Page 27 of The Yes Factor

“She’s a teenager. Remember how we were at that age? We were on the phone with each other all the time, and that was before cell phones. I guess it’s not easy when they start to pull away. You’re a wonderful mom.” I feel pride bursting through my heart for Bex, thinking of the highs and lows she must go through on her own with Maddie.

“There are times when I sure don’t feel like one.”

“What’s up? What happened?” I say in between sips of coffee.

“Maddie started her period last night.”

“Wait, what? Wow. I can’t believe she’s growing up so quickly.”

“She was in a state. Wanted me to come pick her up from camp. She was crying and everything. But we’ve talked about this moment a million times and I knew she could handle it on her own.” Bex sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself.

“It’s okay. Remember how weird and scary it was getting your period for the first time? It’s like all of a sudden we weren’t in control of our bodies anymore.”

“Please don’t remind me. I still don’t want to think about it. Even to this day I hate the sight of a volleyball,” Bex says. “And Coach Bryant was way out of his depth. Told me to get cleaned up and get back on the court like a man. What a dinosaur.”

“Look, I’m sure Maddie is in good hands at camp. Thankfully, things have evolved since we were in seventh grade volleyball with Coach Bryant. I think you’re a badass mom, you know that.” I walk around the kitchen island to give Bex a hug.

“Thanks, that means a lot. It really does.” Bex gives me a quick hug back, then seems to shake off the emotional heaviness. “I’ll tell you what, this badass mom could do with some more coffee. I feel like I have a hangover.”

“I know. Me, too. It’s a sad day when a few glasses of Chardonnay leave you feeling this way. I blame it on wandering around the estate sale in the sun and that damn traffic. But, you know what’s good for a hangover? Bex’s blueberry pancakes. With lots of bacon.”

“I don’t feel like cooking this morning.” Bex scrunches up her nose.

“Pleeeeeaaaaase. You don’t know how impossible it is to get good pancakes in London. Or American style bacon, for that matter.”

“Come on, Maddie’s away and I could use a break from being a short-order cook. Don’t make me cook when I don’t have to. Besides, I don’t have buttermilk. Here, eat this. It’s healthier.” Bex hands me a plate with a grapefruit cut in two.

I take a bite and recoil, overwhelmed by the bitter taste.

Bex takes a big scoop out of hers. “It’s an acquired taste. Put some salt on it.” She slides a little bowl of sea salt across to me.

“Salt? Don’t you mean sugar?” I stare at her like she’s lost her mind. “You’ve been living in California for too long.”

“No, I mean salt. NPR did a story on it last year and the salt cuts the bitter flavor. Try it. You’ll see,” she says with the authority of Julia Child.

“Boo! I need carbs! Pancakes, please, please, please, make your pancakes.” I sound like a grumpy four-year-old, but I don’t care.

“There might be some bread in the pantry, just have some toast. Besides, we don’t have time for pancakes. We’re going to yoga.”

“Really? So you’re still up for it!”

Bex laughs. “Yup. We need to be there by eleven, so we should leave the house soon. Let’s get moving.”

* * *

Upstairs in the guest bedroom, I heave my suitcase onto the bed. I wasn’t planning to work out during this trip, nor am I what you’d call a practicing yogi. I do my fair share of walking (more like running to keep up with the fast moving chaos of London sidewalks) but that’s basically the extent of my fitness routine. The dreary weather, the pubs, the fact that most of the year people are clothed in layers upon layers. Winter coats can hide a lot of sins. And let’s just say, I have a few winter coats.

I have no workout clothes on me but I did pack a swimsuit. Who doesn’t bring a swimsuit to LA? I dig around and fish out the bikini top. I guess this triangle top will have to do for a sports bra, not like I need much support, sadly. I throw on an old T-shirt that I sleep in and pull on a pair of sweatpants. This is gonna have to do.

I hurry out of the room and nearly crash into Bex on the upstairs landing.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Bex looks at me in bemusement.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” I eye Bex up and down. She has on a purple tank top, with straps that crisscross over her shoulders into an intricate pattern on the back. The matching purple leggings have a stripe of lace inlay running down the side of each leg. “Does everyone in LA have haute couture sportswear?”

“Oh, come on. I got it at the outlets. Does everyone in London have—well, I’m not sure how to describe your sportswear. ‘I heart sports, birds, and beer’?”

I look down at my ensemble that’s bordering more on grumpy old man loungewear than gym bunny. “What? I didn’t bring any workout stuff. Isn’t yoga supposed to be non-judgmental and non-materialistic? Besides, this T-shirt is really comfortable. It’s an old thing Ethan wore for one of his friend’s bachelor parties ages ago.”

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