The Yes Factor Read online

  I gently scoop water over my arms and the leftover mud swirls away to join a trail of blood. A faint ribbon of red, dissolving in the hot bath water. My period. At least it didn’t come earlier today at the spa, but I’m not exactly relishing the reality of a twelve-hour flight on my period. I should be grateful that I’m still having them. I wonder how much longer I’ll get to “enjoy” it. It’s crazy that I’m worrying about menopause, or God forbid, early menopause. When did my life get so confusing and emotionally turbulent? I’m going through such highs and lows it feels like this should be my first period. Maddie and I could celebrate by getting ice cream together.

  My mom’s friend Mona was always complaining about her menopausal hot flashes. She lived two doors down from us and would always be popping over for a cup of sugar or milk. Back before mobile phones and the Internet, it seemed there was always someone knocking at the door. Mona would waltz right on in and sit down at the kitchen table. Mom would usually roll her eyes behind Mona’s back, but I know she secretly loved the impromptu visits. I didn’t know what menopause was; I hadn’t even gotten my first period then, but I remember exactly what Mona said. That it was like “being blasted with a hair dryer in the Sahara Desert, worse than turning on a heater in hell.”

  Well, I think, as I sink up to my neck in the warm water, just one more thing to look forward to in life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keep On Keepin’ On

  BEX

  I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of popcorn ceiling removal videos on YouTube. There’s something hypnotic about watching what was once bumpy and jagged scraped away to something smooth. They make it look so effortless, but I know the truth of the matter—nothing is ever as easy as it seems.

  Today has been sobering…or not. I take a sip of my wine, which I retrieved from the kitchen after Liv and I parted ways. I had no idea that Liv was living in a loveless marriage where infidelity was as convenient as a McDonald’s drive-thru. I hadn’t realized how out of touch with each other Liv and I had become. How hidden the truth can be for everyone. How complacent I really am in my own life.

  Lying here in bed, back in my nightgown, staring at the ceiling and sipping my old standby, Trader Joe’s rosé, I indulge in the cloud of melancholy that’s dampened my spirits. Nothing has changed. Not that I thought it would, but a little glimmer of hope did ignite inside of me when Liv told me she was coming here. A small part of me that thought things would be like they were back in the day when we had no worries and the world was completely open to us. No obstacles, no barriers, no baggage. And, I have to admit to myself, there were moments this past week when I did feel like the old Bex and I loved it. I miss the old me. Fearless, driven, and free. But now I’m back to where I started: stuck. And it seems that Liv is feeling the same way. We’re both soaking in a tub of apathy.

  I get out of bed to sort through the pile of clothes from when I was trying to figure out an outfit for my millionaire date. God, what a disaster that was. My mouth sours at the thought. I reach for the discarded dress that Liv begged me to wear—a strappy red number that we bought in a consignment store in Buckhead a bazillion years ago. It’s Versace, and at the time it was a total score. Now, it’s too short, and too tight in all the wrong places. I hold it up to my body and look in the mirror, wishing for that lost feeling of youth and opportunity. Things sure have changed.

  When I was in my twenties I felt like I couldn’t make a wrong turn, that any mistakes could be easily erased. I didn’t even worry about making mistakes. It seemed there would always be time to find my way. Now, as I’m pushing forty, my choices feel permanent, my mistakes don’t just affect me but also my daughter, and I don’t have time to lose my way on wrong turns. As a result, everything now feels too precarious, too fragile, and so I’m stuck; stuck in the mud of my day-to-day complacency. Of just getting by. Of accepting where I am and not wanting to tip a single domino for fear they all tumble.

  I set aside the Versace. Maybe I should take it by Encore Couture and see what I can get for it, I think as I thumb through the stack of mail I brought up with me from the kitchen. Nothing but junk and bills. I could certainly use the extra cash this dress might bring. Tossing the mail aside, I pick up my phone and check my email to see that a rush order has come in for a custom-made piece. With a quick glance at my voicemail, I note there are no messages from anyone. It’s disappointing and boring. Life is as it was, and I’m hearing the whisper of reality getting louder. Maddie comes home next week, my Etsy shop will continue to get orders, and I’ll lie in bed at night alone, watching Outlander, lusting after Jamie while wallowing in my non-dating hibernation, until I pick up my phone and start swiping. And the cycle will repeat…

  Oh, Liv. I have to give her credit. She tried. She really did. And I did like her “Yes Factor” philosophy. She was right, I have been self-sabotaging, making excuses, and closing myself off. I should try to stick with the “Yes” motto. If someone seeks me out, I’ll say yes, but I’m done chasing after love. The apps, the swinger parties, the weird yoga, the Hollywood bars—it’s definitely not for me. If I meet someone out in the world and it happens, well, then it happens. Kinda like Devon.

  I take this month’s edition of Simple magazine from the mail pile to use as a coaster for my wineglass and pick up my laptop to see if I can find Devon on the Internet. I type in a variety of options—“Devon Antiques Sierra Madre,” “Devon Wood Refinishing,” and a handful of other search words that come to mind. This is ridiculous. The search is fruitless and I know it. He just vanished into thin air. Actually, no, I vanished into thin air.

  I rest my head in my hand. I know I can’t keep beating myself up about it, but I can’t help replaying how I dashed off without a goodbye. And then I can’t help but replay his smile or the way his lips felt next to my ear. Or how comfortable I was in his presence. Or the way my insides zinged when his hand touched my leg. God, I really blew it. Maybe we’ll match up on another dating app? Crazier things have happened.

  Am I just putting too much stock in the experience? Did I read the situation wrong? Could he be thinking about me like I’m thinking about him? Did he feel the electricity between us that lit me up like the Aurora Borealis? I want to reach my hand down to feel the heat between my thighs, but I’m wallowing in too much regret and it kills the high. But those eyes, that voice.

  My phone rings. I can’t seem to get through a Devon daydream without interruption! It’s Patrick, so I answer instantly. There’s no reason why he should be calling me right now.

  “Hello?” I pick up with apprehension.

  “Hey, B. Sorry to bother you, Maddie said Liv is visiting, so I’m sure you are busy drinking.” Ouch. He knows how to push my buttons. “Anyway, Amber and I are leaving in the morning to pick up Maddie from camp since she’s dealing with these, uh, female issues. And I was wondering—” Patrick was never comfortable talking about anything that had to do with women’s bodies.

  “Wait. What?” I interrupt him. “The last time I talked to her, she said she was fine. That everything was handled. I don’t understand.” I rack my brain trying to figure out exactly what happened between then and now.

  “Yes, well, she called and said that she was crampy or something and that she wanted me to pick her up right away. I told her that of course I would, and that I’d bring Amber along to help out with any girl talk she might need.” In the background Amber cheerily adds something that sounds like “happy to help!”

  “Patrick, firstly, I’ve already talked to her about this and second, you can’t go pick her up. It’s not the end of the world! I got my first period in gym class during a volleyball game! Nobody’s first time is convenient.”

  “God, B, I don’t need all the details.” Patrick really can’t even handle talking about something that happens to every woman. I smirk to myself and shake my head. Typical. “Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not leaving my daughter up there when she’s alone and upset. Amber can take care of her. Make her t
ea or something.”

  “Look, I already told her specifically that I was not coming to get her. She’s mature enough to handle this on her own. Maddie’s playing both sides here and you’re falling for it. Why are you always saying yes when I say no, giving Maddie everything she wants when she wants it?”

  “No, I do not do that. That is completely untrue. I don’t.” His voice fades because he can’t think of an example to back up his claim.

  “Exactly! When are you going to realize that you bending over backward for her isn’t doing her any favors in the long run? I mean, going to rescue her from camp is not going to suddenly make you Father of the Year. You’d have to do a lot more to win that award. Like act like an actual father and spend some quality time with Maddie instead of globetrotting with wife number two.”

  And boom, here we go. Patrick’s gotten to me and I’ve gone too far by getting mean and petty. But, I’m sick of him catering to Maddie’s every whim and in the process undermining my role as a parent.

  I take a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves. “Listen, I know you love Maddie and want to do what’s best for her. But trust me, she can handle this. I know she can.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the line as Patrick takes in my words. When he mumbles, “I guess you’re right,” I hear the reluctant defeat in his voice. “It’s just that she said that she needs me and I don’t want to let her down. Again.”

  His “again” softens my heart. He isn’t oblivious to his shortcomings after all.

  “You know what?” I relent, “Why don’t you and Amber pick Maddie up from camp at the end of the session. Y’all can make a thing of it. Plus, you’ll be there for the awards ceremony and all that. I’m sure she’d love for you to be there.” I should give Patrick the room to be a better dad.

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, B.” He sounds tired and I can picture him sitting down on the couch with a scotch, swirling the glass around like he always does when he’s stressed.

  “I’ll email you all the info. Have a good night.” As we exchange goodbye’s I feel my mood return to equilibrium. That talk with Patrick took me from zero to sixty almost instantly, and it’s a relief not to be on that roller coaster with him on a daily basis anymore. I shake my head thinking about the constant griping we both did at the end of our marriage.

  Deep breath, Bex. I put the conversation behind me and move forward. My thoughts turn to Liv in the bedroom across the hall and I wonder how she will move forward after she leaves here. Is she squandering her happiness for a rich husband and a life that gives her just enough to get by emotionally? As much as I hate it, I can’t blame her. We all do it to some extent. I know I did. When does compromise cross the threshold into full abandonment of self? When do the scales tip so far that you’re swimming in a false sense of security that’s so strong that you don’t even know when you start to drown?

  I don’t know what she’s going to do. I don’t know what I am going to do either. What I do know is that we just have to keep on keepin’ on. One foot in front of the other.

  Liv’s visit, the events of the past few days, dealing with Maddie and Patrick—trying to understand all of it is impossible. Is this the life I thought I’d lead? It’s not even close and my complacency is squandering any opportunity to truly live a full life. And what makes my situation doubly tragic is that I’m showing my daughter that this is okay. That getting by and just accepting what is served to you on the platter of life is “just fine.” Jesus, my biggest fear in life used to be that I’d be ordinary and, well, just look at me now.

  Thank God Liv came to LA to remind me who I am. That I am a “yes” person after all. That new experiences and adventures are in my grasp, and that I deserve them. I’ve spent far too long shutting myself away in the safety of my little familiar world.

  When Liv leaves, I’m making a resolution to stay open. To stay in the “Yes.” But, until then, I still have another episode of Outlander to watch…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ebbs and Flows

  LIV

  A rush of sea air hits me and fills my lungs. It’s almost too much to bear. I gulp it in and lean over the railing to look down at the cliffs and out onto the beach. Santa Monica will always be the same. The concrete swathe of sidewalk snakes its way down south to Venice, dotted with rollerbladers, morning joggers, and happy tourists on bikes. A confetti sprinkling of neon Lycra and tracksuits. The faded blue lifeguard towers in the distance are like old friends. It’s a view I’ve seen so many times on TV and movie screens, but also one that I used to see regularly when I lived here. The blending of all these images in my consciousness makes the place seem like a familiar dream. I look toward the pier and can see it’s just waking up. I am, too.

  The drive over from Bex’s house was sleepy and slow. I haven’t even had coffee yet. Bex had to stay at home to deal with a rush order—“Etsy 911” she’d said—so she couldn’t join me. I’d woken up almost as if possessed: I needed to see the ocean. I’d been here almost a week with no view of the beach. I was yearning to walk back into this familiar dream. To see the ocean disappear into the horizon. To be on the edge of everything.

  I head toward the rickety wooden stairs that lead down to the sand. When Ethan and I were dating, this walk was one of our rituals when he would fly out to visit me. At the time he was based in New York and I was out here in LA. I remember the feeling of anticipation, waiting for that moment when I’d recognize him in the crowd of weary passengers exiting into the baggage terminal at the airport. It was an instant injection of buzzy adrenaline, anticipation, and desire. Where did those feelings go? We’ve sent a man to the moon, but we can’t bottle that particular feeling. If that feeling were bottled and sold, would I even want to feel those feelings again for Ethan? Or enjoy that rush with someone new?

  Ethan always liked to joke about LA residents and their penchant for hiking and fitness. Where do they think they’re going with their rucksacks and water packs? This isn’t the Serengeti. Or What’s so wrong with a gentle pace. Look at this chap taking two stairs at a time. He’ll need a hip replacement by the age of thirty. I’ve now realized those snide remarks are Ethan’s regular mode; but at the time, with his accent still a new thrill for me, I thought he was being witty and sarcastic. I cringe thinking about how I’d laugh and play up to his clichéd views. Looking back, we were both playing roles.

  Lost in my thoughts, I’ve walked too far and circle back to find the entrance to the stairs. This is the place, I just know it. But I’m confused. I guess Santa Monica isn’t always the same. The railing is uninterrupted, there’s no break for an entrance to the stairs which we’d wandered down so many times.

  I really didn’t want to pull out my phone, but I need to look for directions. What the hell happened to those stairs? I give myself a police pat down. Shit, I left my phone in the car. I turn around in circles and give up. Things change. The stairs are gone. That feeling is gone. In resignation, I rest my head on the railing, arms crossed over it for support.

  “Hey, you okay?” a man asks me.

  “I’m fine.” I don’t even look up. I don’t want to deal with anyone. And this guy’s probably some creep like most of the guys Bex and I have been dealing with all week.

  “Okay, just checking I don’t need to call the paramedics.” Then in a louder voice he says, “Whoa, girl, no, sit!”

  I jerk upright, mild emotional breakdown over and ready for ninja mode, or at least, screaming mode. A swift kick to the balls and I’ll jog right on away from this guy. But I already feel a knock to the chest and I stumble down onto the dusty footpath.

  “Derby, down!” The man pulls a shaggy dog off me and begins to apologize profusely.

  Stunned, I wipe the dirt off me and look up to see a tall guy with a thick head of wavy blond hair holding the leash to a caramel-colored dog that’s straining to break free.

  “Oh my God, Jesus, you scared me. I was about to kick you in the balls.” I’m still a l
ittle shaken up but mostly giddy with relief that I haven’t been attacked by a weirdo, just by an overenthusiastic, oversized puppy.

  The man gives a hearty laugh, his face crinkles into a pleasing fan of lines around his deep blue eyes. Under the bright light of the sun, I get the full experience of his commanding presence. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I want to run my hands through his thick, wavy hair. Maybe it’s the relief of not being attacked by some crazy person. But no, it’s that feeling. The billion dollar they-can-send-a-man-to-the-moon-but-they-can’t-bottle-that-feeling feeling.

  He extends his hand to help me up off the ground. I grasp onto it hard, and in a second I don’t want to end, he pulls me up to standing. His hand feels warm and strong. He then proceeds to shake hands as if we just met, and I haven’t just been on the ground, still covered in grime from the footpath.

  “I’m Adam. And this is Derby. She’s sorry for being impolite. She just gets a little crazy the closer we get to the beach.”

  “I’m Liv. Nice to meet you. And nice to meet you, too, Derby.” Our hands are still clasped together. I gently pull away to hold my hand out to Derby who sniffs it cautiously then leans in for a cuddle.

  “I know this is a strange question because it is right there.” I point toward the sand below. “But how do you get to the beach? I was looking for the stairs and I swear they used to be here.”

  “They did. But the city tore them down. Too old and dangerous. I’m heading to the ones off Adelaide. They’re this way if you want to come along.” He doesn’t need to point the way because every inch of Derby is veering in that direction.

  It’d be kind of strange to just follow behind him, both of us going to the same place, so I walk alongside him, with Derby gently galloping beside us. She seems to have calmed down now that she’s headed in her desired direction. Adam deftly maneuvers around me so that he’s on the side of traffic as we walk along the footpath. My grandmother always said a gentleman walked on the side of traffic. Maybe people think that’s old-fashioned. Yes, a woman is perfectly capable of walking next to traffic. It’s not necessarily a male/female thing, it’s that Adam is aware of the tradition and follows it. He cares about being respectful, and he isn’t afraid to show it.