Page 26 of The Yes Factor

“What? I can’t put in a tampon! No! No way!” She breaks into hysterical sobs. “Mom,” she gasps. “You have to come get me! I don’t want to be here anymore. And I don’t want to talk to Nurse Jo about it either.”

I realize this is a scary time for her. That whether she was ready or not, she’s taking her first step into the unknown and confusing road to womanhood. Of course, she’s feeling vulnerable. I’ve done my best to raise her to be strong, fearless and independent, which means that I can’t bail her out every single time she asks.

“Maddie, I love you and I know you can handle this. You’ve known Nurse Jo since you were eight. She can help you out. This is a natural and normal thing to happen. We’ve talked about it before. If you don’t want to use a tampon, that’s totally fine, we can cross that bridge when you get home. You can wear pads in the meantime, and I’ll put in a call to make sure you have enough for the rest of camp. No big deal.”

I think I’m handling this okay. Tough love is hard and yes, there is a part of me that wants to go pick her up so we can eat ice cream in bed together and watch Mean Girls for the millionth time, but she’s going to have her period every month for the next few decades and I don’t want to make it a dramatic, or traumatic, thing.

Maddie, on the other hand, doesn’t seem consoled by my words in the slightest.

“Mom, how am I supposed to swim? And what about the relay? What is everyone going to think when I’m not in the water? I can’t wear a pad!” Her momentary indignation collapses into tears again. “You have to come pick me up. Now!”

“Maddie, honey, calm down. You can handle this. I know you can. You can wear a pad, and not swim, or see Nurse Jo about a tampon.” With a supportive smile I add, “You’ve got this, I know you do.”

But Maddie isn’t having any of it. She angrily wipes the back of her hand across her nose and with red eyes stares pointedly into the phone. “You’re abandoning me when I need you the most! You are a horrible mother!” And with that, she hangs up.

Dramatic much? I think. She’s treating me like I’m Joan Crawford!

I send her a quick text reminding her that I love her and that I am always here for her. I see the bubble of typing on her end, but she doesn’t end up sending a reply back to me. I do feel like a horrible mother for a moment, but I’ve prepared her for this moment the best I could.

With a sigh, I roll over and turn off the bedside light, waves of alternating guilt and resoluteness washing over me. I reach out for the phone and send a message to Nurse Jo to let her know what’s happened. Jo has seen Maddie through five years of summer camps and all the insect bites, sprained ankles, and upset stomachs that entails. I trust her with Maddie and know that she’ll help her out.

God, sometimes I can’t believe how tough it is to be a mom. It’s hard to know what the right thing to do is. Looks like I’m going to need some yoga and meditation more than I could have imagined.

Chapter Ten

Downward (Hot)Dog

LIV

With a yawn and half-closed eyes, I feel around blindly for my phone in the tangled folds of the comforter. 9:42 a.m. Damn you, jet lag. I’ve been in LA since Friday and I still feel like I’ve been hit by an eighteen wheeler. And yet, I’d rather feel this way than be slinking into the office for a Monday morning of forced cheerfulness.

I pad downstairs in a borrowed robe from the guest room closet. It’s almost like I’m back in Bex’s childhood home. I half expect to see her mom at the kitchen table, plumes of smoke streaming from her ebony cigarette holder.

Bex’s chatter from the kitchen grows louder with each step. Standing in front of the kitchen counter, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding a cup of coffee, Bex is staring intently into the iPad on FaceTime with Maddie.

“So, are you sure you’re okay? I knew you could handle this. Now go have fun.” Bex gives a firm nod and smiles into the screen at Maddie.

I love to see Bex in mom mode. There’s so much of her life that I’ve missed out on. She’s bossy but in a good way, a firm hand at the helm on what has surely been choppy waters.

“What? Don’t make that face,” she says, and for a second I think she is talking to me. She hands me a mug of coffee across the counter without even asking if I want one. The morning choreography of a real friend who knows I’m not exactly the rise and shine type, with or without jet lag.

“Thanks.” I blow softly into the mug to cool the coffee. “Hi, Maddie.” I peer into the screen, trying not to say what everyone says when they see a kid after a long time. But the resemblance to Bex is crazy and Maddie really is growing up.

“Hi, Miss Liv.” Maddie waves at me.

“You know you can just call me Liv. Your mom and I aren’t that old,” I say, even though without makeup I’m sure I look about eighty-two. “How’s camp?” I cringe at such a lame question. What do you talk to a thirteen-year-old about?

“It’s okay. So, did you find Mom a boyfriend yet?” Maddie sounds only slightly enthused.

“Working on it.”

“Cool. Okay, I gotta go.”

“Hey,” Bex calls out. “Don’t forget to write Grandma a postcard. Not a text but an actual postcard, paper with a stamp. You know how much she loves hearing from you at camp,” Bex gently commands. “And, I love you. I’m proud of you.”

“Okay, I won’t forget, jeez. Love you, too, Mom. Bye, Miss Liv,” Maddie says it sarcastically but also sweetly, waving bye with a smile.

Bex takes a swallow of coffee. “That’s about as much as I get these days, a two-minute call. Even when she’s here at the house, it’s like she has zero attention span for human interaction. But put a phone in her hands and she’ll text to no end.”

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