The Status of All Things: A Novel

by Liz Fenton

  “None taken.” I laugh.

  “. . . so being fashionably late isn’t going to cut it,” Jules continues, grabbing the flask and putting it up to her nose, releasing a small cough as she inhales. “Whoa—what the hell is in here?” She shoves it back into Liam’s hand.

  “Whiskey,” he says with a shrug, and takes a drink, releasing an exaggerated sigh when he’s finished. “And not just any whiskey—it’s Pappy Van Winkle! Do you know what I had to do to get my hands on this? It’s harder to find than my man card after I let you talk me into wearing those skinny jeans you bought me last Christmas!” He shakes his head at the memory.

  “Pappy Van what, what?” Jules laughs. “It sounds like one of those shows my daughter watches on the Disney Channel, not a brand of whiskey!”

  “Oh, Jules, you have so much to learn,” Liam says before taking another swig.

  “Well, I don’t care if it’s laced with gold—Kate’s not drinking that. Her friends, family, and fiancé are expecting her to be there when the party starts! Not to stumble in late.” Jules turns toward me. “Right?”

  “I’m not getting involved.” I wave my hands in front of me like an umpire calling a baseball player safe. “But I will say this is exactly why I asked both of you to be in my wedding—so you can fight over what’s best for me. I love it!” I grab my ­iPhone and study the screen, my face falling for a moment when I realize my earlier text to Max has still gone unanswered.

  “What is it?” Jules, who never misses a beat, catches my strained expression.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  “You sure?” Jules presses.

  “Positive,” I say.

  Liam arches an eyebrow and I look away quickly. “Kate probably just has a little case of prewedding jitters, Jules. I know I’d be shitting bricks if it were me!” Liam laughs as he leans back in a lounge chair, his long legs dangling off the end. “Exactly why she needs some of this.” He waves the whiskey in front of me and I happily take it. As I’m sipping the liquor, he scoots his chair close to mine, his eyes suddenly filled with an intensity that makes me pull the flask away from my lips. “But hey, Kate, you don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to. Everyone will understand if you decide you aren’t ready to settle down.”

  I stare at him, blinking hard, the backs of my eyes watering from the whiskey stinging my throat, unsure of how to respond.

  “Will you relax.” He slaps my knee. “I’m kidding!” he says, laughing. “But you should have seen your face. You turned white as a ghost. Priceless.” He leans back in his chair again and I release the breath I’d been holding.

  “God, you are terrible! I should fire you! And I blame this!” Jules reaches for the flask, but I hold it just out of reach as I take another sip, the whiskey going down much easier this time.

  As Jules and Liam banter, I decide I’m just obsessing. Of course Max received the watch. And of course he loves it. How could he not? I saw him eyeing a similar one in Esquire, and that’s what had sparked the idea in the first place. He’ll show up tonight wearing it and wrap my hand inside of his protectively, the way he has so many times before.

  “Okay, let’s get a pic for our little Facebook whore.” Jules elbows me playfully, bringing the dialogue in my head to an abrupt halt. “You know you want one!” She giggles as Liam holds my phone high above our heads, all of us jockeying for position as I give Liam instructions on how to angle the phone for the best shot, finally accepting that his forehead won’t make the cut.

  After I settle on a photo, Liam sighs. “I will never understand the effort that goes into taking a picture of women that’s Facebook­-worthy. I’m quite confident NASA spent less time helping the Apollo 13 astronauts get back home!”

  I roll my eyes at him and pull up my page, filter the photo, tag him and Jules and then Max as well, knowing our picture will make him smile.

  Feeling thankful! Lanai selfie with my besties.

  • • •

  My mother is the first person I spot as I enter the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel, Liam and Jules waving good-bye as Jules makes a beeline for Ben and Liam for his date, Angie, a leggy raven-haired beauty I just met yesterday.

  “Kate!” my mom says, her sleek golden blond bob bouncing as she hugs me. “You’re here. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.” She laughs, but the not-so-subtle disapproval drips from her voice like a leaky faucet.

  “Well, I’m here now,” I say, straightening my back as I scan the room for Max. “Speaking of being here—”

  “Did you get my texts?” my mom interrupts, awkwardly tugging at the hem of her knee-length dress despite the fact that it fits her slim figure perfectly. Her body is more toned than that of many women my age—including my own.

  “Have you seen Max?” I ask, ignoring her question as I follow her wistful gaze to my dad and stepmom, huddled closely in the corner like they are the ones exchanging vows tomorrow. When my dad announced he was marrying Leslie, who is only twelve years older than I am, my mother had scoffed, promising he and the baby wouldn’t make it six months. But nearly twenty years later, they are still mad about each other, and I am still unable to admit to my mom that I have also come to genuinely love Leslie. She has kind blue eyes that still light up whenever she talks about my dad, and she always welcomes me with a warm embrace I can feel long after we’ve parted. It’s as if her sunny personality radiates through her skin and transfers onto mine.

  My mother grabs a mai tai from a passing waiter and takes a long drink, her ruby-red lipstick staining the straw. “I haven’t seen him . . . I assumed you two were together.” She motions her cocktail glass toward the crowded room without taking her eyes off my dad, and I fight the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake the bitterness out of her like a coin you try to retrieve from a piggy bank.

  I scan the area again, noticing most of the guests have already arrived, wearing colorful leis around their necks, sipping cocktails with umbrellas, a warm bronzed tone to their skin from their first day in the sun—or in the case of my uncle Louie, a shade closer to lobster red—but there’s still no sign of my fiancé.

  I frown. Max is never late. I think back to the morning we flew to Maui. At 6 a.m., he was already off on his daily six-mile run, his single black Tumi suitcase and garment bag sitting by the front door hours before we were scheduled to leave, his items thoughtfully and precisely packed the day before. Meanwhile, I was in our bedroom heaving my severely undercaffeinated body on top of my third piece of luggage, desperate to squeeze in one last sarong and pair of espadrilles just in case.

  Where is he?

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” my mom says, as if she’s just read my mind. “It’s Max we’re talking about here, not your father,” she adds, an edge to her voice.

  “Mom, please. Not tonight.”

  “So about my texts. Do you believe the nerve of that woman?” She presses on anyway. “It’s a family picture!”

  I bite my tongue, holding back the thoughts scrolling through my mind like the ticker at the bottom of a news program—that my mom’s palpable anger was not an invited guest to my wedding weekend, that her lipstick is three shades too dark for her ivory skin, that I’m truly sorry my dad fell in love with someone else and even sorrier that she refuses to let go of the anger that’s been eating her alive ever since. I shoot Jules a look across the room, letting her know I need her help.

  “It’s not a completely unreasonable request—they’ve been married a long time,” I finally say gently, not wanting to hurt her feelings, no matter how foolish she is acting.

  My mom starts to respond, but Jules intercepts her, swiftly grabbing her hand and guiding her toward the bar, mentioning something about the freshly shaved coconut in the piña coladas.

  I turn on my heel to search for Max. I’m relieved when I finally locate him on t
he veranda, in deep conversation with Courtney, my friend and the other vice president at the advertising agency where I work.

  “There you are.” My gaze is immediately pulled to Max’s empty wrist like a magnet. “Didn’t you get a special delivery from me today? Stella swore it was delivered—”

  Max glances sideways at Courtney, then back at me. “Stella didn’t forget. I got the watch.” He runs his hand through his wavy dark brown hair and across his stubble-lined jaw.

  “Then where is it?” I chew on my lower lip as I wait for his answer.

  “It’s down in my room.”

  “Really? Why?” I say, my mind spinning. “You didn’t like it.” My cheeks redden with embarrassment as I catch Courtney’s sympathetic stare. She looks away quickly. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

  “No, I did like it—loved it actually,” he says slowly.

  “Oh, thank God. So you just forgot to put it on. No big deal. I’ll see if Stella can go get it.” I slide my phone out of my pocket. “I know you’re probably dying for a scotch but I just want to take a picture with you first.” I glance around for the best light. “Over there?” I say, pointing next to the railing, the sun casting a red and orange glow across the sky as it begins to set. I grab Max’s hand and start to walk toward the edge of the lanai, then glance back. “Courtney? Will you take it?”

  Courtney obediently follows us and snaps several pictures.

  “Can you take one more?” I ask apologetically, noticing Max looks like he’s posing for a passport photo in all of them. I turn to him, his jaw tight and his body rigid, whispering in his ear, “Will you please smile?”

  But the corners of Max’s lips still don’t curve upward. “We need to talk,” he says quietly.

  “After this,” I say through my grin, my hand perfectly poised on Max’s chest as I tuck a wisp of my hair behind my ear and tilt my chin downward. “Trust me. You’ll thank me when we’re showing this photo to our kids.”

  “No, I need to talk to you right now,” Max replies forcefully, and I step back, his voice sounding foreign to me—almost guttural. I glance over to see if Courtney heard his reprimand, but she’s disappeared into the party like a ghost, the only sign she’s ever been there is my phone, resting on the edge of a teak chair.

  “What is it?” I ask slowly, our eyes locked. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

  It’s the moment I can feel him begin to slip through my ­fingers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’m sorry, Kate,” Max says, his eyes avoiding mine.

  “For what? What’s going on?” I ask, feeling off balance, as if I’m on the teacup ride at Disneyland, spinning around and around while everyone else stands still. “If this is about the watch, it’s no big deal if you don’t like it,” I say, trying desperately to find a reason why Max has that terrible look on his face that I’ve never seen before.

  “God, I thought I could do this. I’m sorry . . .” he repeats, his face pale, a small bead of sweat forming on his brow. As he reaches up to wipe it away, the reality of the situation hits me. I instinctively put my right hand over my left and cover my engagement ring. This can’t be happening.

  “Kate?” Max’s eyes are watery. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I can’t do this. I convinced myself I would feel better about things when I saw you tonight. That my doubts would disappear. But they haven’t. I’m sorry.”

  Doubts?

  “Hey, you two lovebirds,” Stella interrupts—her singsongy voice slicing through the air like a knife. “As your wedding planner, I think I speak for everyone when I say you have your whole lives to be alone together. It’s time to join the party and mingle!” She hands us each a glass of champagne and motions for us to step closer to her. “So”—she lowers her voice before continuing, “Aunt Kris is asking for a gin and tonic but we only have vodka—can we make an exception or should I tell her no?”

  “Make an exception,” I answer just as Max says, “Tell her no.”

  Stella frowns as she studies our faces, her wide eyes finally registering the tension. “I’ll figure it out,” she mumbles before heading toward the bar.

  I will myself to look directly into Max’s eyes as “Brass Monkey,” the first song on our iPod playlist, booms from the speakers. Behind him, I glimpse Jules and her children dancing in a circle, occupying the otherwise empty dance floor.

  I force a smile when I catch her eye, fighting the desire to wave her over, to make her tell me everything will be okay, that my life isn’t falling apart—not just in front of me, but in front of the people I love most. To have her shake Max by the shoulders and whisper just the right combination of words in his ear that will make him change his mind. And then, if that doesn’t work, pull back her fist and pop him in the mouth. Hard.

  Jules takes in my tight smile and gives me a curious look. “You okay?” she mouths from across the room. I nod and blow her a quick kiss to prove my point before turning back to Max.

  “God. Katie. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Do not call me that,” I say through gritted teeth, the sound of his nickname for me making me feel light-headed.

  “I didn’t mean to let it get this far.”

  “It’s our rehearsal dinner, Max. What the fuck? You’ve had over three hundred days to tell me you didn’t want to do this. And you choose now?”

  Max rubs his neck. “I know—I kept thinking maybe I was just nervous, like I was having—”

  Anger swells inside my chest as I remember Liam’s statement from earlier—that he thought I was the one who was nervous.

  “—wedding jitters? Cold feet?” I offer, my voice tight, scaring away an approaching waiter with a tray of shrimp, signaling it’s now seven o’clock. In just seventeen hours I am supposed to waltz down the aisle to meet Max in the ivory strapless gown with a gray bow at the waist that Jules and I had found at the very first boutique on my list. I feel sick when I think of how we’d shaken our heads when we noticed the All Sales Final sign posted next to the cash register. “Who brings back a wedding dress?” I had mocked, and the saleswoman had remained silent but gave me a knowing look. Maybe I had jinxed myself.

  Max stares at his shiny black loafers. “You have every right to be furious—to hate me, even. I want you to know this wasn’t an easy decision. I’ve been sick about it—”

  “So your mind is made up, then? That’s it?” I ask, cutting him off, feeling as if I’m watching a Lifetime movie of the week. Because this doesn’t happen in real life, does it? “I don’t even get a say in this?”

  His eyes well up with tears again. “I’m—” He doesn’t finish his sentence and takes a large drink of his champagne. “I’m sure,” he finally responds.

  Tears prick the backs of my eyes and I press my thumbs against them, hoping the pressure will stop the drops from escaping. “Why?” I finally choke after I’ve regained my composure.

  “It’s hard to explain. I mean, there’s a part of me that is freaking out right now, that can’t believe I’m doing this.” He loosens his pale pink tie.

  “Then don’t. Don’t do it, Max. Please,” I plead, hating the desperate tone in my voice. “We can fix whatever’s broken here.” I grab his hand in mine, feeling the knuckle of his bare ring finger. “We’ve invested so much.” I swallow hard, pushing away the image I’ve imagined for a year—the one where our eyes lock as I walk down the aisle, Max holding my gaze as I approach him, the goose bumps on my arm increasing with each step.

  “I’m sorry. As much as I hate that I’m doing this to you, hate that I’m doing it here, it’s still something that needs to be done.” He gives my hand one last squeeze before letting it fall and stepping back slightly, as if he’s already beginning to distance himself. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’m doing this for both of us. We shouldn’t be married.”

  His words hang in the air like a deflatin
g balloon, the finality of his statement cutting through my heart. Max was never one to make rash decisions, and as much I want to grab the lapel of his jacket, to pull him close and beg him not to go, that we could stay up all night talking it through, I knew there was no changing his mind tonight. Begging would get me nowhere.

  “How do we tell everyone?” I ask simply as my dad and Leslie wave from across the room, holding up their tropical drinks to toast us.

  Max furrows his brow, as if he doesn’t understand what I’m asking.

  “Well, you’re choosing to call off our wedding at our rehearsal dinner, so I’m assuming you’ve thought this through? You have a plan?” I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice, feeling like a doll with a pull cord uttering the lines programmed into me at the factory.

  Max shoves his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and shakes his head.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask again, still desperate to understand what I did that was so awful that he would end things this way. But at the same time, not wanting to know. Not here. Not like this. I struggled when my boss rejected one of my pitches or my mom questioned my wardrobe choices, so I’m pretty sure finding out the reason why my fiancé was so determined to leave me right at this moment would break me into a thousand pieces, like a finished jigsaw puzzle that’s been hurled onto the floor.

  “It’s not because I don’t love you, because I do—so much,” he continues, searching my face for a reaction. I stare at him blankly as I force my hands to stay frozen by my sides, not to reach out and pull him toward me like I so badly want to.

  “You Give Love a Bad Name” starts playing and Liam is now dancing behind Jules, with his hands on her hips. She throws her head back into his chest and laughs, having no clue that my whole life is about to change.

  I notice a clock shaped like a Tiki god hanging over the buffet table. In a few minutes, Max and I are scheduled to give our toast, thanking friends and family for coming. I shake my head as I remember the post I’d written on Facebook just that morning. That tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of my life—that I couldn’t wait to start living it with Max. To think that I had been planning the rest of our life together while Max was trying to drum up the confidence to dump me spikes an anger that begins to spread through me like wildfire.