Page 54 of The Yes Factor

One humid August day, toward the end of what seemed an eternal stretch of summer, Bex said, “Let’s do it. Let’s jump off the high dive.”

I was shivering even though the water was warm, struck with paralysis at the thought of such a challenge. I couldn’t say anything, could only hold on to the ledge with one hand and look up at the diving board, trembling and shaking my head no. It had never seemed higher. I still regret that moment and wonder if my life would be different if I’d said yes. The memory of Bex high above the pool. She seemed like she could float up and fly away. I watched from below as she jumped, and I’ll always remember the electric energy of her head bursting up above the water after she’d plunged to its depths. She swam toward me in a fast doggy paddle, smiling and shouting out to me that I had to try it for myself.

But I didn’t. I just couldn’t.

I don’t want to be paralyzed anymore by fear. I want to climb the ladder, walk to the edge and jump. What am I so afraid of? Hitting the bottom? Not being able to swim on my own. Giving up? That’s what I’d felt like on the floor at CVS, just me and the dust bunnies.

Bex had taken the plunge. She made the decision all the way back then when we were little, consciously or not. To jump from the high dive. To divorce Patrick. None of it was easy. But she did it. She did something.

So what if Bex has been living like a nun for a while. Who has the time to date regularly? After this week, the idea of dating sends chills down my spine. Besides, Bex is too busy being a mom to worry about being someone’s girlfriend.

This whole trip, this whole project of mine to get Bex out there, I know now it’s been about me. I’d been so eagerly pushing her to jump—to “say yes”—when all along, it’s what I’ve been wanting to do myself. I want to jump off that high dive.

Do I try to make it work with Ethan? After everything that’s happened, how could I? We’d definitely need to stick with seeing a counselor, at least once a week if not more. I can’t solve this on my own. But I can just imagine how that would all go. Exactly how it has been the few sessions we’ve been to. He’d probably just say that I’m bored, that I’m having some kind of midlife crisis. That I should get involved in a charity, or that things would be different if I had a baby to keep me busy.

I don’t even think he’ll bother with working on our relationship. He already said that he didn’t think we should keep going to counseling. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that he’s daring me to leave him. So he’ll be free to trade me in for a newer model, someone to be the mother of his future children. I know he secretly blames me for not being able to give him all the props and accessories he needs to be the perfect partner at Treadwell & Sloane: wife, a towheaded toddler, a second baby on the way.

But something had attracted us together in the first place. Our curiosity, our hunger to explore the world. Sharing our ambitions and wanting to succeed in life. We used to talk for hours about our goals, our dreams. I miss that. Maybe I’m being too cynical. Maybe we could actually work it out. After all, we’d made it this far, even if it wasn’t perfect. We could have a second wind in our relationship—maybe our forties and fifties could be a new beginning, a new adventure, a new romance together. But he hit on Bex. Drunkenly, but still…who does that?

What was it that Adam had said at the beach? That his marriage was like being in one of those dreams where you can’t wake up but you want to.

Adam…I smile to myself, my eyelids heavy. My muscles relax and I fall deeper into the airplane seat. I reach into the pocket of my jacket to touch the shell he gave me, still gritty with sand. God, it would feel so good to fall asleep in his arms.

Chapter Twenty

Treasure Found

BEX

The car feels empty without Liv in the passenger seat beside me. The radio is off and my phone is plugged into the car charger. I take a deep breath and loudly exhale just to push away the silence. It’s back to reality. But with a twist. Because I have a date with Devon tonight. I smile to myself as I crack the driver’s side window to let in the outside world.

Liv’s “Yes Factor” mission was a whirlwind, but I have to hand it to her, she really pulled through in the end. I’ve always dreamed of Ed McMahon from Publishers Clearing House showing up at my door with an oversized cardboard check, but the unanticipated arrival of Devon was even better than a million dollars. Liv truly redeemed herself after all the dating blunders of this past week. I guess that horrible night at Glamour & State had the best payoff! Liv hacking my dating apps, the infantile guys, and the fight I had with her as a result; it all happened for a reason. I still can’t believe she ran into Chloe. Thank God for Liv and Chloe breaking the rules.

I just hope I was able to help Liv even a fraction of how much she’s helped me. The fact that I didn’t know the truth of her marriage says a lot about how much our relationship needed a pick-me-up. I know that Liv is one to shield and divert, but I see now that being a good friend means pushing past comfort zones, just like she did for me. Liv has always projected the “everything is great!” face to the world when inside she’s crumbling. She’s going home to a big mess of problems and questions, and she is going to have to make some decisions. I hope, for the sake of her happiness, that she does.

* * *

I should have picked up a new mascara when I was in the CVS with Liv. But seeing her scrounging around on the dusty floor, looking like a dandelion puff ball, really threw me for a loop. Now, as I comb through my clumpy lashes in preparation for another date, my nerves (and hand) are so jangly I’ve smeared mascara all over my lids. Deep breath. I haven’t had a real date in four years. Like, a man-picks-you-up-from-your-house-and-takes-you-somewhere kind of date.

Devon and I have been texting all day since our phone call yesterday evening. Just playful banter with an occasional sexy tone. He seems as excited as I am about this date and said he has something magical planned. I asked him to at least give me some indication of dress code. With my luck I’d be in jeans and a T-shirt and he’d have a reservation at Prado or something equally fancy. Or, I’d wear heels and we’d end up at Disneyland—he did say magical, after all! Thankfully, he told me to dress “cozy casual.” Just my speed.

At exactly 5:58 p.m., I hear Devon’s truck pull into my driveway. Appreciating his punctuality because my nerves can’t handle waiting around any longer, I slip on my silver Birkenstocks (thank you, eBay), take a final look in my new Eastlake mirror (thank you, Liv), brush back a few flyaway hairs, and give my ponytail a final scrunch and fluff.

Buzzing with jitters, I answer the door before Devon even has a chance to knock. “Hi,” I say, breathy with anticipation, my eyes drinking him up.

“Hi.” His voice is deep and intense with a barely concealed expectancy. “You look beautiful. You ready?”

Smiling ear to ear, I grab my purse off the art deco hat tree by the door, sling it over my shoulder and nod, stepping out onto the front stoop. Devon gently takes my hand as we walk toward his truck. I feel giddy from his touch and the warm night air. This is the date I’ve been waiting for. All is right with the world.

“Bex!” A screech like a velociraptor attacks my ears and the serenity of the moment evaporates.

“Keep going,” I mutter, keeping my head down and picking up the pace as I walk down the driveway. I feel like I’m in an airplane that’s going down, shocked by the sudden change in altitude.

“Bex!” My neighbor Opal squawks for the second time, waving her hands like air traffic control. Why today, of all days?

Devon, being the gentleman that he is, stops and turns to smile at Opal.

He has no idea that this date is about to crash land! She may look old, sweet, and innocent, but she’s nosy as all get out. Yes, she can spot a thief a mile away—there hasn’t been a robbery on our street for years—but it’d be nice if she could take a break from neighborhood watch so I can have some privacy and enjoy my first real date in a century! But, not wanting Devon to think I’m rude, she does sign for my UPS packages after all, I introduce them in a hurried tone. “Opal, this is Devon. Devon, this is my neighbor Opal.”

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