The Yes Factor

by Erin Spencer

  BEX

  The Pasadena Society Estate Sale is just a few weekends a year and, in the past, has been full of unique finds. Normally, I’d be pounding the pavement by eight a.m., but with Liv’s jet lag and my need to sleep off the nightmare called Chandace, we leave the house well after eleven.

  I’m so close to finishing a project and need the antique gods to guide me to a leather statement piece to tie it all together. Although the process itself can be ugly, and most days my fingernails are darkened by stain or varnish, there’s nothing I love more than the hard work that goes into creating beauty from something that’s been neglected. There are a few antique markets around LA, but good pieces at a reasonable price are hard to find. Occasionally, I don’t mind buying something that’s already been restored, but if I find one more piece of old furniture that’s been painted white or, God forbid, glued with decorative tiles, I might just take an axe to it. As far as I’m concerned, shabby-chic is a curse, not a trend.

  I scan the stalls, hoping to find a few overlooked pieces while also trying to keep up with Liv who’s flitting around like a drunk hummingbird.

  “Liv! Wait up. What’d you find?” I shout out to Liv, who’s rifling through a cardboard box of scrap fabric with such focus that she doesn’t hear me. “Olivia!” I finally call out in exasperation.

  With a smile, Liv pulls out a gorgeous lavender, yellow, and white cloth like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “Look at this fabric! This would be perfect to recover that Victorian desk chair in your office. Isn’t it great?”

  “Shh.” Doesn’t she know anything about bargaining? I was wanting to cover the seat in an old suede, but it’s been impossible to find something I like.

  I reach out and finger the fabric. It’s hand embroidered with wild flowers and birds on a thick wool backing, nicely discolored with age yet still sturdy enough to work with. My nose crinkles at the musty smell of dust, earth, and mothballs, like it’s been kept in a basement trunk for decades. Maybe this could actually work on the chair. It’s completely different than what I had in mind, but the colors would contrast so nicely with the cherry wood.

  “You’re right. I have to have this. Do you see a price tag on it?” I whisper.

  Liv flips the fabric over looking for a tag and I see a small piece of blue painter’s tape that reads $85. I cringe as reality seeps into my bones. This is slow season for my business, and I really shouldn’t be spending money on myself when I came here looking to buy a piece for a client. Most importantly though, I need to save so I have some fun money for going out with Liv this week. But Mama didn’t raise no fool.

  I peel off the price tag, and stroll over to the stall owner with a casual attitude and say flippantly, “This is cute, I’ll give you twenty bucks for it.”

  I may put on a brave face, but I can feel my underarms start to dampen. I’m desperate to make a deal. The woman looks at me over her purple rimmed glasses with suspicion. She fluffs her auburn bouffant and counters, “Fifty.”

  It’s the final day of the last Pasadena Society Estate Sale of the year, and I know this lady wants to move the merch. I counter back, “Thirty. You probably bought this for twenty-five cents at a garage sale off some Altadena cat lady.” I raise a confident eyebrow daring her to relent. She responds with an open palm, grudgingly accepting my price and waiting for the cash.

  “Yes! You are a boss.” Liv high fives me as we stroll away, the beautiful vintage fabric flung over my body like Miss America’s victory sash.

  I look over at Liv and smile. This is the perfect day. It’s everything I love most—California, Liv, sunshine, and antiques. Old things and an old friend. The only thing missing is Maddie. A wave of bittersweet happiness floods me. Liv’s only been here for two days and I’d forgotten how much joy she brings to my life. She reminds me of who I am, who I used to be, and what I aspire to be. It’s like the ghost of Christmas past, present, and future showed up at my house with a bottle of wine to snap me back into really living.

  “I don’t want you to leave. Ever,” I say. “How come we let so much time go by without seeing each other?”

  Liv laughs her light bubbly laugh and rolls her eyes. “Aww, come on now. I just got here. We’ve got a lot more trouble to get into!” She puts on a 1930s flapper hat from a nearby rack, then shimmies her shoulders just to make me laugh.

  “I’m serious. How did our relationship devolve into one sentence texts and funny memes? What happened to us?”

  Liv pauses and puts the hat back on the rack, shrugging off the stern glare of the curmudgeonly stall owner. “I guess life happened? I don’t know…”

  “Life?”

  “I guess part of me felt like I couldn’t help you. Like, I had nothing to offer. Your struggles with Maddie in elementary school. All the drama with Patrick. I felt like I didn’t know what to say. I don’t even have a kid, so what would I know?”

  “Really? You know me better than anyone and if anyone can give me some perspective, you can. I just figured my mundane life was boring to you. You, off in Europe with your cool job and cooler husband. Jet-setting and having late night cocktails in London hot spots. I just couldn’t keep up.”

  The bustle of the market surrounding us, we stand in our vortex of silence as we let our truths sink in. Neither of us did anything wrong, we just let our differences divide us, momentarily forgetting that our bond is deeper than the daily struggles of life.

  Liv breaks our reverie. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you during the divorce. I should have come right away.” There’s pain in her eyes.

  “Liv, it’s okay.” She starts to scoff, wanting to argue the opposite, but I don’t let her. “No, really, it’s okay. It was a hard time, but I’m okay. And anyway, you are here now. That’s all that matters.” I turn into the oncoming crowd and say over my shoulder, “Besides, somebody has to help me drink all the wine I just bought!”

  “You know I’m up for that challenge!” Liv hooks her arm through mine.

  “I love you.” I lean against her shoulder.

  “And I love you.”

  It’s just that easy.

  The world righted, we amble along in a comfortable silence, glancing from here to there at the assortment of wares. Old watches, dolls, dishes, and clothes, until we come upon a large tented area full of Hollywood memorabilia.

  “Oh my God, speaking of Dynasty, look at this headshot of Joan Collins!” Liv squeals, running over to lift it out of the crate it’s stacked in, the heavy emotion of our conversation left behind.

  “What was that girl talking about? My dress looked nothing like that! The shoulders weren’t nearly as puffy!” I say with a fake scowl.

  “Puh-lease, you looked fabulously sexy. Nobody at that party was wearing enough clothes to know anything about fashion. And anyway, Joan looks hot in this pic.” Liv gives a final envious glance at the photo. “I’d kill for a dress and earrings like that.”

  I nod my head toward the sunshine. “Let’s mosey on, shall we?”

  Standing at the edge of the tent, staying in the shade until we get our bearings, we simultaneously inhale the aroma of churros and in unspoken agreement turn right, as if heading to Mecca, the breeze blowing the hair from our faces. We pass a stall of silhouette portraits, and another that’s overflowing with handmade soaps and lotions. Diagonal from the Santa Barbara Soap Co. I spot a gorgeous Eastlake mirror made of intricately carved mahogany. It’s in near perfect condition, with only a hint of oxidation on the glass. Sweeping my gaze quickly over the items in this stall, I can see that this vendor has my kind of taste. Unpainted wooden furniture, that has either been painstakingly restored to its former glory, or left unfinished waiting for the right pair of loving hands to bring it back to life. I feel like the latter—a pair of loving hands would do wonders for my soul.

  I look over at a sign hanging from the tent structure and smile as I read, “If You’re Gonna Paint it – DON’T buy it.” Obviously, the lady who owns this stall is a woman
of my own heart. I inwardly chuckle with amusement and look around for the owner, assuming she’ll be the twin I never knew I had.

  Not seeing anyone, my attention is drawn back to the glorious Eastlake mirror, and I approach it for a closer inspection and catch a glimpse of myself. My cheeks are rosy from the heat, and even though I feel tired from last night’s shenanigans, I don’t look half bad. My makeup-less face and no fuss hair may not be glamorous, but I feel like myself. Despite the craziness, Liv’s visit has already done wonders for me.

  “Liv!” I call out, getting her attention. “Come look at this. It is to die for.” I don’t bother whispering or hiding my interest. There is no amount of bargaining that will bring this down to my price point.

  “So gorgeous. Totally you.”

  Standing side by side, Liv lifts an invisible microphone to her mouth and busts

  out, “I’m starting with the woman in the mirror!” changing man to woman because, well, that’s what we always do whenever we sing this song together, which we’ve been doing since the sixth grade. As we round out the verse, a slow clap of applause strikes up behind us. We turn around, slightly embarrassed, but at the same time, not really giving a damn.

  “You guys are awesome,” a teenage girl with the vibe of a young Alicia Keys says with an approving nod. She has a soulful and organic beauty, seemingly comfortable in her own skin. “What do you think of the Eastlake? Awesome, huh?”

  I look at her in surprise and ask, not masking how impressed I am, “You know a lot about antiques?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s in my DNA. We found this beauty last summer when my dad and I were on a road trip to visit my mom’s grave in Louisiana. We spotted it at a garage sale near Lafayette. Got it for a song! But, don’t tell him I told you.” She leans in conspiratorially. My heart twists with compassion. This is a young girl who’s been through a lot but it’s obvious she’s a fighter.

  Liv and I are both enchanted by her. “Don’t worry, we won’t say anything!”

  “I’m Chloe, by the way.”

  “Bex.” I extend my hand.

  Liv introduces herself and then asks, “So, this is your dad’s booth?”

  Oh, no. I can already see Liv’s wheels turning. Maintaining my smile, I turn pointedly toward Liv, wanting her to know that I know what she’s thinking. But Chloe doesn’t know Liv like I do and innocently calls out, “Dad! Hey, Dad! Come over here and meet Bex and Liv. They’re looking at the Eastlake.” Chloe leans in close to us. “Please don’t say anything about Lafayette and the garage sale, he’d kill me.” She rolls her eyes skyward.

  “Your secret is safe with us,” I reassure her as both Liv and I nod in unison. Chloe gives us a smile then turns to greet a couple who are eyeing a mid-century modern coffee table.

  Liv doesn’t waste a second, hissing in my ear, “I don’t know about you, but between this booth and that hunk of a man over there, I think we have a deal!” Liv gives me a little spank on the rear like we’re in the NFL and she’s motivating me to get out on the field for a winning touchdown.

  “Don’t get all worked up. Today’s a day off. You can’t keep pushing me into every man we meet.”

  “But—” Liv protests, so I stop her before she can go any further.

  “Liv, I’ll talk to him because it’s rude to just leave, but this is not happening today. After last night, I need a break from saying yes.”

  Liv gives me an exaggerated pout and rolls her eyes.

  I turn around to see the man who must be Chloe’s dad. He’s leaning over an account ledger, running his finger down the page, engaged enough that he doesn’t notice me taking him in. He’s around six foot two with a strong, sturdy build, a man that works with his hands. His complexion is darker than Chloe’s. The simple aqua colored shirt he’s wearing makes his skin appear luminescent. Liv wasn’t wrong when she called him a hunk. But, wait. Hold on. I recognize this guy. “Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath.

  I turn back to face Liv, who’s watching me with that knowing smirk of hers, but she doesn’t know the half of it. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, okay? I want to check out a few things. You’re gonna talk to him, right? You can say yes to that, can’t you?” Liv practically skips away, waving to Chloe as she disappears out of sight.

  I look over to Chloe and then to her dad again. Yep, there is no mistaking it. Chloe is a little older than the Café du Monde photo, but it’s obviously them. When I swiped left on him earlier this week, I felt like I had lost a real opportunity. I didn’t get to read his whole bio, but there was something about him. Something in his eyes and smile. Seeing him now, in the flesh, there’s a calmness about him, like he’s never rushed in his life, yet is never late. He exudes an air of powerful serenity, a stillness in this whirlwind of weekend deal-seekers and looky-loos. When I saw the Eastlake from afar, I’d expected a woman to be the mastermind of these beautifully restored pieces, but now that I see this man, it makes perfect sense. The wood sings at his pitch and frequency. I look around the stall, immersing myself in the energy of this song.

  “Bex?”

  I’m startled out of my reverie, gearing myself up to speak but suddenly feeling very nervous.

  “I’m Devon. Nice to meet you.” He reaches his hand out to me in greeting and with my eyes never leaving his warm smile, I reach out to shake his hand. This guy must think I’m an idiot because I’m moving so slowly, like a snail crawling through a bowl of Jell-O.

  I start talking without realizing what I’m saying. Words tumble off my tongue.

  “Hi, I’m Bex but you already know that ha ha I just love your stuff I’m a big fan of all things vintage and antique and I love that sign.” I point to the wooden plaque and continue my ramble. “I mean If You’re Gonna Paint It Don’t Buy it—why ruin a good thing, right?” I’m sure my face looks like it’s been painted bright red. I’m so hot and discombobulated I feel like I just drank a bottle of wine in a sauna.

  Devon responds with an open and friendly laugh that realigns my senses and puts me at ease, bringing me back down to earth. With a twinkle in his eye and the lines around them slightly scrunched, he says, “Nothing brings me more pleasure than uncovering a hidden treasure.”

  I blink twice. Damn. He is hot. And cool.

  “I know what you mean,” I say, my nerves settling. “And the adventure leading to the treasure is just as rewarding, don’t you think?”

  “The journey, not the destination.” He nods knowingly and taps his fingers on the teak table next to him. “You sound like a regular Indiana Jones.”

  My laugh comes easily and honestly. “I almost named my daughter Indiana, but my ex-husband was against it.” I inwardly chastise myself for bringing up Patrick, The Weeper must have rubbed off on me with this ex-talk! I shake it off and get back on topic. “I took my daughter to Belize two years ago, and we did this crazy cave swim excursion thing where you end up in this big cavern and there is—”

  “A Crystal Maiden?”

  “Yes! Have you been there?” I say, eager to build on a connection.

  “I have. Chloe and I went last year. What are the chances?” Devon leans over the table calling out to get Chloe’s attention, “Chloe, what was the name of that cave in Belize? The one with all the Mayan pots and the skeleton?”

  Chloe thinks for a minute, her eyes turned upward as she sorts through her memory. I can practically see the light bulb go on when she says confidently, “ATM.” She gives him bug eyes, which I find cute and very endearing. I can appreciate that father-daughter bond.

  Devon and I turn back to each other and long seconds tick by as we stare, smiling at each other. Anxious about what to say next, I unconsciously rub my lips together thinking I need some ChapStick. I’m not that good at talking to gorgeous men in person. I’ve been a strictly text conversationalist for too long now. Thankfully, Devon interjects my silence.

  “Hey, do you wanna grab a coffee at the Chicory Cart down the way? We can swap vacation stories, plus, I could use
a break.”

  Devon is so genuine that I find it hard to resist him. This is exactly what I’ve yearned for for so long. Meeting someone naturally, out in the world, finding a common interest and feeling an instant chemistry. Not all of that app dating crap, matchmaking drama, and random encounters at bars. I cringe as I momentarily recall the date with The Weeper. What was I thinking? This is how it’s supposed to go down.

  So then, why do I say, “I don’t want to take you away from your booth. I’m sure you’re really busy…” I trail off. But I can’t take my eyes away from his, my lips parted, wanting to say yes, but I’m frozen.

  Seeming to sense that my brush off was more out of politeness than lack of desire, he gently insists. “You really shouldn’t miss their New Orleans iced latte.”

  This man is speaking my language. “You said the magic word—New Orleans,” I respond and wiggle my eyebrows, trying to seem upbeat and carefree despite the explosion of nerves going on inside me. “Lead the way.”

  I’m enjoying every second of our leisurely pace over to the Chicory Cart. Devon is recounting a funny story about a Louisiana swamp tour escapade gone wrong. I wonder if it’s the same trip as the beignet photo on his Tinder profile? Part of me wants to mention my swipe mishap, but another part of me feels like that would make me sound like a crazy stalker. So, I just listen and stay in the moment, noticing the way his glimmering, onyx eyes meet mine or how he smiles and touches my arm at a particularly funny part of the story. Our conversation flows so easily, like he’s an old friend. Nothing feels put-on or like we’re trying too hard. We just fit. Devon and The Weeper are night and day.

  Delicious iced coffees in hand, Devon pulls out a seat for me at a small table under a towering oak tree.

  “It’s a perfect day.” My voice sounds as relaxed as I feel in the shade with Devon. “My daughter would love this tree.”

  “How old is your daughter?”

  “Ahh, Maddie. She’s thirteen going on twenty-five. She still loves a good antique hunt, but she’s away at camp. Junior counselor this year.”