Page 17 of The Yes Factor

Back at Bex’s house, blissfully decked out in our sweats, we stand side by side in the bathroom brushing our teeth.

“Oh my God, that was crazy!” Bex says with an edge of humor in her voice. This night will probably turn into a story she’ll get a kick out of repeating.

“Ridiculous,” I say, relieved that my mistake is something we can make fun of now that we’re safely home and far from the likes of Chandace. “We’ve got Colgate rabies.” I gurgle and foamy white toothpaste cascades from my mouth down into the sink.

I rinse my mouth and wipe it with a towel. “I miss you,” I say with a sharp, bittersweet pang in my chest. It’s true, God, how I miss this familiar companionship, the feeling of being with a friend who’s a sister—family forged from love, laughter, and a shared journey from adolescence to adulthood.

I take my mouth guard out from its case and run it under the faucet.

“Why do you have that thing?” Bex says.

“I grind my teeth. Stress. Plus, it helps keep all that teenage orthodontic work from being all for nothing.” I shrug, ignoring a rising wave of emotion that I don’t want to surface.

“What do you have to be stressed about?” Bex says. “You and Ethan are okay, aren’t you? I get that Francois is just a onetime blip on the radar. I know things can be up and down, but your life is basically Notting Hill. And now thanks to all that dental work, your teeth are almost as razzle dazzle as Julia’s.” She singsongs “razzle dazzle” a la Chicago the musical.

“Is any marriage ever really ‘okay’? I wish grinding my teeth was the only thing that needed fixing.” I shake the mouth guard dry and feel the tears starting to well up despite my best efforts to keep things breezy.

“What’s going on?” Bex asks with concern.

“Nothing, come on. I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about your hot yoga date,” I say in an upbeat tone.

“Wait, hot yoga date as in hot date or as in hot yoga? Isn’t that like over a hundred degrees, no way I’m doing that. Why can’t this be a Zumba date? I love Zumba. And besides, I don’t think he was asking me on a date. He just wants us to join his yoga cult or something.” Bex gives me a gentle smile. I know her, and she knows I know her. She’s giving me some space right now, which I’m grateful for. Maybe it’s just the jet lag and leftover adrenaline, and gin, that’s making me feel so emotional.

“This is LA, everyone’s in some kind of cult or another. At least he didn’t invite us to a Scientology meeting,” I tease. “Hey, let’s do pore strips and get grossed out. Doesn’t Maddie have some?”

“No,” Bex says “She’s thirteen with perfect skin but she and all her friends use these filters and apps to look like poreless, porcelain mannequins. It’s crazy.”

“When is someone going to invent an app like that for life? There’s so much in this world I’d love to get rid of,” I say.

“I know.” Bex starts listing, “War, poverty, hatred.”

“Yes. And Chandace’s breath.” I take a swig of mouthwash then pass the bottle to Bex. “So, are you gonna go? The yoga date on Monday?”

“To culty yoga recommended by a shirtless bartender from a swinger’s party? How could I say no?” she says. “Fine, why the hell not. But only if you come with me.”

“I can’t. I’ve never done yoga. And besides, I’ve lost a toenail.”

“How can you lose a toenail? No one’s going to be looking at your no-nail toenail.” Bex laughs.

“I bought a pair of Stuart Weitzman boots at a sample sale that were a half size too small. But they were such a great deal,” I say wistfully, then suddenly remembering Emily’s fringed boots and the photo of her with Francois.

“A great deal that only cost you a toenail.”

“So my toenail aside, you’re really going to go?” I say. “It’s a yes?”

“I don’t know. Liv, I know you have the best intentions and I love you for being here, but do you see now that it’s not so easy getting back out there? Saying yes doesn’t automatically find me Mr. Right. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the weekend and go to the Estate Sale tomorrow. I want to forget about guys and dating, at least for one day.”

* * *

In the guest bedroom, I mindlessly read the jar of anti-wrinkle cream as I slather it on. Gently sloughs away dead skin cells. Hmm, well, slough away, I think as my phone chimes. It’s a message from Ethan.

Darling, hope you’re having a delightful time in Provence.

The message is nice, but impersonal. It’s like our whole marriage has turned into a string of polite text messages. Sometimes I feel as single as Bex. I toss the phone onto the comforter, not even bothering to set an alarm for tomorrow morning, then flop back on to the pillow except I miss it. My head hits the headboard with a thud. I smile; serves me right.

Chapter Five

Treasure Hunt

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