Page 2 of The Yes Factor

“Liv, I can’t do sessions with either of you separately. It’d be a breach of my ethics and a breach of our trust—you, me, and Ethan. You remember the patient covenant you each signed.”

“Ha!” I laugh out loud. “Trust…”

I grab my bag and throw my scarf around my neck as I try to get up from the sofa, which is like quicksand pulling me in. How many sad, angry, depressed, anxious butts have sat on this sofa? It must be my new heels that are throwing me off balance. After a good rocking motion, I finally rise to my feet but lose my balance and almost fall into Emma’s lap, catching a scent of her crisp, grassy perfume. She’s so perfectly put together and composed it irritates me during our sessions.

“Are you okay, Liv? I think it’s best if you leave now and we can regroup next week.”

“No, I’m not okay. You need a new sofa. And I am leaving.” I huff out of the room.

This isn’t me. I hate being angry. I’m not supposed to be like this—bitchy to other people, like a child throwing a tantrum. Ethan makes me like this. I had to practically kidnap him, brainwash him, and bodily drag him to therapy. The first session was fairly easy—who we are, what we do, our history as a timeline of places and events. Ethan loves beginnings. He’s always charming in beginnings, and with a run of his hand through his thick, salt and pepper, wavy hair, he ingratiates himself to everyone. And everyone seems to fall under his spell. By now, I know all of his moves, but I was just as dazzled by him during our beginning, too. That’s why he’s a good lawyer, I suppose. But this particular session with Emma, when things are starting to get real, when we’re finally scratching below the surface of who we are together as a couple, whether there’s even a together for us, he bails. Considering everything that’s happened over the years, I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hurts.

I stumble out into the crowded hustle and bustle of Tottenham Court Road on a blustery London day. It’s always such a jarring juxtaposition—the quiet, soft hues, and minimalist decor of Emma’s office, her well-watered plants, and just interesting enough paintings on the wall, then hitting the frenetic pace of the pavement outside. The car horns, the jostling with other pedestrians. London still manages to overwhelm me all these years later.

How did it come to this? I think to myself for the millionth time.

I reach into my bag to get my phone and see there’s a text from Ethan. In spite of myself, my heart leaps for a nanosecond. Maybe it’s an apology.

Don’t forget it’s black tie tonight.

Nope, I should have known better. I almost let out a scream in the middle of the street when I think about the boredom and small talk that awaits me tonight.

Bex

“Mom! Is that you? What are you doing home? I thought you weren’t gonna be back until three?” Maddie yells from her bedroom.

“Yeah, it’s me. I decided not to go to Zumba after all. You ready to go?” My dating life is such a disaster that I can’t bring myself to tell Maddie anything about it. So my date with Sean was a Zumba class to Maddie. I look at it as protecting her from becoming jaded about love before she even has her first kiss. At least I don’t think she’s had her first kiss yet. In any case, thirteen is way too young to know about the black hole of dating apps.

“We don’t have to be at the drop off until four. Mom, chill,” I hear her whine.

“No harm in getting there early. You never know about traffic. If we have time to spare, we can just stop along the way for a milkshake.” Here’s hoping the lure of a treat will bend her to my will like it did when she was little.

She huffs from the bedroom, followed by a series of bangs and groans as she descends the stairs, her luggage dinging the walls which are in need of a fresh coat of paint.

“Jeez, Mom. What’s the rush? You got a date later on or something?” She scoffs.

I hesitate a moment too long, which pings Maddie’s radar. Oops.

“Oh God. You do have a date, don’t you?”

“No, of course not,” I say quickly. “Now, let’s get going. You got everything?”

Maddie gives me a suspicious look, then begrudgingly turns and heads out the front door, hauling her bags to the car in the driveway.

It’s tragic that my own daughter thinks it’s an impossibility that I would have an actual date. But, sadly, she’s not off base. It’s been years since I’ve had a real date. At least, not with anyone that I’d ever bring home. I’m glad to have bailed on Sean, even if it was rude to do so at the last second, because I know what would’ve happened anyway. After all the weeks of texting, we’d realize there is absolutely no chemistry between us in person, and after a stilted conversation about which shows we’re currently bingeing, we’d give each other an awkward but friendly hug and go our separate ways. The digital buildup leading to a lackluster IRL encounter. This has happened to me so many times before, I don’t know why I’d even agreed to meet him.

Heading out the door, I pause in the entryway and turn to take a look at myself in the mirror and see nothing. No matter how long it’s been since the divorce, I still look at that spot on the wall, forgetting that the mirror is gone. It was Patrick’s family heirloom and I fell in love with it the first time I went to his house to meet his parents. His mother gave it to us as a wedding present and I’ve never found another mirror that I like well enough to replace it, at least not one that I can afford.

“Mom! Waiting on you!” Maddie calls out as she slams the trunk shut.

I have to laugh a little. She sounds just like me when I was her age. My best friend, Liv, and I would be waiting in the car while Mom finished her tenth Salem Light 100 for the day. “Only an addict rushes through their cigarette,” she used to say. I don’t know what she thought she was, but smoking a pack a day, no matter how elegantly and leisurely done, sure seemed like an addict to me.

I do a fast walk-run out to the car and hop in.

“All right, let’s do this. Here we go! Camp’s gonna be great, I just know it.” I squeeze Maddie’s knee.

“When are you gonna get the AC fixed? It’s like a sauna in here.” Maddie fiddles with the air-conditioning vents.

“Summer is more than half over, hun. We don’t need it.” I roll down the windows as we back out of the driveway then turn on the vents, a futile effort to get more air circulating, even if it is the smoggy, summer heat of LA. My dad offered to pay for the AC to be fixed but I’d said no out of pride. I’m too old to still be a daddy’s girl but I’m seriously having second thoughts.

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