The Status of All Things (26 page)

“I have to go back,” I say more to myself than to him, deciding that I still owed it to myself to see things through with Max.

“Then I have just one request,” he says, his voice low and scratchy. “Don’t tell me when you get there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me about coming back here, about what Max did to you the first time. About what I just confessed to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to know—I
won’t
want to know.” He stands up and starts to walk away, then stops himself and turns back abruptly. “Have you ever thought about why I haven’t gotten serious with anyone?”

I think of his last string of girlfriends: Daphne, Erica, Janie, or was it Jamie? Many of whom I’d never even met, but had, of course, heard about. After a month or two, he’d inevitably announce their departure, then tell me why it would’ve never worked. I’d listen as he explained why he’d broken things off with her—always wondering about the real reason he wasn’t settling down, guessing it was a commitment issue because of his absent father. But I never pried. I figured he’d eventually find the one who would rise above the rest and weed through the bullshit and ultimately get to his heart despite his greatest efforts to tuck it away. And all along that person was . . . “Me,” I hear myself say. “It was because of me? ” I ask, the words sounding strange as I say them out loud.

He rubs the stubble that’s lightly dotting his chin and nods slowly. “I compare them all to you,” he says quietly. And sud
denly, I flash back to that night in college Liam kissed me and I blew it off. Has he loved me since then?

“You really shouldn’t,” I say. “Clearly, I’ve got issues!”

“That’s just the way I like you,” he says, and we both laugh awkwardly. “Here’s the thing—the man you marry should find your
issues
endearing. The guy you spend your life with needs to understand you—needs to know you don’t come with a manual, but you’re pretty damn easy to figure out if he knows how to get inside your mind.” He raises his eyebrows. “He needs to accept that you can
and will
piss him off like there’s no tomorrow—especially when you are trying to make everything around you so damn perfect. But ironically, he should also realize that you have an incredible ability to make him feel like his imperfections are the best part of him.” He looks away for a moment and I don’t speak. I can’t speak—my throat is thick with tears as I absorb his words. He grabs my hands and pulls my face close to his. “Does Max get you? Does he know not to try to stop you when you are obsessing over taking the perfect photo or that you always think the book is better than the movie? Even
The Godfather
?” Liam shakes his head. “Does he know that short of your boss or your mother hiring a plane to pull one of those banners that says
KATE IS FUCKING AWESOME,
you will never be satisfied with what their opinion of you is? Does he know you might cry like a blubbering baby over something seemingly innocuous—like the series finale of
How I Met Your Mother—
and he should just let you? Does he know you hate running and only do it to impress him? Does he know how insanely smart you are? How beautiful? Does he even know the
real
you?”

I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly, processing his words, realizing they represent so much more than friendship. He really loves me. In a way I never realized was possible.

“I don’t know—I thought so, I think so . . .” I stammer.

“Because if he doesn’t, then that’s not true love. And you will both be settling.”

“And you are the expert because?” I ask, but I already know what he’s going to say.

“Because that’s how I feel about you—how you make me feel.”

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to warm myself from the chill running through me as I try to make sense of his confession. It was true, he knew me in a way that Max never had, but I wasn’t convinced that was reason enough to throw everything with Max away, not after all I’d done to repair our relationship. “I’ve come this far with Max. I need to see what happens with him,” I say, rubbing my hand along his arm to take the sting off my words.

He flinches slightly, but finally nods. “Can’t knock a man for trying, right?” He half laughs. “I guess you’ve dragged me to so many of those rom-coms that I got caught up. Who was I to think I could give you some big speech and you’d fall into my arms and say you felt the same way?”

“Liam.” I hold my hand out to him, but he doesn’t take it.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I love you, but I want you to be happy.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid the tears that are brimming behind them will spill over if I don’t, not wanting to think about what might or might not make me happy.

“But I meant what I said earlier—please don’t tell me any of this if you go back, especially not this conversation.” He looks down. “Kicked to the curb twice in the same night,” he says under his breath. “I just want to live my life like there’s no opportunity for second chances.”

“Okay,” I say, reaching for him again. This time he accepts me into his arms. I hug him tightly, not wanting to let go. He grips me hard, like he might not see me again, and I resist the urge to stay, knowing I need to get back to Max. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” he says, and sinks back down in his seat, picking up the bottle of tequila again.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, not sure if I’m apologizing for leaving or for not loving him back the way he wants me to.

“It’s okay—it’s all going to disappear soon anyway, right? None of it will matter.”

“It’s for the best. For everyone.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Kate,” I hear him say to my back as I walk away, into the lights of the party, gripping Max’s hand firmly when I find him, hoping our bond is just as strong.

• • •

“You want to talk about what happened tonight?” Max says as I crawl into bed later, and for a second I think he means Liam, but then I realize he’s talking about Courtney. I’d been quiet on the way home, my mind spinning like a tornado with the memory of Liam’s words and the visual of Max’s face when he saw Courtney, whipping around and around. I lay my head on the pillow, not wanting to talk, especially because it was all going to be pointless once I had made my wish.

“We just can’t seem to escape her,” Max says, and curves his body around mine, laying his arm over my waist and pulling me closer.

“No, we sure can’t,” I say softly.

“I’m here for the long haul,” he whispers into my ear.

His words comfort me—I can tell how much he wants to mean them. But is he staying because it’s the right thing to do,
or because he wants to spend the rest of his life with me? Last time, I’d been so caught up in the wedding planning that I’d made it easy for him to convince himself that my love had faded too, that he had been doing us both a favor by ending things before we were legally bound. But the difference this time is that I have fought like hell for it—but is the sentiment still the same? Should it be this hard?

“Me too,” I whisper, all at once terrified to go back in time and start over again, but even more scared to stay and try to make something out of the mess I’ve made here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The first time I saw my wedding dress, it didn’t look like much on the hanger. But I’d been drawn to it anyway—I’d loved the gray sash wrapped around the waist that tied into a bow in the back and the way the organza felt between my fingertips. I’d handed it to the sales associate and figured it would most likely be one of the dozens I’d end up rejecting, because, as Jules and I agreed on our way into the boutique, who finds
the dress
on the first day she starts looking? Between the anxiety of finding the gown
and the fact that my pear-shaped body didn’t cooperate with a lot of styles, I knew the odds were stacked against me. But when I’d stepped onto the platform in front of the three-way mirror, Jules walked up behind me and nodded her head, and we’d both started to cry before falling into a fit of giggles, because we were officially
those people
we’d made fun of so many times on those bridal reality shows.

As my mom and I walk into the boutique for my final fitting, my breath catches at the memory of being here for my final fitting last time, when I’d still been wearing my engagement like it was a neon sign above my head. I catch my reflection in one
of the large mirrors as I pass through the showroom and hardly recognize the look in my eyes this time.

I’m still not sure why I decided to come here, why I didn’t post the status that would send me back further in time after I got home last night. I had sat on the toilet in the bathroom, clutching my phone, unable to press my finger down, determining that I needed more time to figure out why, despite all of my efforts, Courtney and Max remained intertwined in each other’s lives. Maybe the only way to prevent them from falling in love would be for them to never meet—for me to go back in time to before I first introduced them. A twinge of concern tickles the back of my mind—would the universe have them meet another way if I didn’t facilitate it?

I had also thought that seeing myself in my wedding gown one more time, feeling the way the fabric swayed as I walked, memorizing the way it made me feel to pull it up around me, would help bring me clarity. But as I stood here now, I was unwilling to believe that my decisions didn’t hold any weight. What about free will? I imagined there were going to be some pretty pissed-off philosophers when they heard about this development—that some things may be predetermined, no matter how much we try to change them.

“I can’t wait to see you in your dress,” my mom says, her eyes brimming with tears as she watches a young redhead walk into the back room to retrieve my gown.

“Are you going to cry?” I ask, pulling her down beside me on a pale pink velvet-covered bench.

“Maybe just a little.” She smiles, blinking back the moistness in her eyes and hugging me tightly. “I’m just so happy for you. They say the day your little girl gets married is one of the best of your life.”

You didn’t get to enjoy it last time
, I think, recalling the look etched on her face as Max told everyone there wouldn’t be a wedding—the disappointment coupled with sadness had only added to the pain I was feeling.

“Here it is,” the redhead says cheerily, presenting it to me as if it’s one of those giant checks you receive when you’ve won the lottery. “You can try it on in there,” she says, and points to a white beveled door in the corner. “Champagne?” she asks, and my mom and I say yes in unison.

I grip the padded hanger tightly, holding the dress up so the bottom of it doesn’t brush the floor. I close the dressing room door and hang it on a hook on the wall, the emotions of the morning after the rehearsal dinner rushing through me in a violent wave. As I pull the zipper down to remove the dress, the sound takes me back to the moment Jules sealed my gown inside its garment bag and called the concierge, agreeing to pay God only knows what to have it shipped to her house so I’d never have to lay eyes on it again.

I push the memory aside and step into the dress, calling for the salesgirl to help close it in the back before walking backward, away from the mirror. “It’s still amazing,” I say more to myself than to her, but she nods excitedly in agreement as she helps me slip my feet into the heels I bought.

“Oh my God,” my mom says as she’s drinking her champagne, nearly spitting it out as she chokes a little on her words. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say as I step onto the platform and twirl around, admiring the dress from the back, then catching my mom’s reflection in the mirror, the tears she promised now spilling down her cheeks. As I watch her watching me, mine glisten too, imagining my future daughter one day doing the same, say
ing a silent prayer that her heart will be sure as she spins on her platform, that she’ll choose a man worthy of her. That she’ll get it right the first time.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“You seem really happy.”

“Of course I’m happy for you, honey.”

“No, I mean there’s something about you that’s different. Lately, you seem—”

“—lighter?” my mom offers.

“Exactly.” I smile, thinking of the man she’s been dating. “Is it Bill?”

“Oh, no, I told him we can’t see each other anymore.”

“What?” I knot my forehead. “Why? I thought things were going so well.”

“They were, but we, well
I,
quickly realized that we didn’t have a damn thing in common other than living next door to each other,” she says with a laugh. “You know about the only things he likes to do are grill out in the backyard and tinker with that old Chevy in his garage? I’d die from boredom!”

I study her face for a moment. “So then why are you so happy?”

“Because dating him was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

“But it didn’t work out,” I say, taking a careful sip of my champagne as I hold the flute away from my body, curious for her answer.

“I don’t know how to explain it exactly,” my mom says, holding out her glass so the associate can fill it again. “I feel like a huge weight has been lifted, because even though he wasn’t the one, I had a great time figuring out he wasn’t. It gave me hope that the right guy for me might be out there.”
She walks over and stands next to me in front of the mirror, putting her arm around my waist. “I think I’m ready to finally move on.”

“Really?” I ask.

My mom nods before answering. “I was devastated when your dad left. And I worried for a long time how it would affect you.”

“Me?”

“I guess I didn’t want you to fear marriage because ours had failed.”

“I don’t, I mean I never did. Sometimes people just outgrow each other,” I say, wondering about my own relationship with Max, wondering if we’d outgrown each other and not even noticed.

“Anyway, it took me a long time to figure out who I was without your dad. Even longer to actually
like
the person I was without him.” She laughs awkwardly.

I shiver, goose bumps covering my bare shoulders and arms. I’d said similar words to Liam last night.

“Maybe my only daughter getting married has made me really think about my own life, but I’m starting to lament spending so much of my time focusing on my regrets,” my mom adds as she takes another sip of her champagne.

“I’m really happy for you,” I say, still shocked that I’m finally hearing the words I’ve been waiting for her to say.

She puts her arm around me and we stare at each other in the mirrored wall in front of us. “Now this doesn’t mean that I’m going to be Facebook friends with your dad and—”

“—the wife?”

“Leslie,” my mom says slowly, and I give her a short smile. “It’s time for me to finally let go of what could have been.”

“What could have been?”

“I think I was so stuck on what life could have been like if your dad hadn’t left—all the things we would’ve done together, so bitter that he was doing those things with someone else—that I really wasn’t living.”

“Wow,” is all I say, happy for my mom’s breakthrough, but sad thinking about all the years she lost.

“I know, right?” she says as she points at herself. “I’ve been putting all this time and effort into keeping this body fabulous and then not even using it!” She laughs as I cringe, the thought of her being sexual with someone making me want to gag. “The point is,” she continues, “even I know when it’s time to give up and move on to something better.”

I walk back to the dressing room, replaying my mom’s words. Of course she picks today to finally decide to start living her life again. I debate whether it would be selfish for me to go back now, knowing she might not have the same realizations next time. As I step out of my dress, it feels heavier this time, like a weight bearing down on me—the understanding that there were more lives than my own hanging in the balance.

• • •

“Welcome to Starbucks,” a peppy, fresh-faced girl greets my mom and me. We’ve decided to stop for a coffee before I drive her home, our heads still buzzing slightly from the champagne.

After we order, we’re making our way to a table in the corner when I think I see a familiar face. Before I can get the words out of my mouth, my mom cuts me off, “Isn’t that Callie, your old college roommate?” She scrunches up her nose as if trying to decide.

“I think.” I study her as she stands in line, rubbing her protruding belly as her two children demand cake pops and Cotton
Candy Frappuccinos. Through gritted teeth, she barks, “For the fiftieth time, the answer is
no
,” the lines around her eyes deepening as she says it. But her kids’ begging is relentless, and when they reach the cash register, Callie finally gives in, mumbling something about how they should just take all the money in her wallet and buy whatever they want because they always do anyway.

She leans on the counter as her children feast on their treats, her younger one dropping the cake pop on the floor before picking it up and shoving it furiously into her mouth, Callie just shaking her head in defeat as she attempts to wipe the face of her son, who pulls away dramatically. Callie finally looks up and catches me watching her, her pale cheeks reddening as she recognizes me, me hoping my thoughts aren’t written across my face. These kids look nothing like the little angels I’d seen on Facebook last week, running down the beach holding hands.

“Callie?” I say hesitantly as I advance toward her. She gives me a weak smile as she nods and pulls me in for a hug, holding it for a beat too long.

But when she steps back, she’s recovered, grinning widely and making jokes about her kids being obsessed with sugar because she
never
gives it to them
normally
. I am amazed how quickly she has transformed from a normal tired mom with unruly kids into her Facebook persona. That even here, in real life, she feels like she can’t show me, an old friend, her true self.

It had been so long since we’d shared a dorm room, so many years since we’d even had a live conversation, that it didn’t feel right for me to tell her that it was okay, that she could bitch at her kids and I wasn’t going to judge her. I knew she’d never understand how, after everything I’d been through, seeing her act
like a human being made me like her so much more. So instead I tell her what I hope she needs to hear, that she looks beautiful and her kids are adorable, as she politely shuffles her brood out the door, mentioning something about a birthday party at the trampoline place down the street.

“Whew!” my mom sighs after Callie is gone. “She really has her hands full with those two. The exact reason why I only had one.” She laughs.

“It was really good to see her,” I say as we sit down.

“I’m not sure she’d say the same about seeing you—she seemed pretty embarrassed. Almost like she wanted to crawl under the table when she saw you watching her.”

“I know,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee, thinking about how I would’ve felt if I had run into her in Starbucks the morning after I got back from Maui, when I felt like a shell of myself. I probably would have reacted the same way she did, assuming she was going to judge that I had come so undone, that I had fallen so far from where I thought I’d be. Not unlike Callie, I had often spent a fair amount of time manipulating the way others saw me on Facebook. Now I wondered if we’d both be a lot happier if we spent more time cultivating relationships with the people right in front of us.

• • •

The smell of garlic envelops me when I walk in the front door. I slip off my shoes and follow it into the kitchen, where I find Max opening a bottle of red wine. “What’s all this?” I ask as I look around, the table set, a pot of something that smells delicious simmering on the stovetop, chopped tomatoes, basil, and garlic on the cutting board for his signature bruschetta.

“Do I need a reason?” He smiles and kisses me.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting—”

“Exactly why I did it. I knew you probably didn’t eat today because you were with your mom . . .” He pauses and I nod my head to let him know he’s right. “And I thought I’d surprise you with your favorite—eggplant Parmesan and bruschetta.”

“Thank you,” I say, happily accepting a piece of bread from him. I take a bite and close my eyes as it melts in my mouth.