get you both comp passes.”
I nudge Bex and pull her aside. “Say yes. I know this has been a total bust and I feel like such an idiot. But please, this night has got to come to something! He might be a new age Jeff Spicoli but he seems like a nice guy, and besides, those arms.”
Bex elbows me sharply and I think I’ve blown the whole thing, that she’ll never want to date anyone ever, but then she turns to Alex and says unenthusiastically, “Sure. Yes.”
“All right! You’re going to totally dig it, I promise. What’s your name? You can pick up the passes from reception before class. They have an amazing class on Mondays. Super energy and vibe. A great way to spiritually detox from the weekend.”
“Summer Moon Lotus,” Bex says.
“Summer Moon…I dig it.” Alex nods appraisingly, bowing to Bex with his hands in prayer position.
Back at Bex’s house, blissfully decked out in our sweats, we stand side by side in the bathroom brushing our teeth.
“Oh my God, that was crazy!” Bex says with an edge of humor in her voice. This night will probably turn into a story she’ll get a kick out of repeating.
“Ridiculous,” I say, relieved that my mistake is something we can make fun of now that we’re safely home and far from the likes of Chandace. “We’ve got Colgate rabies.” I gurgle and foamy white toothpaste cascades from my mouth down into the sink.
I rinse my mouth and wipe it with a towel. “I miss you,” I say with a sharp, bittersweet pang in my chest. It’s true, God, how I miss this familiar companionship, the feeling of being with a friend who’s a sister—family forged from love, laughter, and a shared journey from adolescence to adulthood.
I take my mouth guard out from its case and run it under the faucet.
“Why do you have that thing?” Bex says.
“I grind my teeth. Stress. Plus, it helps keep all that teenage orthodontic work from being all for nothing.” I shrug, ignoring a rising wave of emotion that I don’t want to surface.
“What do you have to be stressed about?” Bex says. “You and Ethan are okay, aren’t you? I get that Francois is just a onetime blip on the radar. I know things can be up and down, but your life is basically Notting Hill. And now thanks to all that dental work, your teeth are almost as razzle dazzle as Julia’s.” She singsongs “razzle dazzle” a la Chicago the musical.
“Is any marriage ever really ‘okay’? I wish grinding my teeth was the only thing that needed fixing.” I shake the mouth guard dry and feel the tears starting to well up despite my best efforts to keep things breezy.
“What’s going on?” Bex asks with concern.
“Nothing, come on. I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about your hot yoga date,” I say in an upbeat tone.
“Wait, hot yoga date as in hot date or as in hot yoga? Isn’t that like over a hundred degrees, no way I’m doing that. Why can’t this be a Zumba date? I love Zumba. And besides, I don’t think he was asking me on a date. He just wants us to join his yoga cult or something.” Bex gives me a gentle smile. I know her, and she knows I know her. She’s giving me some space right now, which I’m grateful for. Maybe it’s just the jet lag and leftover adrenaline, and gin, that’s making me feel so emotional.
“This is LA, everyone’s in some kind of cult or another. At least he didn’t invite us to a Scientology meeting,” I tease. “Hey, let’s do pore strips and get grossed out. Doesn’t Maddie have some?”
“No,” Bex says “She’s thirteen with perfect skin but she and all her friends use these filters and apps to look like poreless, porcelain mannequins. It’s crazy.”
“When is someone going to invent an app like that for life? There’s so much in this world I’d love to get rid of,” I say.
“I know.” Bex starts listing, “War, poverty, hatred.”
“Yes. And Chandace’s breath.” I take a swig of mouthwash then pass the bottle to Bex. “So, are you gonna go? The yoga date on Monday?”
“To culty yoga recommended by a shirtless bartender from a swinger’s party? How could I say no?” she says. “Fine, why the hell not. But only if you come with me.”
“I can’t. I’ve never done yoga. And besides, I’ve lost a toenail.”
“How can you lose a toenail? No one’s going