Read Online The Status of All Things by Liz Fenton, Lisa Steinke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Fenton, Lisa Steinke
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you’re my only girlfriend. One I plan to marry in a month.”
The room starts to spin and I grab the edge of the dresser to steady myself. Had it all just been a terrible nightmare?
“That’s not possible. It’s already July 1.”
“Okay, now you’re really scaring me . . .” Max inches closer, his plaid pajama pants hanging loose around his waist, exposing his tight abdomen, and I picture Courtney running her hands over it. Then I imagine cutting her hands off with the ginormous twelve-inch chef’s knife we had registered for at my insistence.
I shudder and yank one of his white T-shirts out of the drawer and throw it at him. “Could you please put this on? I can’t think.”
He pulls the cotton V-neck over his head. “There— now will you listen to me?” He eyes me cautiously. “Look at your finger. You’re still wearing your ring.”
That proves nothing. I still wore it after you left me.
I stare at the diamond for a moment. “This doesn’t prove anything. You need to do better than that to convince me that we’re still engaged,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
Max grabs his phone off the nightstand, drops it on the floor, and kicks it over to me, probably afraid I’ll start foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “Check the date. It’s June 1.”
I feel his eyes on me as I inspect his phone. The date does say June 1. I quickly check his texts—there are ones that I’d sent him thirty days ago, the last asking if he’d pick up orange chicken from our favorite Chinese place on his way home. “How did you do this?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Change the date on your phone. Delete all my other texts from the month of June. Was it Rafael? Did you put him up to this?” I ask, referring to his best man, who is an IT expert. “And if so, why? It makes no sense why you would go to these lengths to get back together with me. You made it clear how you felt.”
Max takes a deep breath. “Katie, I swear, I have no idea what you are talking about. Is the stress from the wedding getting to you? Is that what’s going on?”
I race down the stairs without answering him.
Where had all the wedding presents gone? The ones that had just been piled in the corner under the blanket Jules had tossed on top of them.
“Max!” I yell. “What did you do with the wedding gifts? Theywere right here,” I say as I stand in the empty space where they’d been. “We need to send them back!”
Max comes to the top of the stairs. “What presents? You were just saying yesterday that you were surprised none had arrived yet.”
I press my eyes shut. “Max, I have no idea why you’re doing this,” I say as he slowly descends the staircase, his hand making a squeaking sound as he slides it down the wrought iron railing. “Listen, the jig is up!” I tug the handle on the refrigerator door, expecting to find only half a bottle of chardonnay and a tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. But the shelves are stocked and right smack in front is the Styrofoam carton from Chin’s. The same container full of orange chicken that we’d eaten thirty days ago. Or last night, depending on whom you asked.
“What the hell?” I say as I open the lid and smell the chicken, the aroma still fresh.
“My sentiments exactly!” Max walks up and pulls me into his chest, and I drink in his familiar scent.
It must have all been a nightmare . Thank God.
“Seriously, babe. Are you okay? Do you need to go back to sleep?”
“No,” I say, and pull Max closer. “I’m perfect.” I give him a deep kiss, letting the heartache drift from my body as we touch lips. “I just had a really bad nightmare.”
“Obviously!” He blinks several times as if trying to reason away my strange behavior. He flashes his uneven grin, reminding me of the selfie I’d deleted off my computer. Or thought I’d erased. Or thought I had taken in the first place. I’m losing it.
I think back to the look in Max’s eyes when he
The room starts to spin and I grab the edge of the dresser to steady myself. Had it all just been a terrible nightmare?
“That’s not possible. It’s already July 1.”
“Okay, now you’re really scaring me . . .” Max inches closer, his plaid pajama pants hanging loose around his waist, exposing his tight abdomen, and I picture Courtney running her hands over it. Then I imagine cutting her hands off with the ginormous twelve-inch chef’s knife we had registered for at my insistence.
I shudder and yank one of his white T-shirts out of the drawer and throw it at him. “Could you please put this on? I can’t think.”
He pulls the cotton V-neck over his head. “There— now will you listen to me?” He eyes me cautiously. “Look at your finger. You’re still wearing your ring.”
That proves nothing. I still wore it after you left me.
I stare at the diamond for a moment. “This doesn’t prove anything. You need to do better than that to convince me that we’re still engaged,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
Max grabs his phone off the nightstand, drops it on the floor, and kicks it over to me, probably afraid I’ll start foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “Check the date. It’s June 1.”
I feel his eyes on me as I inspect his phone. The date does say June 1. I quickly check his texts—there are ones that I’d sent him thirty days ago, the last asking if he’d pick up orange chicken from our favorite Chinese place on his way home. “How did you do this?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Change the date on your phone. Delete all my other texts from the month of June. Was it Rafael? Did you put him up to this?” I ask, referring to his best man, who is an IT expert. “And if so, why? It makes no sense why you would go to these lengths to get back together with me. You made it clear how you felt.”
Max takes a deep breath. “Katie, I swear, I have no idea what you are talking about. Is the stress from the wedding getting to you? Is that what’s going on?”
I race down the stairs without answering him.
Where had all the wedding presents gone? The ones that had just been piled in the corner under the blanket Jules had tossed on top of them.
“Max!” I yell. “What did you do with the wedding gifts? Theywere right here,” I say as I stand in the empty space where they’d been. “We need to send them back!”
Max comes to the top of the stairs. “What presents? You were just saying yesterday that you were surprised none had arrived yet.”
I press my eyes shut. “Max, I have no idea why you’re doing this,” I say as he slowly descends the staircase, his hand making a squeaking sound as he slides it down the wrought iron railing. “Listen, the jig is up!” I tug the handle on the refrigerator door, expecting to find only half a bottle of chardonnay and a tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. But the shelves are stocked and right smack in front is the Styrofoam carton from Chin’s. The same container full of orange chicken that we’d eaten thirty days ago. Or last night, depending on whom you asked.
“What the hell?” I say as I open the lid and smell the chicken, the aroma still fresh.
“My sentiments exactly!” Max walks up and pulls me into his chest, and I drink in his familiar scent.
It must have all been a nightmare . Thank God.
“Seriously, babe. Are you okay? Do you need to go back to sleep?”
“No,” I say, and pull Max closer. “I’m perfect.” I give him a deep kiss, letting the heartache drift from my body as we touch lips. “I just had a really bad nightmare.”
“Obviously!” He blinks several times as if trying to reason away my strange behavior. He flashes his uneven grin, reminding me of the selfie I’d deleted off my computer. Or thought I’d erased. Or thought I had taken in the first place. I’m losing it.
I think back to the look in Max’s eyes when he
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