The Status of All Things: A Novel Read online

  “Really?” He squints at me.

  “Really,” I say firmly. If buying some linen pants and burying a pig in the ground is going to get my man back, then so be it.

  • • •

  I nearly collide with the UPS deliverywoman later that morning as I’m rushing out the front door, digging through my cluttered purse for my sunglasses, worried I’ll be late for my meeting with Magda. I bend down to pick up the boxes that dropped and read the Williams-Sonoma return label. Our wedding gifts are arriving. Our eyes meet as I stand back up and I realize she looks familiar, her caramel-colored curls sparking a memory as they glisten in the morning sunlight. But I’m sure she’s never delivered anything here before. “Tom out sick?” I ask, still trying to place her face.

  “Something like that,” she answers cryptically as she readjusts the packages in her hand.

  “Wait! I know. You work at Starbucks, right? Remember me?”

  She tips her chin toward me. “How could I forget that loud sigh of yours, Kate?”

  Something about the way she says my name makes me pause as I awkwardly hold an unusually heavy box to my chest—could it be the ice cream maker I couldn’t wait to try out? Finally, she adds, “In fact, not only did I make you a kick-ass latte, I also gave you the power to change your life.”

  I take a step back and stumble over a Macy’s box I hadn’t seen resting at my feet, the stranger grabbing my elbow before I fall. “H-how . . .” I stammer. “. . . how do you know about that?” I whisper, glancing back toward my front door, not wanting Max to overhear us. Knowing I’ll never be able to come up with a believable story to explain why I’m in a heated discussion with the UPS driver.

  She smiles, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. “You’ve just found the person who holds the key to all the questions you have, and that’s what you want to ask me?” She leans her head back and laughs before glancing at her watch and heading back toward her truck.

  “Hold on!” I cry. “I have a better one. Why me?”

  “You needed help,” she says simply as she hops behind the wheel and begins to buckle her seat belt, extending a handheld computer toward me. “I’m going to need you to sign for those right here.” She winks.

  I scrawl my signature. “Why do some come true and not others?”

  She smiles sweetly. “You want to bring peace to the world?”

  I nod.

  “One thing you must understand, Kate. All wishes must lead back to you and your journey. So no wishing for the cure for cancer or for the end of poverty, even though that would be nice,” she says, and turns the ignition, which comes alive loudly. “And remember, every choice has a consequence,” she calls out over the engine. “So be careful.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “You’ll see,” she says cryptically as she taps her watch. “Gotta run. These packages won’t deliver themselves!”

  “Wait,” I ask, feeling desperate for her to stay a few minutes longer. “What’s your name? And how will I find you again?”

  “I’m Ruby. Don’t worry, I’ll track you down,” she says right before pulling away from the curb, the exhaust choking me as she speeds down the street.

  • • •

  “Come in and shut the door,” Magda says as soon as I arrive at the office, still reeling from my run-in with Ruby.

  “Good morning,” I say, and smile. “I love your necklace,” I lie, the large baubles looking far too big around her birdlike neck. But flattery goes a long way with Magda.

  “Thank you,” she says briskly, and then waves me toward a white leather chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

  “What’s up?” I ask casually while wiping my wet hands on the cushion, wondering why she called me at home to ask me to meet her, praying she’s just going to unleash one of her usual rants, like I’d used the wrong font in an ad or she hadn’t liked the outfit a model had been wearing in the proofs she’d seen.

  “I’m having a lot of problems with Courtney’s work,” Magda says plainly, and I hold my breath as she rattles off a series of mistakes she thinks Courtney’s made. She tells me she woke up that morning with a change of heart about Courtney’s attention to detail and work ethic. Everything Magda says sounds nothing like the Courtney I’ve worked with for five years—who may be the kind of woman who would steal your fiancé, but at work, always played by the rules. She worked hard to make sure every I was dotted and every T was crossed.

  My first instinct is to defend her, but I remind myself that I wished for this. And maybe struggling at work was just what Courtney needed. She’d been spending far too much time focusing her attention on Max and needed to pour more of herself into her job. And if there was one thing that would capture Courtney’s full attention, it would be attempting to please Magda.

  I nod as Magda tells me she’s going to call Courtney in next and tell her how disappointed she is and shift her responsibilities until she feels she’s worthy of managing an important client again.

  “So you’re talking to me before her?” I ask. “Why?”

  “Because I need you to take over Calvin Klein.”

  I swallow hard. Courtney had been working on landing that account for almost a year. She’d wined and dined them until they’d finally signed on. This would devastate her, and possibly them. They adored her. The part of me who understands how hard this job is, who gets just how important it is to have an account like Calvin Klein on your résumé, starts to protest. But I think of Max—how Courtney had pretended to be my friend until the very end, even texting me the day of the rehearsal dinner to tell me she couldn’t wait to see me. Even when she knew what was about to happen. No, she doesn’t deserve my sympathy. Maybe it was time for her to lose something she loved too.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Oops I did it again. #MaybeBritneywasontosomething

  I hurry into my office and close the door tightly behind me, anxious about crossing paths with Courtney, not sure what I’ll say when I see her. Um, sorry, I wished you a demotion didn’t exactly top the list. Despite what she’d done to me, I didn’t love myself for stooping to her level. Jules kept reminding me of the old adage, an eye for an eye, but I’d never operated that way—preferring to take my grandmother’s advice and always choose the high road. Until now. Presently, I am driving 150 miles per hour down the low road.

  I kick off the heels that are already cutting into the flesh across my toes, making a mental note to make a wish for gorgeous four-inch stilettos that never hurt, telling myself there’s nothing frivolous about a woman wanting comfortable and sexy footwear. As I start to dig into the mound of work that’s piled high on my desk, my computer dings with an email from my mom. I flinch when I see her name, wondering what she could possibly want after our marathon chat on my way to work this morning. Although, in her defense, she might have been able to tell I was only half listening. My mind was swirling with questions I still had for the only person who seemed to hold the keys to unlocking this mystery of why some wishes came true while others didn’t.

  My mom had called on my way to the office and I’d picked up without thinking, my shoulders tensing when I heard her voice. Not that I didn’t want to talk to her, but it wasn’t a conversation I was prepared to have this morning. She’d already left me a half dozen messages in just two days, and before I could even get the words how are you? out of my mouth, she launched into a tirade about everything from not wanting to stay on the same floor of the hotel as my dad and the wife to wondering what they were getting me as a wedding gift—hoping they weren’t going off registry, which would be so like her.

  As I’d listened to my mom rambling on, I knew she was just working through the stress she was feeling about spending several days around the very people she’d spent years avoiding. Even though I knew weddings often brought out just as much family drama as joy, I needed her to stop. Because the more
I listened to her rants, the more I was starting to worry about my own future with Max. Even if I were able to fix things with him, would he still eventually leave like my dad did? And then would I spend years being resentful that I hadn’t moved on after I discovered he had doubts about us?

  To my relief, my mom’s email turns out to be a link to several mother-of-the-bride outfits she’s considering and I quickly click through them and select my favorite, and write back that we should get together for breakfast soon. Deciding that when I see her I’ll delicately broach the subject of dating. She needs a man.

  An hour later, I’ve barely made a dent in the stack of press releases that need to be approved when my cell phone buzzes with a text message from Liam.

  Thai tonight?

  I write back without hesitation:

  Absolutely!

  Then I fire off another:

  Our usual place?

  Yes! 6:00?

  Perfect! Craving spicy noodle soup and Thai Elvis!

  I laugh to myself as I send off the last text, thinking of the Elvis impersonator who performs at our favorite Thai place, knowing I can count on his solid rendition of “Hound Dog” to bring some levity to my day.

  As I’m humming the tune to myself, there’s a knock and I stiffen. “Come in,” I say, already knowing it’s her.

  “Hey,” Courtney says, pushing the door open, her eyes wet with tears.

  “Hey,” I echo, trying to steady my shaky voice.

  “So I guess this is all yours now.” She hauls a large cardboard box across the room and drops it in front of my desk. I flinch when it hits the floor.

  “I don’t know what to say—” I start.

  “Do you have any idea why she’s doing this to me?” She slumps down on my sofa. But before I can respond, she keeps going. “Because it feels so out of nowhere. She’s saying that I’ve been dropping the ball and making mistakes, and when I asked for examples, she gave me dozens. But, Kate, I don’t remember doing any of the things she’s accusing me of!” Her eyes fill with tears again.

  “You know Magda, she gets her mind set on something and it’s hard to change it. She’ll come around,” I say, trying to stick to truthful statements. Hating to lie any more than I already have.

  “Can you even handle all this with the wedding coming up? There’s a lot going on with Calvin Klein.”

  Fortunately, I’ve already lived this month. I know about the embarrassing typo we miss on that vineyard’s press release; I have a plan for how to correct the major faux pas we make with the powers that be at Whole Foods; and I am going to avoid Magda’s meltdown by not letting us screw up the pitch for the up-and-coming vodka brand like we did last time around.

  I nod. “So what will you be doing now?”

  “Filing, photocopying, and answering phones! She’s treating me like an intern. Why doesn’t she just fire me?”

  Because I didn’t have the balls to wish for that.

  “Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing to get back to basics,” I offer. Because I need you spending time in the copy room, not with my fiancé.

  “Maybe.” She doesn’t continue her thought, and I see that familiar sparkle in her eye—the one she gets when she’s considering an opinion that’s not her own. It’s a quality that’s helped her secure more than one client as she compromises without losing the upper hand. It’s also a characteristic I’ve been envious of—I could often be shortsighted and stubborn. “I guess I could use a little downtime. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

  “Oh? Anything you want to talk about?” I ask lightly.

  “No, but thank you.” She frowns and strides toward the door, somehow looking even longer and leaner with her new haircut.

  “Because I’m always here for you if you need me,” I call after her, wondering if she catches that I’m using her own words to Max.

  • • •

  I walk into Palms Thai a few minutes before six and immediately spot Liam sitting at one of the long wood tables in the back. He holds up a bottle of Singha and smiles and I practically run across the restaurant, both excited to see him and eager for a drink after what feels like the longest day of my life. I slide into the chair next to him without speaking and lay my head against his shoulder as he wraps his arm around me.

  “Hi,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

  “Hi,” I say back and chug half of his beer.

  “Rough day?” He smiles, signaling to the waitress that we’d like two more.

  “You have no idea,” I say with a sigh.

  “What’s going on? You look like hell!”

  “Thanks?” I laugh and pick up the menu, Liam watching me with amusement in his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me,” he says, leaning forward.

  “I’m going to need a beer and a fried wonton first,” I say as a server passes by with a tray full of barbecued chicken and pad thai, the rich smells making my stomach rumble.

  After we order our appetizers, Liam tells me that he just started dating a new girl, a brunette with “legs for days,” he says as he stretches out his arms and I picture the woman he brought to my wedding.

  “Pouty lips, porcelain skin, tiny waist,” I murmur.

  “How did you know that? You haven’t met her.” He furrows his brow.

  “I have—Angie, right? Nice girl, doesn’t say much though. You brought her to my wedding.”

  “What are you talking about? You aren’t married yet.”

  “Well, that part is true. In fact, I don’t get married at all. Well, not the first time around anyway,” I say after the waitress delivers our wontons and beers. I grab a wonton and dip it in sweet-and-sour sauce as Liam frowns at me.

  “Okay, you’re going to have to speak a little bit slower for this country boy because I’m not following what you’re saying,” he says in a mock southern drawl.

  “It’s all part of the story you’ll never believe.” I take a drink of my beer.

  “Okay. This is getting weird. Start talking.” He points to my mouth as I’m swallowing another bite.

  After I tell him the whole story, he stares at me for a full minute before finally speaking.

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No—and believe me, I wish I were,” I say as the Elvis impersonator swaggers onto the stage in his tight rhinestone-encrusted white jumpsuit.

  “Does Jules know?”

  I nod my head.

  “And?”

  “She believes me,” I say as I pop the last fried wonton into my mouth. “Well, she might have been a bit doubtful at first, but then I wished her a makeover and, well, have you seen her?”

  “But Jules did not need a makeover,” Liam says protectively.

  “I agree! And it wasn’t anything major. But there are certain things that need a little firming up after you have kids.” I smile.

  “Would you stop with this! She’s like my sister—I don’t want to think about her naked!” Liam presses his eyes shut as if he’s trying to block out the mental image this is giving him.

  My mind drifts back to a night in college when Liam and I had stumbled home from a party. He’d been walking me back to my dorm and I’d tripped. He’d tried to grab my arm and we’d both nearly fallen into some rosebushes near the student center. In a romantic comedy–like moment, we’d drunkenly looked into each other’s eyes and he’d leaned in to kiss me. “Stop! You’re like a brother to me, silly!” I’d said, giving him a fun-loving swat against his chest.

  “I know how you can convince me this is real!” he says now, still looking almost exactly like he did in college, a mop of brown hair that’s always in need of a cut, with just a few more lines around his eyes. “How about telling me tomorrow’s winning Powerball numbers. Or better yet, who wins the NBA finals? I’ll put some money on it.”<
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  As I stare at the doubtful look on his face, I begin to deflate, my shoulders sagging as I realize that Liam, a skeptic who is always the first to punch a hole in any story, wasn’t going to be as easily convinced as Jules. “Forget it. I’ll just let you see for yourself when he leaves me at the rehearsal dinner,” I say, my cheeks damp with the tears I didn’t realize were waiting to fall. I take the back of my hand and wipe them away, but they keep coming.

  “Hey, don’t cry. It’s okay. Just swear on Thai Elvis and I’m in.” His lips start to curl into a smile and I know we’re both thinking of the last time we were here, when Elvis pulled me on stage and made me sing a line of “Jailhouse Rock,” Liam laughing so hard he’d spit out his beer.

  “You’re tough,” I say as I hold up my hand. “Fine. I swear on his blue suede shoes.”

  He reaches over and hugs me. “I can’t believe Max would do that to you. What a prick,” he says.

  “That’s what you said after it happened. You were so pissed at him!” I say into his chest, and he looks at me as if he wants to say more, but doesn’t. “So do you really believe me?”

  He exhales deeply. “I believe that you believe it,” he says carefully, keeping a solid grip around me.

  I pull my head back. “I can prove it.”

  Liam shakes his head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  But I did. Liam had always been my rock—he’d always understood me without explanation or justification. I couldn’t go through this month with him just humoring me, bobbing his head up and down when I needed his support, but rolling his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking. I wanted him to be all in like Jules. I pulled my phone out of my purse. “So this new girl, Angie? You into her?”

  He takes a beat before responding. “She’s okay. For now,” he says before leaning in. “But she doesn’t appreciate fine dining establishments like this one,” he says sarcastically, clinking his beer bottle against mine. “And that may turn out to be a deal breaker.”

  I shake my head. Typical Liam. Each girl he dated was just one minor fault away from being dumped. There was Andrea who liked cats but not dogs. Then there was Emily who liked dogs but not cats. And who could forget Hailey, who was allergic to both. I had begun to think Liam was allergic to serious relationships. And often wondered why he really was so hesitant to let himself fall in love.