Page 41 of The Yes Factor

I think I might have pushed Bex completely over the edge. Oh. Shit.

I follow her as she struts out of the restaurant. “Bex, what the hell? That was crazy, but also kind of amazing,” I say in disbelief at what I just witnessed.

“Screw ’em,” Bex says, in a detached voice. And I know she’s not just talking about Jason and Toby, but about Mr. Felon-aire Millionaire, the Weeper, and even Ethan and Patrick. “And Liv,” she turns to me dead serious, “you’ve gone too far.”

Phone still in her hand, I can see that Bex is deleting all of her dating apps.

“Come on, Bex, what are you doing? Don’t overreact. I’m worried about you,” I plead. “Let’s go back in and have a drink, just you and me. Or let’s go someplace else.”

“No. I told you I’m done. I’m going off the grid. The only app I’m going to be using is Lyft. Ravi will be here in two minutes. Why don’t you go get a drink by yourself and see what it’s like to be single?”

“Bex, stop. Please.” I’m practically begging.

We stare at each other in silence. Bex won’t say a word.

A Corolla pulls up and honks.

“That’s me. Bye. You can find your own way home, can’t you? Unless, of course, you meet someone. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Ethan, or Francois.” Bex slams the door, the pain of her words hurts so much it’s like she slammed the door on my fingers.

I watch the car pull away and stop myself from calling her. I should give her some space. I sure as hell don’t want to have a drink at the bar here though. I can tell the night is heating up and the place is probably teeming with millions of Tobys and Jasons.

I make my way back to the bathroom where at least nobody will bother me. I can take a break from this craziness then order a car back home. Hopefully, Bex will have cooled off.

I sit on the same pink sofa where Bex and I were just sitting. The bathroom champagne girl is gone and I’m feeling especially alone and angry with myself. I lean back with a sigh and thank God I’m no longer twenty-one as I watch a gaggle of young Hollywood wannabes flounce in and out of the bathroom. They stop and take a group selfie with pursed duck-face lips. Does anybody smile in pictures anymore? Everyone seems to be doing everything but being present in the moment. Nobody is even making eye contact with their friends, they’re all too absorbed in their phones.

I watch a girl in over-the-knee boots, a miniskirt, and bolero hat loudly exclaim as she’s staring at her phone screen, “Your eyes are closed again! We don’t have time to keep retaking this. Just stay out of this one for now.” Bolero hat girl laughs as she turns her back on her friend to rejoin the rest of her group who are already posing, lips in the ready position.

The girl who’d committed the apparently mortal sin of closing her eyes in a photo crashes down next to me on the sofa. She’s obviously a little tipsy and her handbag topples off her lap, landing with a dull thud on the floor as the contents scatter everywhere.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, ohmygod,” the girl slurs an apology.

“It’s okay.” I lean over to help the girl with her stuff, spying a driver’s license that I pick up. Looking at the driver’s license photo of “Nia Griffiths” and then at the girl’s face, it’s obvious they aren’t one and the same. Then it hits me, this girl isn’t Nia Griffiths, whoever that is, it’s Chloe from the estate sale!

“Chloe?” I look into her overly mascaraed eyes, hardly believing what’s happening. The universe has given me a get out of jail free card.

“My name’s Nia,” Chloe stumbles over the words.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to say anything. I met you on Sunday at the Pasadena Estate Sale. I was with my friend Bex.”

Chloe nods in slow recognition then looks back at her friend, the mean Bolero girl, who’s calling out to her.

“Come on, let’s go, the car is here,” the girl orders, doing her best model stomp out of the bathroom. Chloe turns to me with a look both vulnerable and defiant. “I have to go.”

“Is she really your friend?” I say and lightly touch her arm. “You know you’re worth way more than those girls.” I look at Chloe and see how young she is underneath the makeup she’s put on for this night out with her fake ID and fake friends. “Will you just give me two minutes? I know it sounds crazy, but I really need to talk to you.” I do my best to not sound like some kind of creepy middle-aged woman sitting in a bathroom pleading for a teenager with a fake ID to talk to her.

“What do you want talk about? I know she’s not my real friend. I can handle it. Didn’t you do stupid stuff when you were a teenager?” Chloe says to me in a voice edged with defiance.

“I’m still doing stupid stuff. But I’m really hoping I can make up for it. Can I have your dad’s phone number?”

“What? You said you weren’t going to say anything about the ID!”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s for my friend Bex. Remember her?”

Chloe softens with understanding. “Yeah, I do. And my dad remembers her, too. Here, give me your phone.”

I unlock my phone and hand it over to Chloe who adds her dad’s number to my contacts. “There you go.” She hands me back the phone. Yes! Now I better not screw this up.

“Thank you, Chloe. This means a lot, more than you know. Oh, and do me a favor. I won’t say anything about the ID if you don’t tell your dad about running in to me. Deal?”

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