The Yes Factor - Erin Spencer Page 0,68
and that’s that.
I’m staring at the phone again. Was that conversation even real? Bex is right. I can’t keep hiding. But that’s all I want to do right now. Hide. Not call Ethan back, not even go back “home.”
As if to rub salt in the wound, I open the text from Clarissa.
Sweets! Where are you? Did you go to France? Alan said something about a girl’s getaway.
Call me! Xx
Knowing Clarissa deserves a response, no matter how belated, I type in: Hi babes, ended up in LA, crazy I know! See you soon. Drinks this week?
I throw in a heart, flowers, and a martini glass emoji, hating myself as I do it.
I give in and open Instagram and go to Clarissa’s account. An over-filtered, ultra-bright photo is the most recent one posted. A selfie of her and two friends with drinks in hands. #boysawaygirlsplay #prosecco #lovemygirls #missyoualan. Aren’t we too old for this? Alan isn’t even on Instagram, but it’s like Clarissa has to call him out to remind herself that they’re married. And then on autopilot, I do exactly what I know I shouldn’t do. Francois. I scan through his page like the Terminator, looking at every image, every hashtag, like a forensic scientist. Of course, there are lots of posts from the last few days. It’s all part of building his image, his brand. He knows exactly what he’s doing. All these photos of young things and late-night party posts make him seem cool, relevant. I was a thirty-nine-year-old blip on the radar for him. I’d be very out of place in this photo lineup.
I toss the phone out of my hand, a rotten appendage that I’m finally free of. I curl up into more of a ball and almost fall asleep. But then I reach out for my phone. I want to pretend everything’s okay, just for a little bit longer.
“Hi, Mommy, it’s me. How are you?” I say in an upbeat voice. I hadn’t even told my mom and dad that I was over on this side of the ocean. Guilt gently gnaws at me as I explain that no, it wasn’t the middle of the night in London, that I’m in LA.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. I’m here on a surprise trip to see Bex. How are you and Dad?”
“Oh, we’re fine, honey. Daddy’s been working out in the yard today. Putting up wire around the tomato plants. Although you and I both know it’s not going to stop those damn squirrels. The neighbors complained to the cops about him using the BB gun on them.”
In my dad’s world, tomato-eating squirrels are more of a suburban menace than the opioid crisis.
“What are you and Bex up to? I sure do miss that girl. Please give her a big hug from me. Is she still single? I just don’t understand it…” My mom’s voice tails off in genuine confusion.
“It’s complicated, Mom. She’s doing fine. We’re having a great time.”
“I’m so glad you’re not out there having to date. It just seems so confusing these days. Dangerous too! All these horror stories of online dating and those app thingy’s. I saw the most awful story on 60 Minutes of some poor girl who was almost killed on a date. Thank God you have Ethan. How is he, by the way?”
“He’s fine. He’s in Dubai on a trip.”
“Dubai? My goodness. Seems he’s always on the road, but I guess that’s the price to pay for being such a successful lawyer.” I can hear the pride in her voice. For her generation, being married to a lawyer is almost as good as a doctor. “I hope you two can make it back home for Christmas.”
My heart twists. Ethan hates going to my parents’ house. He always wants to stay at a hotel, which my parents would take as a huge insult. The house is small and could probably be admitted to the Smithsonian as a time capsule from 1974, but my mom is still house proud. She keeps the place tidy and does her best. We haven’t been back for Christmas in four years. And I almost got a stomach ulcer from the stress of Ethan complaining behind their backs at every turn.
“I hope so, too, Mom. I gotta go. Give my love to Dad. And tell him to be nice to the squirrels.”
“I love you, my little Lou Lou. Be good.”
“Bye, Mom. Love you, too.”
I’d been mindlessly picking at a scratch on my arm throughout the conversation, or rather nervously, once