The Yes Factor

by Erin Spencer

  I turn to look at him and as our eyes lock, we both smile.

  “I love how everyone is so healthy in this town. Always going hiking and jogging,” Adam says without a hint of sarcasm.

  I marvel at the strange but amazing world we live in. This man couldn’t be any more different from Ethan if he tried.

  “It’s great. I used to live here, but I can’t exactly say I was going hiking and jogging. And now, forget it.” I’m feeling unusually talkative.

  “My brother lives here and I wonder half the time how he holds down a job. It seems like every other day he’s doing or planning his next outdoor adventure. He wanted to have his bachelor party at Joshua Tree, but his friends wouldn’t have it. So, it’s Vegas, of course.” Adam laughs.

  “Well, you could always hike through the desert to the bachelor party.”

  “I just want to get through it all and then on to the wedding with no drama. Plus, I’m still kind of jet-lagged. So I need to get on top of things.”

  “Jet-lagged? So you don’t live in LA then?”

  “No, I live in Hamburg. I’ve been living there for almost four years now. I oversee transport and logistics for a shipping company. But I grew up in Houston. My brother James made a beeline for LA right after college, and now that he’s getting married, looks like he’ll stay here.”

  “Hamburg. Well, that’s a long way from Houston, and LA. I’m based in London.”

  “Really? How long you been there?” he asks with interest, slipping into a Texan accent I hadn’t heard previously.

  “It’s been a while,” I answer vaguely, not wanting to get into my backstory. I just want to enjoy this walk, the freedom of the ocean. “So, a bachelor party?” I change the subject.

  “Yup, big brother here had to come over to make sure things don’t get out of hand. So far so good, I think. The wedding is this Sunday in Santa Barbara.” His eyes glance at my left hand. I hadn’t put my wedding ring back on after taking it off for the day at Sunny Dale. And considering London’s gray skies, there wasn’t a telltale tan line. “Not a believer?” he says with a sly smile.

  “Well…” I hesitate, not wanting to lie to him but not wanting to tell him the truth either.

  “Don’t worry, me neither. At least not for the moment. Thankfully, my baby brother’s marriage can take my mom’s mind off my divorce. It’s already bad enough in her books that she’s not a grandmother yet.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say with real concern. I’ve only met him, but I feel so comfortable with him. I forgot how open and easygoing American guys can be. It just feels natural. Whereas with Ethan, sometimes I wonder if he’s ever really himself. Do I even know who he is anymore? Did I ever?

  Our pace slows to a stop and with a resigned shrug Adam says, “You know how you know you’re not doing what you should be doing. Like you’re in one of those dreams where you want to wake up but you can’t move, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you struggle?” He seems to be looking right into the center of my soul.

  “Yes.” I’m staring back into his eyes and feel a warm glow deep inside me.

  “That was my marriage. That was every step of my twenties, thirties, hell, half of my forties. I don’t know what happened. One day I finally moved. I finally woke up. Have you ever had one of those dreams?”

  I let out a loud sigh that’s almost a laugh, and then before I know it my eyes are welling up and I feel like I’m about to start bawling. I want to crawl up into Adam’s arms. I want to feel safe and loved and wanted. I want to feel awake. Alive.

  I hastily wipe away the tears that are now falling. “Welcome to my life.”

  Adam brushes a tear away with his thumb. I imagine just letting go so I can rest my cheek in the palm of his strong hand.

  “You’ll wake up. Everybody’s got their alarm clock. You just have to make sure you hear it, make sure you recognize the sound of it.” As he says this, we’re drawing closer together like two connecting ends of a magnet. Our lips are almost touching.

  But Derby lets out a loud flurry of barks that jolts Adam and me out of our moment, then she breaks into a sprint worthy of winning her namesake.

  “Derby! Stop!” Adam runs to get her. I follow breathlessly, the sound of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. I feel electrified with feeling, synapses bursting, a whole whirlwind of intricate physical and mental miracles happening in my body. I yell out a whoop of energy. Up ahead Adam has captured Derby and they’re both waiting for me.

  I finally reach them, completely winded. Laughing as I try to recover my breath.

  “Here we are! You ready for this?” Adam looks at me as he strains to hold on to Derby’s leash.

  We’ve reached the top of the vertiginous stairs, one long line down to the beach. Adam looks around sneakily. “I know I shouldn’t do this, but what the hell. She loves it too much.” He unhooks Derby’s leash—after all that chasing, he’s now setting her free—and she makes a break for it, a bolt of fluffy fur gleefully racing toward the beach. “She’ll wait at the bottom of the stairs. When James breaks the rules and lets her go, he gives her her favorite treats, so she won’t budge until she gets her chicken.”

  He takes one step, then turns to look back at me, extends his hand. “Come on.” His energy and enthusiasm are contagious.

  The stairs are indeed sturdier than the old ones Ethan and I would use. My legs are moving fast, an aerobic dance as I tap my way downward. Adam is doing a kind of half jog. His tall body, lithe and muscled, moves with ease down the stairs.

  He even takes some two at a time.

  After giving Derby a handful of dried chicken, Adam runs down to the water’s edge with Derby sprinting in front of him. Having reached the wet sand, he turns toward my direction. His silhouette framed by the crashing waves behind him. A man, the ocean. Maybe it’s being winded from the cascading flight of stairs, but I feel breathless at the sight. He beckons to me and I run/walk to meet him; the sand pouring into my tennis shoes.

  “Let’s go in,” Adam says. And I know he’s talking to me this time because Derby’s already wading in, her shaggy mane soggily draped around her.

  “In the water? But I don’t have my bathing suit on.”

  “Me neither.” Adam peels off his T-shirt to reveal a pale midsection, padded from a little too much German beer drinking, but still pleasingly solid and sculpted.

  “I don’t know…” I try to remember what underwear I put on today, if it has holes. I know for sure I didn’t coordinate bra and panties, let alone sexy lingerie bra and panties. Today’s a Hanes day, and hopefully a Hanes day without any holes. Either way, not something I want to publicize.

  “It’ll be fine. There’s hardly anyone here.”

  “I’m okay. I’ll stand guard. Like Hasselhoff.” I cringe.

  Why can’t I just let go? What’s holding me back from racing into the water with him? I feel so self-conscious all of a sudden, butterfly wings beating fast in my stomach. I’m sure he can hear my heart racing. A vision of Francois and me quickly enters my head. It’s one thing to throw away inhibitions when tipsy in an anonymous hotel room. But this, with Adam, this connection and energy. I don’t remember the last time I felt it.

  “At least get your feet wet.” He points to my still shoed feet.

  Realizing that I’m acting like a nun, I untie my shoes. But what about my toenails, and my lack of toenail, I think to myself. My pedicure is practically all worn off after the day of soaking, sunning, and scrubbing at Sunny Dale. Say yes, I hear a voice say in my head. It’s Bex’s voice. Strange to hear my mantra in her voice, giving me my own advice. It’s a lot harder to actually do. I make a mental note to apologize to Bex for how much I’ve pushed her throughout this week.

  Screw it. I kick off my shoes, but then try to burrow my toes into the sand.

  Adam doesn’t even notice.

  “Last chance!” He pulls off his jeans then turns to dash into the surf. I assess his navy blue, cotton boxer briefs as he bodysurfs in
to a coming wave. Okay, so he’s not Marky Mark Calvin Klein era, but he still looks damn good for mid-forties. Putting aside superficial physicality, it’s his confidence that is the most attractive. The comfortable and easy quality of a man at peace with himself.

  “It’s beautiful,” he yells out. “Like you!”

  The sound of the waves almost obscures that last part. But I heard it.

  I walk in, and the cool water envelops my feet. I wiggle my feet and scoop up a bit of wet sand with my toes. It feels good. It feels free. A wave sneaks up and splashes over my knees, almost wetting my shorts. I squeal and jump back onto the dry sand.

  Adam’s making his way out of the water and stands in my fading footprints.

  “Did you hear me?” He holds out his hands.

  I can’t speak. I’m too scared, too confused and too hopeful because, yes, I did hear him.

  I walk over to him. “I think so.” I feel the water rise back over my feet, not giving a damn if a wave gets me.

  “Look what I found. Hold out your hand.”

  He places a small shell into the palm of my hand. It looks like an elongated miniature conch shell.

  “It’s perfect.” I hold up the shell to take a closer look.

  “Maybe you’ll hear something if you put it by your ear. The ocean. A sound. To help wake you up,” he says, alluding to what he told me at the top of the stairs.

  I close my hand around the shell and look up at him. “Thank you.”

  “I want to see you again.” Adam holds my face with his wet hands. I catch a scent of the salty ocean water mixed with the hints of his aftershave. I know this is usually where I should close my eyes, the picture perfect movie moment. But my eyes are open and mesmerized by his. “Do you want to see me again, Liv?”

  “Hey, I’m back. I’m going to go pack!” I call out to Bex as I hastily make my way up the stairs to my room.

  “Did you have fun? What time does your flight leave tomorrow?” Bex yells up to me.

  “Three thirty-five. Yeah, it was good to see the water.”

  How could I even begin to tell Bex about meeting Adam? I’m still trying to process it myself. I’m not even sure it was real.

  I scan the room; just barely a full week here and I’ve managed to make a mess, in more ways than one. I’m going to miss those lace curtains and the sunshine. I’m going to miss Bex. I sit down on the bed with a thud and pull out my phone to see if I have any messages. The butterfly wings stop beating as I see who I have a missed call and voicemail from.

  “Hi darling, I’ve got to fly direct from Dubai to Zurich because of a client dinner on Saturday night so I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back to London to see you on Sunday for lunch. Sorry, darling.”

  And that was that. A voice recording. Digital bits and bytes of a husband. Not even a tape whirring around in an old answering machine, so at least there’d be some physical manifestation of him. In fact, he sounds positively upbeat, and certainly not sorry.

  He’s my ghost husband, I think to myself. What am I doing? I flounce back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Who has a client dinner on a Saturday night? And why was I still bothering to ask myself these questions? I know the answers. And now Bex does too. No more hiding from it. My mind wanders back to the encounter with Adam.

  I hear the door open a crack.

  “Don’t go,” Bex says. “Look at all this stuff, half your closet is already here anyway.”

  “Forget packing. Let’s go hang out in the backyard. I want to soak up the last of this LA sunshine.” Remembering the feeling of being with Adam, I really don’t want to pack. I also remember who’s in traffic on his way over here and smile.

  “What? You’re acting strange. Look at that grin on your face? What’s going on?” Bex says.

  “Nothing. Just all that ocean air. It’s purifying!” I hop off the bed and head downstairs.

  Back under the canopy of Bex’s trees, I feel right at home. The swaying fronds of palm trees against the setting sun are a peaceful farewell on my last night in LA. Liv and I banter with casual and easy chitchat, choosing not to rehash the millions of emotional miles we’ve each traveled this past week together. It’s like we’re back in our teenage bedrooms, a constant chatter between us.

  “Oh my God, remember that time in seventh grade you stole your mom’s credit card number to buy Girl Scout Cookies?” I pour Bex another glass of wine. Why quit now?

  “Ha! Yes! There was no way I was going to let Katie Greenwood be the top seller of Troop 903 again,” Bex says, still sounding ruthless.

  “Thirty boxes of thin mints. And practically five crates of Samoas. You know, looking back on it, your parents were actually pretty cool about it.”

  “My mom was pissed but my dad thought it was great. I think it took us at least two years to get through them. Good thing they hardly expire.” Bex laughs at the memory.

  “Katie Greenwood. I wonder what happened to her.” Katie Greenwood was the goody two-shoes of our class. As an adolescent I couldn’t unravel my feelings about her—a mixture of jealousy, hatred, and admiration that tattooed her in my memory.

  “Please, like you’ve never Facebook stalked her before? I’ll tell you what happened to her.” Bex gears up and I can tell this is going to be good. “She married Jeff Henderson, remember him, quarterback?”

  “Of course, I remember Jeff Henderson. Who doesn’t? Most Handsome and Valedictorian.”

  “So she and Jeff married right after college. Had four kids together.”

  “Four kids? Jeez!”

  “And then he left her.” Bex is solemn. “For Alison.”

  “What!” I spit out a mouthful of wine.

  “Last thing I heard from my mom was that Katie moved back home with her parents so they could help with the kids.”

  “I thought Katie Greenwood would be the queen of a real estate agency. Glamour photo on a For Sale sign in front of McMansions.” I’m genuinely baffled. “Seriously, in my mind, all these years, Katie Greenwood has been living the perfect high-income suburban life, two point five kids, marble countertops, jacuzzi bathtub, hot and smart husband.”

  Bex chuckles wryly. “Nope, she got jilted by a husband who ran away with her sister. So the aunt of her four kids is now also their stepmom.”

  “Holy shit. So nobody’s got the perfect life then.”

  “Liv, you gotta know by now that nobody’s life is perfect.”

  We both turn as we hear a car door slam in the driveway. Craning her neck, Bex tries unsuccessfully to get a view from the low-slung seat of the lounge chair.

  “If that’s my neighbor Opal, don’t talk about real estate, cross-stitching, or African Parrots, she will go on and on,” Bex commands in a hushed voice.

  Through the open backdoor, we hear the front doorbell ring.

  Bex looks at me. I do my best to act natural.

  “That’s weird, Opal never rings the doorbell.” Bex hops up and makes a dash inside. I’m hot on her heels because there’s no way I want to miss what’s coming next.

  Right as her fingers touch the handle to open the front door, I almost reach out to stop her. To ask her not to be mad at me for doing this one last thing. For making a bet that I hope to God is the right one.

  She opens the door and seems to freeze. Her face lights up, then I think she might start crying.

  “Devon?” Her cheeks are flushing.

  He smiles. That smile.

  I look at Bex and I know I played my hand right.

  “So, where do you think you’ll hang it?” Devon unwraps the brown paper and bubble wrap from the Eastlake mirror.

  “Over there.” Bex points decisively to an empty spot in her foyer. Devon follows with the mirror and stands beside Bex. He places the mirror on the wall.

  “You’re going to need some new fastenings to really hold it up properly. But it looks good here.” He nods, commending Bex’s design instincts.

  I watch from across the room and see Bex and Devon�
��s reflection, standing shoulder to shoulder in the mirror. Like a family photo that’s been on the wall for years.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hello. Buh Bye

  BEX

  Peeking through the living room curtains, Liv and I wait until we hear Devon’s truck door slam and the engine purr to life before I turn toward her and lose my mind. In pure excitement.

  “Oh. My. God!” I scream and jump up and down like a high school cheerleader whose boyfriend just scored the winning touchdown at the homecoming game. I nearly knock over my grandmother’s vase on the side table from the flailing.

  “I take it you’re not mad?” Liv says with a hopeful smile on her lips.

  “Mad? Are you kidding! No! I’m thrilled, you minx! I don’t know how you did it, but you did it!” My voice is boiling over with energy and I feel like I’m floating two feet above the floor.

  “Well, then.” Liv joins me in jumping up and down. Our hands clasped, our faces red, and our mouths open in wide smiles, reminding me of the day my eighth grade crush called me to ask me to go strawberry picking with him. Liv and I screamed like two cats in a bag.

  “Bex?” A male voice. Devon’s voice. I stop in my tracks with my back toward the door.

  I look at Liv, who is facing the front door and say as quietly as I can, “Don’t tell me…” She just nods in silent assent. Shit! I slowly turn around and attempt to get my breathing back to normal. I open the door.