Page 47 of The Yes Factor

“Wait. What?” I interrupt him. “The last time I talked to her, she said she was fine. That everything was handled. I don’t understand.” I rack my brain trying to figure out exactly what happened between then and now.

“Yes, well, she called and said that she was crampy or something and that she wanted me to pick her up right away. I told her that of course I would, and that I’d bring Amber along to help out with any girl talk she might need.” In the background Amber cheerily adds something that sounds like “happy to help!”

“Patrick, firstly, I’ve already talked to her about this and second, you can’t go pick her up. It’s not the end of the world! I got my first period in gym class during a volleyball game! Nobody’s first time is convenient.”

“God, B, I don’t need all the details.” Patrick really can’t even handle talking about something that happens to every woman. I smirk to myself and shake my head. Typical. “Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not leaving my daughter up there when she’s alone and upset. Amber can take care of her. Make her tea or something.”

“Look, I already told her specifically that I was not coming to get her. She’s mature enough to handle this on her own. Maddie’s playing both sides here and you’re falling for it. Why are you always saying yes when I say no, giving Maddie everything she wants when she wants it?”

“No, I do not do that. That is completely untrue. I don’t.” His voice fades because he can’t think of an example to back up his claim.

“Exactly! When are you going to realize that you bending over backward for her isn’t doing her any favors in the long run? I mean, going to rescue her from camp is not going to suddenly make you Father of the Year. You’d have to do a lot more to win that award. Like act like an actual father and spend some quality time with Maddie instead of globetrotting with wife number two.”

And boom, here we go. Patrick’s gotten to me and I’ve gone too far by getting mean and petty. But, I’m sick of him catering to Maddie’s every whim and in the process undermining my role as a parent.

I take a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves. “Listen, I know you love Maddie and want to do what’s best for her. But trust me, she can handle this. I know she can.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line as Patrick takes in my words. When he mumbles, “I guess you’re right,” I hear the reluctant defeat in his voice. “It’s just that she said that she needs me and I don’t want to let her down. Again.”

His “again” softens my heart. He isn’t oblivious to his shortcomings after all.

“You know what?” I relent, “Why don’t you and Amber pick Maddie up from camp at the end of the session. Y’all can make a thing of it. Plus, you’ll be there for the awards ceremony and all that. I’m sure she’d love for you to be there.” I should give Patrick the room to be a better dad.

“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, B.” He sounds tired and I can picture him sitting down on the couch with a scotch, swirling the glass around like he always does when he’s stressed.

“I’ll email you all the info. Have a good night.” As we exchange goodbye’s I feel my mood return to equilibrium. That talk with Patrick took me from zero to sixty almost instantly, and it’s a relief not to be on that roller coaster with him on a daily basis anymore. I shake my head thinking about the constant griping we both did at the end of our marriage.

Deep breath, Bex. I put the conversation behind me and move forward. My thoughts turn to Liv in the bedroom across the hall and I wonder how she will move forward after she leaves here. Is she squandering her happiness for a rich husband and a life that gives her just enough to get by emotionally? As much as I hate it, I can’t blame her. We all do it to some extent. I know I did. When does compromise cross the threshold into full abandonment of self? When do the scales tip so far that you’re swimming in a false sense of security that’s so strong that you don’t even know when you start to drown?

I don’t know what she’s going to do. I don’t know what I am going to do either. What I do know is that we just have to keep on keepin’ on. One foot in front of the other.

Liv’s visit, the events of the past few days, dealing with Maddie and Patrick—trying to understand all of it is impossible. Is this the life I thought I’d lead? It’s not even close and my complacency is squandering any opportunity to truly live a full life. And what makes my situation doubly tragic is that I’m showing my daughter that this is okay. That getting by and just accepting what is served to you on the platter of life is “just fine.” Jesus, my biggest fear in life used to be that I’d be ordinary and, well, just look at me now.

Thank God Liv came to LA to remind me who I am. That I am a “yes” person after all. That new experiences and adventures are in my grasp, and that I deserve them. I’ve spent far too long shutting myself away in the safety of my little familiar world.

When Liv leaves, I’m making a resolution to stay open. To stay in the “Yes.” But, until then, I still have another episode of Outlander to watch…

Chapter Seventeen

Ebbs and Flows

LIV

A rush of sea air hits me and fills my lungs. It’s almost too much to bear. I gulp it in and lean over the railing to look down at the cliffs and out onto the beach. Santa Monica will always be the same. The concrete swathe of sidewalk snakes its way down south to Venice, dotted with rollerbladers, morning joggers, and happy tourists on bikes. A confetti sprinkling of neon Lycra and tracksuits. The faded blue lifeguard towers in the distance are like old friends. It’s a view I’ve seen so many times on TV and movie screens, but also one that I used to see regularly when I lived here. The blending of all these images in my consciousness makes the place seem like a familiar dream. I look toward the pier and can see it’s just waking up. I am, too.

The drive over from Bex’s house was sleepy and slow. I haven’t even had coffee yet. Bex had to stay at home to deal with a rush order—“Etsy 911” she’d said—so she couldn’t join me. I’d woken up almost as if possessed: I needed to see the ocean. I’d been here almost a week with no view of the beach. I was yearning to walk back into this familiar dream. To see the ocean disappear into the horizon. To be on the edge of everything.

I head toward the rickety wooden stairs that lead down to the sand. When Ethan and I were dating, this walk was one of our rituals when he would fly out to visit me. At the time he was based in New York and I was out here in LA. I remember the feeling of anticipation, waiting for that moment when I’d recognize him in the crowd of weary passengers exiting into the baggage terminal at the airport. It was an instant injection of buzzy adrenaline, anticipation, and desire. Where did those feelings go? We’ve sent a man to the moon, but we can’t bottle that particular feeling. If that feeling were bottled and sold, would I even want to feel those feelings again for Ethan? Or enjoy that rush with someone new?

Ethan always liked to joke about LA residents and their penchant for hiking and fitness. Where do they think they’re going with their rucksacks and water packs? This isn’t the Serengeti. Or What’s so wrong with a gentle pace. Look at this chap taking two stairs at a time. He’ll need a hip replacement by the age of thirty. I’ve now realized those snide remarks are Ethan’s regular mode; but at the time, with his accent still a new thrill for me, I thought he was being witty and sarcastic. I cringe thinking about how I’d laugh and play up to his clichéd views. Looking back, we were both playing roles.

Lost in my thoughts, I’ve walked too far and circle back to find the entrance to the stairs. This is the place, I just know it. But I’m confused. I guess Santa Monica isn’t always the same. The railing is uninterrupted, there’s no break for an entrance to the stairs which we’d wandered down so many times.

I really didn’t want to pull out my phone, but I need to look for directions. What the hell happened to those stairs? I give myself a police pat down. Shit, I left my phone in the car. I turn around in circles and give up. Things change. The stairs are gone. That feeling is gone. In resignation, I rest my head on the railing, arms crossed over it for support.

“Hey, you okay?” a man asks me.

“I’m fine.” I don’t even look up. I don’t want to deal with anyone. And this guy’s probably some creep like most of the guys Bex and I have been dealing with all week.

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