The Yes Factor - Erin Spencer Page 0,69

she started asking about Ethan. Looking at my nails, I realize it’s leftover mud from Sunny Dale. I’d been in so much of a post-spa daze that I hadn’t properly washed it all off when it was time to leave.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom. A light glimmers from under Bex’s closed door as I head to the bathroom. I guess she’s on her laptop. The pipes squeak as I turn on the hot water and watch it fill the tub. I know it’s crazy to be taking a bath after a day at the spa but I don’t care. At least there are no drought restrictions in place. Nightly baths have become a ritual for me back in London. The damp cold still sticks with me, even after all the years over there, and a hot bath is the only remedy. Right now, it’s not the London cold that’s chilling my bones but the icy feeling from my call with Ethan, from the fake-nice text to Clarissa and from lying to my Mom that everything’s fine. I shiver as I step into the tub and crouch down into the warm water. I lean back to rest my head on the cool ceramic of the gleaming white tub and let my body sink into its depths.

I gently scoop water over my arms and the leftover mud swirls away to join a trail of blood. A faint ribbon of red, dissolving in the hot bath water. My period. At least it didn’t come earlier today at the spa, but I’m not exactly relishing the reality of a twelve-hour flight on my period. I should be grateful that I’m still having them. I wonder how much longer I’ll get to “enjoy” it. It’s crazy that I’m worrying about menopause, or God forbid, early menopause. When did my life get so confusing and emotionally turbulent? I’m going through such highs and lows it feels like this should be my first period. Maddie and I could celebrate by getting ice cream together.

My mom’s friend Mona was always complaining about her menopausal hot flashes. She lived two doors down from us and would always be popping over for a cup of sugar or milk. Back before mobile phones and the Internet, it seemed there was always someone knocking at the door. Mona would waltz right on in and sit down at the kitchen table. Mom would usually roll her eyes behind Mona’s back, but I know she secretly loved the impromptu visits. I didn’t know what menopause was; I hadn’t even gotten my first period then, but I remember exactly what Mona said. That it was like “being blasted with a hair dryer in the Sahara Desert, worse than turning on a heater in hell.”

Well, I think, as I sink up to my neck in the warm water, just one more thing to look forward to in life.

Chapter Sixteen

Keep On Keepin’ On

BEX

I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of popcorn ceiling removal videos on YouTube. There’s something hypnotic about watching what was once bumpy and jagged scraped away to something smooth. They make it look so effortless, but I know the truth of the matter—nothing is ever as easy as it seems.

Today has been sobering…or not. I take a sip of my wine, which I retrieved from the kitchen after Liv and I parted ways. I had no idea that Liv was living in a loveless marriage where infidelity was as convenient as a McDonald’s drive-thru. I hadn’t realized how out of touch with each other Liv and I had become. How hidden the truth can be for everyone. How complacent I really am in my own life.

Lying here in bed, back in my nightgown, staring at the ceiling and sipping my old standby, Trader Joe’s rosé, I indulge in the cloud of melancholy that’s dampened my spirits. Nothing has changed. Not that I thought it would, but a little glimmer of hope did ignite inside of me when Liv told me she was coming here. A small part of me that thought things would be like they were back in the day when we had no worries and the world was completely open to us. No obstacles, no barriers, no baggage. And, I have to admit to myself, there were moments this past week when I did feel like the old Bex and I loved it. I miss the old me. Fearless, driven, and free. But now I’m back to where I started: stuck. And