The Yes Factor - Erin Spencer Page 0,64

guy looks like a perfect match for me, and then I swiped the wrong way, and lost my chance. Seeing him again felt like kismet, but I botched that too. I just can’t seem to…”

“Bex, it’s gonna be—”

“No!” I interrupt her brusquely, blinking the tears back and focusing on the road. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about me or any of this bullshit.” My tone softens. “I forgive you. But, can we please change the subject and talk about you? I feel like you’ve only revealed the tip of the iceberg yesterday when you told me about Ethan.” I take a quick glance at her and she’s practically turned her back to me looking at the roadside mini-malls like they’re the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. I give her a gentle nudge. “Liv, hello? I know you don’t have Ross Dress For Less in London but I promise you, it’s not worth a pit stop.”

She swivels around to face front once more. “I think I need a big glass of wine and a spa soak before I can talk about the Titanic that is my marriage.” I nod, understanding her completely.

“That’s fine. Put on some tunes then, will ya? This is a road trip after all.” I try to sound cheery.

When Liv puts on Bonnie Raitt, “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” I know we’re in for a real doozy of a conversation. I wonder if we can order wine by the bottle and Uber back?

“This place is absolute Heaven. How have I not been here before?”

Liv and I are sprawled out on plastic recliners, covered in mud from head to toe. She takes a sip of her Sauvignon Blanc, which she’s loaded with ice, and closes her eyes.

Sunny Dale Hot Springs isn’t too crowded since it’s a Thursday. The deck area is dotted with clusters of mostly older women in bathrobes, enjoying the California sunshine and more importantly the California wine. Fortunately, there are very few men in sight. After the surprise call from The Weeper and the chaos of the last few days, I’m perfectly content spending a day without men. The mineral baths, sulfur springs, and special mud are the body and soul cleansing that I need.

“Guru Stan, would be proud of how Zen we are right now!” I laugh.

Liv smirks and the mud cracks along her laugh lines. “Yeah, although I’m not sure he’d approve of the wine. As over the top as that place was, I wish I could find something similar in London. I was thinking maybe Ethan and I could start doing yoga together on Sunday mornings. He doesn’t want to go to counseling anymore, but maybe yoga would help us. If he were ever around.” She mutters that last part under her breath.

And there’s my cue. I dive right in.

“Speaking of.” I pause to see if she’ll open up without any further prodding. She doesn’t. “Ethan,” I say definitively. “Spill. Troof.”

Ever since our obsession with Da Ali G Show in the early 2000s, we picked up his exaggerated way of saying truth and ran with it.

Liv rolls on her side to face me, her eyes open, looking like two oyster pearls nestled in Dauphin Island, Alabama clay. “Troof? I don’t know.”

Slightly frustrated, the need to call her out gets the better of me. “You know. Talk it out.” I wave my hand to encourage her to continue.

Taking another sip of icy liquid courage, she says, “I know from the outside it seems like I have this great life and everything. Living in London, a successful husband, my so-called ‘glamorous job,’ but, I’m miserable. I don’t think I can move past his cheating. I feel like I just don’t have the energy to keep up with the charade any longer.”

I reach down to adjust my forest green bikini bottoms and inadvertently reveal a bit of skin that’s so white I immediately smear it with mud so I don’t blind myself, or anyone else.

“I just feel so ignored.” Sip. “Invisible.” Sip. “Insecure.” Sip. “Unlovable.” Sip. “Under sexed.” Gulp.

Of course, I hate hearing my best friend say these words and I want to comfort her, but doesn’t every woman feel these things at some point? Could this just be the cycle of the relationship? My grandmother always said, “This too shall pass.” Maybe it will pass? But, before I can respond, she says, “It’s been this way for nearly seven years.”

“Wait, you’ve been married for nine!” I do the math in

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