The Status of All Things: A Novel

by Liz Fenton

  “Jules, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

  “You’ve got your hands full with your own problems, girlfriend!” She laughs, but I hear her voice break slightly.

  “True.” I echo her laugh. “But, seriously, Jules, I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t even notice my fiancé was falling for one of my closest friends. So I’m here to tell you that my head is officially out of my ass. And I don’t want to miss anything else important that could be going on with someone I love. So I’m here for you. Okay?” I pause, hoping she’ll quickly fill the silence with the story of whatever she’s been going through—that as her words spill out of her, she’ll feel an instant release and she won’t feel so alone. That just talking to me will help.

  I hear her take a deep breath. “Don’t worry, my problems will still be here after we solve yours—we can deal with them then, okay? Oh shit!” she cries out.

  “What is it?” I exclaim.

  “I have to go—my cheese soufflé is about to collapse. And I’m late to pick Evan up from piano. Or is it soccer? Dammit! Good luck this weekend! Love you!”

  “Love you too,” I say after she’s gone, and hope that the cheese soufflé is the only thing collapsing in her life.

  • • •

  “It’s exactly the same—they haven’t changed a thing,” I say, dropping my weekender bag on the auburn-colored chenille chair in the corner and pulling open the curtains to reveal the dark blue water of Big Bear Lake. The ride up the mountain had started off slow but then had gone quickly, me peppering Max with intelligent-­sounding questions about the latest product his company was working on, thanks to the incessant Google searching I had done the night before.

  I feel Max wrap his arms around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder. “It is spectacular. Are you up for kayaking?” He holds out a pamphlet that he must have grabbed from the lobby.

  I can think of about fifty things I’d rather do.

  “Maybe . . . I was thinking of popping this open first.” I reach into my bag and pull out a bottle of wine. “And then opening these.” I grab the waistband of his jeans and guide him toward the bed, pushing the colorful quilt onto the floor, trying not to search his face for the same desire I’m feeling, not wanting to read into his every touch. But to my relief, Max engulfs me with an urgency I hadn’t seen in months, his teeth grazing my ear as he throws me down onto the bed, not even bothering to undress me, instead just pulling my skirt up around my waist and sliding inside me, both of us calling out when we climax together a few minutes later before collapsing onto the floor, still entangled in each other’s arms. For the first time since I had been given my power, I forgot about Courtney and what happened at the rehearsal dinner. I forgot to be scared that Max might do it to me again. For those brief wonderful moments, I forgot myself.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Max says, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “But that was amazing—it felt new, like it used to, in the beginning.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I say as I nuzzle up to him.

  “I can’t believe I wanted to go kayaking instead of this!” He laughs and runs his hand down my leg, sending ripples of excitement through me.

  I rest my head on his chest, and as it rises and falls, my own breathing syncs with his. This is us. This is who we are—two people who aren’t predictable, just in sync with each other, I think as I fall into a deep sleep.

  I wake a few hours later just as the sun is setting. I pull Max’s shirt on and look out at the lake, a speedboat passing by, its wake causing waves to lap against the rocks along the shoreline.

  “Hey,” Max says, his voice thick from sleep.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m starving,” we say in unison and smile, our eyes locked, and I feel my mouth start to move—to curve to create the words I need to say so we can really move forward. To ask about Courtney. I want to tell him that she might be making him happy right now—at a confusing time for him—but I’m the woman who will make him happy for life. But instead I say, “I made a reservation at our place,” referencing the restaurant where Max and I had dined for hours last time we were here, finishing two bottles of wine, my mouth salivating as I remember the sweet butter sauce that I had drizzled on my lobster.

  “I’m definitely getting the rib eye.” He sits up and pats his abdomen, and my gaze lingers on his navel.

  “Can I help you?” Max teases, noticing my stare.

  Without responding, I tug his shirt over my head and straddle him, kissing him long and hard until he’s inside me again, my need to consume him overwhelming. I hold him tightly after we finish, threading my hand through his hair, trying to memorize the way his strands feel between my fingers.

  “Look at us, you’d think we were a couple of newlyweds or something,” I say without thinking, and quickly panic, not wanting to see his face contort at the mention of going through with our wedding.

  “We will be soon enough!” Max says and kisses me gently on the mouth. “Not a problem for me that we’re getting started early.”

  As he steps into the shower, I realize this is the first time since I can remember that he’s talked about something that would happen between us after our wedding. I let the knot in my stomach loosen slightly, thinking of Jules’ words. I’m winning the fight.

  • • •

  When the hostess seats us at a table by a window that overlooks the main street in the quaint downtown, I notice Max seems more relaxed than he has in a long time. After the server pours our wine, he holds up his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, the gold flecks in his eyes shining from the candlelight.

  I raise my glass and wait.

  “To us,” he says, tapping his goblet against mine.

  “To us,” I mimic, then add, “To being us.”

  “So, Kate, I want—I need—to talk to you about something,” he says slowly, and I feel my stomach twist back into a knot as I watch his face tense. Had I misread the entire situation?

  “Okay,” I say carefully, hoping he can’t see the fear in my eyes.

  “I know I’ve been a little distant—okay, make that a lot distant—lately and I owe you an explanation.”

  “Okay,” is the only word I can manage.

  “Would you two like to hear about the specials?” Our server interrupts and we must have matching looks on our faces that scream no, because he nods his bald head in our direction and scurries off.

  “So, anyway, Kate. I’ve been confused. We’ve been so caught up in all this wedding stuff. It started to feel like”—he looks down at his glass—“like it was more about what wine we were going to serve than about us starting our life together. I began having doubts. And then, well, something happened. And I think you deserve to know.”

  No. I can’t believe this is happening—again. Even sooner this time. My eyes fall to the black linen napkin in my lap as I try to press back the tears.

  “Kate? You okay?” Max asks.

  I look up and nod because I’m still too afraid to open my mouth.

  “Oh, God, do you already know?” He takes a big drink of his wine.

  Yes, I already know, but I will sit here patiently as you break my heart all over again.

  “Max, just tell me whatever it is, please,” I finally say, bracing myself for the sting of the words.

  “Courtney kissed me,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

  “What? When?” I ask, my voice rising. I press my mouth closed to keep from screaming.

  “I did not kiss her back—I swear to you,” he says adamantly, and I believe him. Why tell me and then lie about the details?

  “Why did she kiss you?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “I think I might have given her the wrong impression. Not that I’m making excuses for her, but there was definite
ly a connection between us. I felt something in our friendship shift recently. And I’m not going to lie—it was really confusing. I started wondering if that meant there was a problem with you and me. I started thinking that if it was so easy for me to connect with someone else, then maybe that was a sign that you and I weren’t meant to be.” He shakes his head.

  “So what happened?”

  “A couple of nights ago, we were both working late, and she came into my office to ask me something about the health care plan I was enrolled in, and one minute I was telling her about why I went with a PPO instead of an HMO, and the next second, she’s got her mouth pressed against mine. When I didn’t kiss her back she stood there, almost shell-shocked, then stammered an apology and raced out in tears.” He pauses and looks at me, but I stay silent, so he continues. “After she left, I sat there for a long time. It was almost like her kissing me lifted this heavy fog that I’d been surrounded by. I had thought my confusion was about Courtney and how I might be developing feelings for her, but then I realized it was about us. That I’d felt so disconnected from you lately. You felt it too, right? I’m not crazy?” he asks, his eyes pleading.

  “It’s not just you,” I say quietly, trying to absorb his words. Courtney had kissed him, and he’s choosing me. Max wants me. “I felt it too,” I add, the warmth from my chest rising to my cheeks. It was here in this restaurant that we had begun. How ironic that it would also become the place where we might get the chance to start over.

  “But something changed. You’ve been so different and we felt right again. And that’s what I want—I want you. I want us.” He looks at me, anxious for my response. “Kate, do you still want us?” he finally asks.

  I imagine Courtney primping in the mirror of the ladies’ bathroom before heading to Max’s office, her heart thudding in her chest as she swiftly unbuttons the top snap of her blouse before walking through his doorway. She makes a little small talk, asks her bogus insurance question, then puckers her lips, her pink gloss shimmering as she leans in toward Max, believing her kiss will be returned, that they will get their happily-ever-after. Maybe the first time around, she got a fairy-tale ending. But this time, it was my turn. Fate had led Max back to me.

  “I do,” I finally say, reaching across the table to grab his hand, deciding that this is the moment when I won’t let Max slip away. Not again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It’s interesting how differently people can react to bad news. Some cry, some seem almost catatonic, some even laugh. I’ve always found the way our mind and body works to protect us from pain to be fascinating. Like after my dad left, I never saw my mom cry—not once. In fact, as his U-Haul pulled away, us both watching from the window, my mom had chuckled. Then she’d clapped her hands together and proclaimed that we should go get hot fudge sundaes at Baskin-Robbins. I hadn’t known what to make of her reaction then, so I’d just followed her lead, biting back my own tears as the truck—and my secret hope that my dad wouldn’t go—­disappeared. And now, after hearing about Courtney’s betrayal all over again, even though my heart had fallen to my feet so hard my chest actually felt empty, I wasn’t going to let Max see my pain. Because I knew even though it hurt like hell right now, I’d get through it. And in the end, it meant that Max and I would be together.

  Relief spreads across Max’s face as he watches mine. “I—I didn’t think you’d react this way. I thought for sure . . .”

  “I’d be upset?” I ask, thinking the old me would’ve been. The old me would’ve wanted to rip Courtney’s plump lips right off her perfect face and then kick Max where the sun don’t shine.

  Max nods as he takes a long drink of his water, the color slowly returning to his pale cheeks. He really wants this to work with me.

  “Well I’m not exactly doing cartwheels over here . . .” I pause, trying to block out the image of Courtney sitting on the edge of his desk, waiting for her chance to lean in and make her move. “But I’m glad you told me. You have no idea how much it means that you were honest.” I smile, my eyes locked with Max’s, feeling like I’m seeing the man I fell in love with for the first time in a long while. I remember just yesterday how my own words had sat silently inside of me when I was too afraid tell Max the thoughts that swirled around in my head. “I think the lesson learned here is we need to communicate better.”

  Max reaches his hand across the table and covers mine. “I agree . . . and I’m sorry.”

  “For what? You told her no. You stopped it.”

  Max starts to say something, then forcefully clamps his lips shut, reminding me of a puppet.

  “Courtney is the one who should be sorry!” I say a little too loudly, and an elderly couple at the neighboring table look over sharply.

  We both reach for a piece of warm garlic bread that the server has just set on the table before running off again, us chewing, me waiting for Max to agree, Max’s brow deeply furrowed—the way it does when he’s thinking hard. And I know he wants to choose his next words carefully. “She crossed a line, for sure. But we can’t put it all on her. Like I said, the lines of our friendship had been temporarily blurred. I blame myself for maybe leading her on unintentionally. And I’m sorry to you—and to her—for that.”

  Max’s confession sends a shiver through me as I realize how clueless I had been last time. He told me nothing had happened between them before he called off the wedding and I believed him. In fact, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that somehow me knowing about their “relationship” this time around seems to have fast-tracked it. That Courtney kissed him because she could feel that I was checked in, that I wasn’t going to let him go.

  “I want you to know that I’m sorry too—”

  “You? For what?” He arches an eyebrow.

  “For not making us a priority. For planning the wedding instead of our life.”

  “Thank you for saying that, but honestly, I’m going to say something weird here and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way . . .” He pauses, waiting for me to promise I won’t.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “I can’t get rid of this weird feeling that this needed to happen. You know, for us to make it.”

  I think of Ruby and her declaration that things weren’t quite as simple as I wanted them to be. Maybe this is what she had meant—that the status of all things in my life would have to first get messy in order for them to get better.

  “I think it did too.”

  I watch Max as he relaxes his shoulders and lowers his gaze to study his menu, feeling the tension in my neck and back fade away. I wait for a few minutes, pretending to scan the specials—the lobster ravioli, the gnocchi with sage and butter cream sauce, the filet mignon with garlic mashed potatoes—knowing I still need to broach one more subject. “So,” I say delicately. “We should figure out what we’re going to do about Courtney. Obviously some things need to change.”

  Max’s brow creases, a desperate look overtaking his face. “Kate—I can’t get her fired.”

  I chew on my lower lip, thinking of the wish I’d made, realizing now how poorly I’d handled the power I’d been given, acting like a mean girl on the playground who uses her social status to push down her classmates.

  “I’m not suggesting that! She earned that job—and from what you’ve told me, she’s a natural at it.”

  Max presses his lips together and nods slightly, not wanting to give Courtney too much of a compliment, even though I can tell he would under other circumstances.

  “But, my friendship with her is over,” I proclaim, shocking myself a little as I take my memories of her and shelve them in a box in the corner of my mind—the late nights after work when we’d grab a drink at a dive bar on Sunset just to shake off the day; the times we’d laugh so hard I’d swear I was going to pee my pants; when she found me crying in my office after my mom had told me that the clock was ticking down and I needed to fin
d a man, not leaving until I’d promised her ten times over that I was fine.

  I wait for Max’s reaction, but he doesn’t offer more than an attentive stare. “And yours will be too, right?”

  He exhales loudly, running his fingers through his hair. “How do I do that? With her working at my office now?” He rubs his temples. “Even the past two days have been awkward, me avoiding her like the plague.”

  “You obviously have to be professional, but no more concerts, no more champagne parties in our kitchen.” I raise an eyebrow.

  “No way—strictly business,” he says simply.

  “And if she does corner you about it—just tell her that you feel it’s better you don’t have a relationship that exists beyond the walls of your office building.” I pause, thinking again about how I basically got her the job there. “Or she can just call me if she has any further questions.”

  Max gives me a pointed look. “What about you? How are you going to handle things with her, really?” he asks.

  I take a second to think. I’d been so focused on winning Max back that I’d never considered what it would mean for my friendship with Courtney when I finally did. The betrayal I felt even before she’d kissed him chipped away at my heart every day, but I hadn’t let myself take more than a few moments to acknowledge the pain that came along with it. Saying good-bye to Courtney would mean I’d have to confront not just her, but what she’d done to me. Because even though she did a terrible thing, she had been my friend for many years, and there was a part of me that would mourn that loss, a void that would remain long after we parted ways. “I will talk to her on Monday and disinvite her to my bachelorette party and the wedding,” I say forcefully, even though I’m dreading the conversation. “Now, can we get back to us—no need to waste any more of our weekend talking about her, right?”

  Max nods in agreement, then shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I just can’t believe how close I came to ruining everything,” he says as he grabs my knee under the table.