Read The Status of All Things for Free Online

to meanymore? I glance at my reflection in the microwave and cringe. From the way I look right now, I can’t say I blame him.
    He’d texted me several times since the rehearsal dinner, saying we needed to get together to figure things out—my hope rising each time his name appeared on the screen, only to fall again when I realized all he wanted was to settle things and move on. While sitting on the tarmac as I waited for the flight back to LA to take off, I absorbed the plush West Maui mountain range, the same one that Max and I had planned to take a helicopter ride over before departing for Lanai, and had finally written back and asked him what “things” he was referring to, my heart sitting in the base of my throat as I waited for his response, hopeful that he meant us , but knowing better. He’d texted me a list that had nearly made me double over in pain: the condo, the checking account, the credit cards .
    As I’d watched the wing of our plane start to move down the runway, my sobs rippling in the back of my throat like a hot spring, images of the honeymoon plans that would now never become real force themselves upon me: snorkeling on Molokini, hiking to Sweetheart Rock in Puu Pehe, and getting the couples’ massage Max had insisted on booking for us. I’d made a bad Bachelor joke when he’d suggested it, but as we ascended into the blue, cloudless sky and the island of Maui became nothing more than a speck of green in the vast Pacific Ocean beneath us, I would’ve done anything to be side by side with him on those massage tables.
    I’d thrust my phone at Jules to show her the text from Max and she’d unbuckled her seat belt and wrapped her arms around me tightly, despite the warning look from the flight attendant. “How could he be so businesslike about this?” I’d sobbed into her neck.
    Jules shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand him at all right now. I thought I knew him better than this.”
    “So did I—”
    We’d sat in silence, both of us taking inventory of our memories of Max. I wondered what had become of the man I could always count on—the guy who once drove an hour round-trip to get me the only chicken noodle soup that sounded good when I had the flu, never questioning me when I told him it was something about the texture of the noodles and the taste of the broth. And doing it again a few months later, this time without even asking, when I’d been sick again. Where had the man gone that would always reach across and grab my hand while we lay in bed, folding it back over his chest and kissing each finger as I drifted off to sleep? And where was the guy who’d made my mom laugh so hard she’d cried the first time she’d met him, when he’d told her the story of how, after spending two months abroad in college, he’d excitedly hugged the wrong girl from behind at the airport, thinking it was his girlfriend. “Let’s just say my jokes about them both having a very nice ass didn’t go well.” As my mom dabbed at her eyes, he’d smiled and squeezed my hand, knowing how much her approval meant to me.
    “Do you want me to handle things with him when we get back—tell him you need some space and aren’t ready to talk yet?” Jules said, breaking the silence. She looked down for a moment and I followed her gaze, noticing an airsickness bag that had fallen from the seat-back pocket. My stomach lurched as we hit a patch of turbulence and I contemplated picking it up. Finally she looked at me again. “I just feel so bad about this, like somehow I’m responsible.”
    “Because you introduced us?” I frowned.
    Jules nodded.
    “Just because you pushed us together on the dance floor at Deb and Eddie’s wedding after you’d had one too many sangrias does not mean this is your fault,” I’d sputtered through my tears, suddenly back to that night, seeing Jules’ eyes brighten when she spotted Max—whom she’d befriended after he’d hosted his mom’s surprise