Kate,
Everything with you has always been so easy. From the night we met, I’ve known our relationship was special, that you were different. When I look into your eyes I know we have the solid foundation we need to stand the test of time—that we will go as far as we want in life, that we can do anything together. There’s a comfort in knowing I can count on you, I can count on us. That we can go the distance—that we’re built to last.
I love you more than words can say.
I set the notebook back in the bottom drawer of his desk, his words stinging my heart, even though I’m not sure what I had been expecting. Max has never been the most romantic guy, always choosing to let Hallmark do the talking for him on special occasions, his name signed firmly at the bottom of the card. And it’s not like what he’d written was terrible, but it had felt like reading one of those greeting cards—with all the right things printed inside of them, but they were not his words. I had always been confident that he loved me, and had come to accept that like many men, he struggled with translating his feelings onto paper. But as I’d read his vows, I wish he could’ve dug a little deeper just this once, could’ve tried to come up with something that was intimate between us, that didn’t feel so generic. Unless this was the best he could do—saying he was comfortable, that we were built to last. Making me sound more like a Subaru than his future wife.
? ? ?
With the vows imprinted in my mind like a message written across the sky, I’d tried to concentrate on finding Max’s keys. I’d tossed the couch cushions, searched the laundry hamper, and even checked the freezer, but still couldn’t locate them, finally giving up and calling a cab. I knew the keys were probably dangling right in front of me, but I was too distracted. I was bothered, not just because the vows felt stiff, but because I wasn’t sure I could do a better job with my own. Max didn’t know this, but on the night of our rehearsal dinner, my vows still weren’t written. I’d spent months thinking about what I should say, but I couldn’t decide what combination of words would properly encapsulate us. And now I wonder if there was a deeper reason why the pages in my own journal had remained blank. Did I not have the right words because we weren’t right?
The yellow taxi pulls up and I slip into the backseat. The driver swivels her head around and smiles at me, revealing the familiar gap between her teeth. “Where to, Kate?”
“It’s you,” I say as one of her toffee-colored curls slips out from under her tweed driving cap. I quickly recover from the surprise of seeing her. “I’m meeting my mom at Grub on Seward Street for breakfast.”
“Sounds good,” she says, and makes a U-turn.
“I’m so glad you’re here—I have a million questions I want to ask you!” I exclaim.
“You can ask one.”
“Just one?” I whine.
I meet Ruby’s eyes in the rearview mirror and she narrows them at me. “Fine,” I concede.
As I take several minutes to collect my thoughts, staring out the window at the 10 freeway, I realize there’s only one issue that’s been pressing on my mind. “Why do my wishes keep pushing Max and Courtney closer together instead of driving them apart?” I ask, my heart thudding as I wait for the answer. I have my own theories, but I pray that none of them are right.
Ruby pulls the taxi to a stop in front of Grub and shifts her body toward the backseat. “Fate’s a lot like Mother Nature. Sometimes you just can’t mess with it.”
“So are you saying I can’t use this power to get Max back—my life back?” I ask.
“That’s another question.” Ruby looks at me sympathetically.
“Please,” I plead as I grip the back of her seat. “I can’t keep fighting if I know it won’t change anything.”
Ruby holds my gaze for a minute before answering, ignoring the person in the brightly colored wrap dress standing impatiently outside my door, waiting to get in. “You do have the power to change things, but not everything is as simple as you want it to be. Just have a little faith.” She reaches over and puts her hand over mine. “Now, please, get out before this person loses her mind.” She laughs as the woman throws up her hands in frustration.
Still in a daze from Ruby’s cryptic message, I find my mom sitting at a small table in the back of the restaurant, her face glowing from her day spent at the spa yesterday. I’d cringed when I’d read her post on Facebook:
My masseur didn’t believe my real age. I had to show him my ID! Talk about happy ending for me! Wink, wink!
She’d posted a picture she’d taken of herself clad only in a white cotton towel with her arm flung around the man who’d just massaged her.