Page 25 of The Yes Factor

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We drive home in silence, like a married couple who’ve given up on fighting because stewing in resentment is more comfortable. After one hour of horribleness, we arrive back at Bex’s house and I go straight to “my room” without saying a word. Maybe this trip was a mistake. Maybe I should have just stayed at home in London and spent some time thinking about my life. Or maybe I should have sucked it up and gone to Provence with Clarissa like Ethan had suggested. To continue the charade. To pretend that the way I was living my life was making me happy. I can’t even fix my own life. Why did I think I could swoop in and fix Bex’s?

I check my phone again to see if Ethan has called back or sent a text. No, nothing but that one missed call and his voicemail that I don’t even want to listen to. His formal, nonpersonal check-in will just upset me even more. When did our marriage become so flat, so passionless? Speaking of passion, I open Instagram to scroll through Francois’ page to see if there’s anything new. I’m about to start stalking Emily when I hear Bex at the door.

“Lou Lou…Lou Lou,” she whispers in a singsong voice, using my childhood nickname. Apart from my parents, nobody’s called me that in decades.

Bex is holding out two glasses of wine from behind the door. Her apology.

I open the door wide and usher her in with a dramatic gesture and make a clearing on the bed. I take the peace offering and swallow a big gulp of wine in silence. We sit down on the bed, both cross-legged, just like we used to as teenagers except we didn’t have wine back then, it was usually a phone between us, either making prank calls or agonizing over whether or not to call a crush.

I raise my glass to clink hers. “Fuck LA Traffic.”

“Do you feel like we need some karma cleansing?” Bex says in mock seriousness.

I look at her in confusion, then it dawns on me what she means—the not-a-date yoga date on the cards for tomorrow.

“Yes, let’s get our zen on.” I move to put my hands on my knees in a meditation pose but accidentally knock over both our wineglasses.

“Sure you’ll be okay, Miss Clumsy?” Bex tries to save what’s left in her glass, as the Chardonnay soaks into the comforter.

I laugh, happy that the tension of the drive home has been dispelled. But why did she practically run away from that guy, Devon? I know I should let it go. I’m just happy she’s going to get back on the saddle…or at least, the yoga mat.

Chapter Nine

Grin and Bear it

BEX

I lie back in bed and mull through the day’s roller coaster of emotions. The high of running in to Devon in person. The low of fighting with Liv. I still wish I’d gotten Devon’s number, although there’s nothing that can be done about it now. But, his lips so close to my ear…I tingle all over recalling that moment.

And, well, the fight with Liv. I’m not going to say I enjoyed it, but it did clear the air. Why can’t relationships be like what Liv and I have? Things are so different with significant others than they are with friends. With friends we forgive so easily. They screw up; they say the wrong thing; they are who they are and we accept them. Sure there may be a few fights along the way but they quickly blow over and the friendship continues even stronger. With relationships, they screw up; they say the wrong thing, and we straight up lose our shit. Fights happen, resentment grows, bitterness creeps in and the relationship starts to rot from within.

I wish Patrick and I had had more of what Liv and I have. One wrong sentence from Patrick and I’d be wounded for a day, sulking, and stomping off to “work on a project” rather than try to resolve the situation. I nursed a grudge while he watched ESPN, ignoring that there was even a problem. I’d stew about how he didn’t give me enough attention when, in fact, maybe I bear some of the blame, too. I could have been more forgiving, less defensive, more open. I could have gone to him instead of waiting for him to come to me.

Liv and I can argue, apologize, let it all go and come back together stronger. But with Patrick, well, we just drifted and fizzled until there was nothing left, like a helium balloon that, after the party ends, eventually lands on the ground, wilted and lifeless. Once my marriage flatlined it couldn’t be resuscitated.

I can’t deny that I’m content, calling my own shots, and living life on my own terms. I like being in the driver’s seat and having my life revolve around Maddie and me. Maybe, when it comes right down to it, I don’t really want to meet someone, so I’ve been self-sabotaging all this time. I don’t want a man to come in and take over my life and time, telling me what to do, like Patrick always did. And I know I don’t want to be doing any more laundry than I’m already doing! But good sex and daily conversation with an adult would be nice. Really nice.

What’s weighing on me more though is Liv. I need to figure out what’s going on with her. Not taking Ethan’s call in the car is very suspicious.

Meanwhile, why not go to yoga tomorrow. I guess I’m ready for it. There’s no hiding the remnants of the baby weight pooch that I haven’t been able to get rid of, even though I’ve had thirteen years to try. But, my legs are still in good shape and my muffin top is nothing a cute tank won’t hide.

I grab my phone and search LoftYoga to get a look at what we’re getting ourselves into tomorrow. I don’t want any more surprises like the “house party.” I’m not against yoga, but I’m more of a Zumba girl. I have a hard time quieting my mind for meditation, plus, chanting gives me the giggles. One glance at their website proves what I had suspected—cult yoga! “Guru Stan” looks like a mash-up of an ’80s rocker and Richard Simmons before he went into hiding. With that amount of hairspray and spandex, it looks like he’s spent more time seeking nirvana in the Hollywood Hills than the Himalayans. I click on Testimonials and settle into the covers like I’m about to start a binge watch of Designing Women. There are tons of frou-frou quotes from Guru Stan’s devotees with names like Lark Angel, Moonwater, Willow Rain, and my personal favorite, Skip Stone. They’ve all written glowing reviews about how Guru Stan has led them on a path to “the Xanadu of Astral Planes,” how he “holds space for the enlightenment of the tribe” and that his “Chakra centering left me feeling a buzz stronger than my last Wu Tang concert.” That last one is written by the one and only Skip Stone—I gotta go to class just to see this guy in person!

Suddenly, my FaceTime pops up with a call from Maddie. It’s late for her to be calling and I answer immediately, worried that something is wrong.

“Hey, hon, everything okay?”

Her response is a combination of a groan, cry, and grimace. “Mom…”

Knowing the camp counselor would only give her phone access if it was important, I sit up trying to cover my concern with a soothing voice. “Honey, what’s going on? Did something happen? Talk to me.”

“Mom, I started my period,” she sobs out.

I know she’s had some anxiety about when she would get her period, but I’m surprised she seems this upset. Several of her friends have already started, so it’s not like this is totally unexpected. In fact, I think she was kind of looking forward to it, in a way. Although, I can understand how being away at camp and away from me might make it a little harder.

“Honey, it’s going to be okay. You knew this would happen at some point and remember I packed you some pads in your duffel bag just in case. Check the inside zipper pocket. That should get you through the night then you can go get some tampons from Nurse Joanne in the morning so you can still go swimming!” I say the last part with a bright smile, attempting to lighten her mood. When she doesn’t respond, but just looks into the phone with her scrunched up, tear-stained face, I reiterate, “It’s going to be okay.”

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