sitting at a small table in the back of the restaurant, her face glowing from her day spent at the spa yesterday. I’d cringed when I’d read her post on Facebook:
My masseur didn’t believe my real age. I had to show him my ID! Talk about happy ending for me! Wink, wink!
She’d posted a picture she’d taken of herself clad only in a white cotton towel with her arm flung around the man who’d just massaged her.
“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her.
“Sweetie, it’s so good to finally see you. I took the liberty of ordering for you,” she says, and I glance at my phone. Less than ten seconds and she’s already giving me a guilt trip. That has to be a record.
“I know—I’m sorry it’s been a while. Things have been really hectic—”
“With the wedding planning? Do you need help?”
In more ways than you could possibly know.
I shake my head. “Stella has everything under control,” I say as I imagine her scrambling to find the Samoan fire-knife dancing team that Max just added to the list.
My mom’s face brightens at my answer. “I saw on Facebook that your wedding gifts were starting to arrive. You posted that adorable picture holding the oddly shaped package, asking everyone to guess what they thought was inside. I still think it’s a Roomba!” she says, clapping her hands together.
I think back to the photo I’d made myself post yesterday, wanting so much to live my life as if I didn’t know what was around the corner. Last time around, I would’ve blissfully held the box with a smirk on my face as I tried to guess its contents, excited to see what funny items my friends would speculate could be inside. But this time, the whole thing felt forced.
As my mom laughs at her own guess, her pale blue eyes close slightly, exposing the fine lines around them. Lines I think make her more beautiful, but that she’s been considering eyelid surgery to remove. I’d argued when she’d first announced her plans, trying to convince her that the collagen fillers she’d already been getting in her upper cheeks and forehead were unnecessary. I was worried that one cosmetic surgery would lead to another and she’d end up looking like one of those Botox-addicted Real Housewives. But I couldn’t tell her that—since my dad left, she’d been convinced he married Leslie so he could have a young trophy wife on his arm.
Courtney comes to mind. I had always confided in Jules about how deep my mom’s denial ran when it came to my dad. Now I wondered if I was going to follow in her footsteps, clamoring for something that had already disappeared right before my eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
She nods, sipping her coffee.
“What was it about Dad—why did you want to marry him?”
“He was everything,” she answers immediately.
“What do you mean?” I ask, mixing a packet of sugar into my latte.
“He was everything I’d ever wanted—all of the good parts of someone rolled up into one.” She smiles, but it quickly shifts into a frown. “Well, before he met her.”
I’ve often wondered if my mom even remembers the marriage as it actually was or if she’s become a revisionist historian since Dad left, not wanting to accept that his love for someone else could ever be deeper than his love for her.
“Why do you ask?” My mom eyes me suspiciously as the server sets down a fruit plate in front of her and a plate of scrambled egg whites in front of me. I look around as if the rest of my order is going to arrive—the bacon and hash browns I would’ve requested. But I knew better. My mom eats like a bird and wants me to as well.
“I came across Max’s vows . . . and, I don’t know, they just didn’t make me feel all warm an
d fuzzy inside,” I say, suddenly thinking of my furry pink slippers that I’d had since college and wore year-round because they were comfortable. That’s the same word Max had used to describe us in his vows. Was he right? And if so, was that even a negative? What was wrong with a relationship that was safe and easy?
“Warm and fuzzy?” my mom scoffs.
“I guess when I read them I thought they would show that he gets me.”
“Gets you?” she repeats, cocking her head to the side in confusion as if I’ve just spoken Japanese.
“I just expected his thoughts to be more personal—and he’d laugh and maybe even cry as he read them, because they’d include all these nuances that maybe no one else would even understand—our little inside jokes, you know?”
“What else did he write?” My mom leans forward.
I pause, seeing his words scrawled across the page of his journal. “He said we were built to last.”
A look of relief passes over her face. “You are! You and Max are solid. He loves you and will take care of you—something that counts for more than you know. Honey, I think you’re putting way too much weight on this. There’s no rule book for writing vows. You just express what’s in your heart. And whatever you read—that’s what’s in his.”
Maybe that’s the problem. There doesn’t seem to be much in there.
“Wasn’t he also supposed to actually vow something?” I ask. He hadn’t promised anything.
“Like what? To love you in sickness and health?” She laughs, throwing her head back like she’s just delivered a hysterical joke. “I’ve taken care of you after you got food poisoning—you’re not exactly a model patient!”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s change the subject,” I say, stabbing my eggs with my fork and ignoring my mom’s look as I sprinkle them with salt. “What about you?”
“What about me?” She pops a blueberry into her mouth.
“Do you ever think about getting back out there?”
“Please.” She shakes her head forcefully. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.” She arches an eyebrow, which reveals no wrinkles in her forehead, the skin tight from her last Botox injection.
“Are you though?” I press, and watch her fidget in her chair. She’s never been one to delve into emotionally heavy topics, preferring to keep the conversation more superficial, much like her Facebook feed. This is wonderful! Look at me! I’m so happy! But in person, I could easily detect the underlying sadness in her that often bordered on bitterness.
“Will you stop—of course I am! I’m retired and living quite well after some savvy stock market investments. Thank you, Google!” She laughs. “Not to mention, I’m in the best shape of my life. Have you seen these guns?” She curls her bicep. “But most importantly, I’ve got you. What more could I possibly need?”
Love? Happiness that’s real, not manufactured?
“What if the perfect man came into your life? Wouldn’t you be open to the possibility of a relationship?”
My mom’s eyes mist with tears, but she looks away quickly, and when her gaze returns to me, she’s composed again. “After the broken heart I suffered, I prefer a life where my happiness isn’t up to someone else.”
“I’m not saying you have to get married again, Mom—or even fall in love—but you’re not even up for having coffee with someone?” I ask, thinking that I could wish for her to meet a nice guy—to give her what I know she’s just too scared to do on her own.
“It’s never just coffee, honey,” she says, shaking her head. “Now back to you. You’ve got a great thing with Max—a guy that a thousand women would line up around the block to be with. The romance and the fire and all that stuff you wish he’d written in his vows—those aren’t the things that ensure you’ll grow old together. Just because he’s not Robert Frost doesn’t mean he’s not the right guy for you. Learn from my mistakes, Kate. Don’t take your relationship for granted, because one day he could be gone. Or worse, he could end up in the arms of someone else.”
The truth of her words strikes me hard. I think of Courtney and her big day at Max’s company. Her new job that I’m indirectly or directly responsible for, despite my best efforts to keep her away from Max. My mom was right, I needed to hang on to him. But I couldn’t get the word Ruby had used out of my mind—fate. Because what I really needed to know was why the universe had sent me on this journey in the first place—and there was really only one way to find out. I had to stop using magic and let fate take its course—no matter what the outcome.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What the hell?” I say as Liam pulls up to the curb in a jet black convertible Porsche.
“What?” he says with a broad smile as I slide into the passenger seat. “It’s just a car.”
“What happened to Frank?” I ask, referring to the white Ford Explorer I had helped him pick out and name almost ten years ago. “Frank Ford” had always had a special place in my heart, never so much as blinking a headlight when I threw up all over his backseat after my twenty-fifth birthday party in Venice Beach.
“Don’t worry, Frankie is just fine—he’s resting comfortably in my garage. This baby is just a loaner.”
“Let me guess. From Nikki?” I blanch as I say her name. Had she made Liam feel like Frank Ford wasn’t good enough to be seen in? I feel offended for Frank and Liam.
Liam gives me a sideways look as he pulls into traffic, cutting off a large SUV and accelerating into the left turn lane for the freeway. I had called him for a ride home after Max had taken my car this morning. I had been hoping Max would check in to see if I had found his keys, but I hadn’t heard from him all day, causing my imagination to run wild about what was going on between him and Courtney at work. On a seemingly endless loop, images of the two of them flirting flashed through my mind. I saw Max accidentally brushing Courtney’s arm and feeling an electric pulse shoot through him as he guided her down the narrow hallway to the conference room where she’d meet the others on the creative team. I pictured her making excuses to stop by his office to find out where she could stock up on staplers and hole punches. I could even see Max lingering in her doorway, then casually inviting her to lunch at his favorite bistro just around the corner. Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I’d closed my office door, squeezed my eyes shut until darkness enveloped me, and yelled, “Stop!” at the top of my lungs
“I thought you’d be happy. If I recall, you’re the one who set this whole relationship in motion,” Liam says, raising his voice over the sounds of the freeway. I grab my hair and twist it into a braid to block the wind’s effect.
“I’m sorry,” I say, boosting my voice to match his. “I am happy for you. I just don’t want her to change you.”
“To charge me?” he asks, an incredulous look spreading across his face. “Why would she charge me? She’s not a prostitute!”
“Change you!” I yell as we pass a semi, the exhaust from its tailpipe stinging my nostrils. “Like this!” I spread my arms wide. “Speeding down the 405 in a flashy sports car? Screaming at each other over the motorcycles and trucks? This isn’t you! You don’t even like sitting on the patio at the Newsroom Cafe! Because too many cars pass by on Robertson!”
Liam says nothing as he navigates off the freeway, pulling over onto a side street and pressing a button that efficiently brings the top up around us. “Do you really think driving a Porsche for a few days is going to change me, Kate? You think I’m that shallow?”
“No, of course not,” I say with my head down. “It’s just, look at you—four-hundred-dollar Gucci sunglasses and, wait, is that a Chanel shirt?” I ask, remembering the Calvin Klein model wearing a similar one when he came into the office. “And you showed up in my Facebook feed today—on the Us Weekly page! They were asking everyone what they thought of Nikki’s new ‘man candy’! How can you say this relationship, as you call it, isn’t changing you?” I think
about the women in my office who had swooned over the picture of Liam online, me shaking my head as I pored over the comments on that post instead of the mound of paperwork that had piled up in Courtney’s absence, each sexual remark about his good looks making me more uncomfortable than the last. When I had made this wish for Liam, I hadn’t considered the impact it might have on him or our friendship. If I had, I might not have gone through with it.
Liam puts the car into gear and takes a sharp right at the corner toward my house. “Listen, I get how all this looks, but I’m not the one who’s doing the changing.” He gives me a pointed look.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“You know exactly what it means.”
“I’m not making that many changes,” I argue.
“Oh, really? Then please tell me how that hideous ensemble I’m supposed to wear to the wedding arrived at my house yesterday? The Kate I know wouldn’t make her worst male enemy wear linen!”
It was true—I had shipped Liam’s new best man outfit to his house because I couldn’t face him. I had written Wearing this without question will be considered payment for “setting you up” with Nikki on a yellow Post-it, but knew I was going to catch shit for it anyway. “It’s just a pair of pants and a shirt. I’m just trying to show Max I’m trying. That I care.”
Liam parks the car in front of my condo and turns to me, his eyes suddenly softer. “I know how much you want this, so I’m going to cut you some slack. But please, remember something.”
