Page 23 of Infidelity Rules

I tuck myself into a cozy booth and wait for Dezi.

We’re meeting up for brunch at Dough, which, incidentally, is where Zack and I shared waffles and syrupy kisses.

I did get a few texts from Zack while I was in Paris, but I haven’t responded yet.

I don’t want to ghost him, but I’m not sure yet what to do about him either.

As usual, I make my life more complicated than necessary. Which, I am certain, Dezi will point out today.

I order a pot of French press coffee for us to share and peruse the menu.

I’m not in a waffle mood, but I’m thinking about an omelet with a side of extra crispy bacon.

Oooh, and a couple of slices of their homemade, perfectly chewy rye bread.

I’m mulling over whether to get cheddar or Swiss cheese in my omelet when my phone pings with a text.

Dezi: So sorry. Am running late. Will be there soon. Order us a pot of coffee?

Me: No problem. Already sipping our French press. Take your time. I’m in a booth by the window.

I’m in no rush as I’m not due at Persimmon for hours.

I turn my face toward the sunlit window and close my eyes, letting the sun warm my cheeks.

I feel the booth shake a bit and open my eyes to find a small brunette with a pert nose and a smattering of freckles sliding in across from me.

She fixes me with her large, round navy-blue eyes.

I have no idea who this is.

She leans across the table and says, “You don’t know me. But I know you.”

Well, I guess that explains it , I think to myself. Persimmon maybe? But I don’t think I’ve ever seen this woman before.

The waitress stops by to see if this strange woman wants anything, but she just waves her away.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “Tell me how you did it.”

I look at her questioningly. I’m baffled. What is she talking about? Does she have the right person?

She sets her phone on the table and slides it toward me. She starts slowly scrolling through photos.

I see myself kissing Zack.

Then Zack is kissing me, his wedding-ring-clad hand cupping my cheek.

The next is a close-up of Zack feeding me waffles.

Then of me licking syrup off his fingers.

Oh boy, I think to myself. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

I certainly cannot pass this off as just a platonic friendship. I can feel my face heating up as if I’m huddled over a campfire.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for a scene. Yelling. Name-calling. Crying. Hell, she may even try to punch me for all I know. I’ve never been caught before.

“How did you …”

She cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, snatching her phone and dumping it into her purse. “What matters is how you did it.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I say, still baffled by the whole thing. And rattled by those zoomed-in photographs.

She holds my gaze with those dark blue eyes and blinks at me slowly. Like one of those old-school dolls with the creepy, blinking eyelids.

This is so weird.

“How. Did. You. Turn. His. Head?” she asks, haltingly, as if I were a child. Or stupid.

Just then Dezi slides into the booth next to me, eyebrows raised and looking at me questioningly. “What’s up?” she says, looking pointedly at me, then at who I assume to be Zack’s wife. “Did I miss something?”

“Your friend here fucked my husband,” says Ms. Blue Eyes matter-of-factly. “And I want to know how she did it.”

Dezi’s own blue eyes widen as I quickly correct this woman’s assumption.

“I never slept with Zack,” I say quietly. “It never got that far. It was just that one day.”

“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “As if I’m going to believe YOU,” she says, her voice starting to wobble.

I look up at Zack’s wife and notice her eyes are shimmering and filling fast with tears. She is no longer stoic.

“He’s been different for a while,” she says, looking down at her hands. “He looks at me differently. I can tell he’s less interested. And he looks at other women now, too. He never used to,” she says, tears dropping onto the table.

I look at Dezi who mouths, “Your bed.” I look at this woman across from me who is now sobbing quietly, head in her hands. I feel terrible. Zack was not worth this.

“I love my husband,” she says, lifting her head and locking her eyes on mine. “And I want to keep him. Will you help me do that?”

It’s so quiet and still in our booth, I can hear the faint sound of a bike bell outside the window. I can hear my stomach gurgle, the acid of the coffee churning with the stress of this weird encounter.

“I’ll stop dating him,” I say quickly. “I planned to anyway. I’m seeing somebody else,” the words come tumbling out of my mouth so fast I almost choke on them.

“That’s not what I meant,” says Zack’s wife, her eyes still glued to mine.

I look at Dezi for help, but she just shakes her head and starts to get up. I grab her leg under the table and give it an urgent squeeze. I need her to stay.

I return the woman’s gaze and say, “I honestly don’t know what you are asking. Do you want me to keep dating your husband?”

“Of course not, that would be absurd,” she says, cocking her head and looking at me oddly, as if she’s working out why on earth Zack would pick me. “I know he’s not going to be seeing you anymore because I found out. And he’s been trying to text you to end it.”

I nod, thinking of the unread texts from Zack on my phone.

“But I want to know that he’ll never stray again,” she says, any trace of tears now gone. “I want to know that, even if you were to tap dance naked on a crate of his favorite wine, he would still ignore you and come home to me.”

“Well, that’s a lot to ask of a man,” I say, trying to stifle a nervous laugh. “But I promise you this, I will never, ever tap dance naked on top of anything. Let alone a crate of wine.”

Dezi smacks me under the table.

I know this situation is anything but funny, but I don’t know how to handle it. I am officially floundering.

Zack’s wife just continues to stare at me. I can feel her eyes tracking mine like laser beams. It’s unnerving. And I want her to stop. I want her to just go away.

“Zack is not a bad guy,” I say. “And he doesn’t love me. Maybe you just need some marriage counseling?” I ask, hopefully, looking at Dezi for help. She shakes her head at me. I can tell she’s not going to come to my rescue.

I sigh and look directly at this woman.

“Look. I am sorry about all of this. I really am. I promise to stay away from Zack, but otherwise, I don’t think I can help you,” I say, almost wishing she would just yell and scream and make a scene.

“Well, I think you can,” she says quietly, reaching for her phone. “Zack never did anything like this with me,” she says, pulling up her photo app again.

“No, no, no, please not again,” I say, waving my hands. “I do not want to see those pictures ever again.”

“YOU don’t want to see those photos ever again?” she says, incredulous. “Did you just say that to me? Did you just imply that seeing photos of MY HUSBAND kissing syrup off YOUR lips makes YOU uncomfortable?”

People are staring at us.

I feel like such an ass. A huge, Godzilla-sized ass.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry. That was ridiculous of me. I just don’t know how I can help you.”

“Zack was not your first affair,” she says to me. It’s not even a question.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head and once again feeling like a humongous ass. The biggest ass possible. If there’s a bigger ass on the planet right at this moment, I’d like to know about it.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” she says. “You know who and how and when to strike.”

I nod slightly, chewing on my bottom lip. I suppose I do, I think . Can this day get any weirder?

“I want to get inside your head. I want to know how you knew Zack was available. I want to know why you chose him. And how you captured his attention.”

“Now?” I ask, still thinking to myself, No way. No fucking way!

“Of course not,” she sighs, rolling her eyes and looking at me sideways as if I had my finger stuffed up my nose. “You need time to figure out a plan and break it all down for me.”

“What?” I say, staring at her as she quickly gathers her purse and stands to leave.

She places her palms flat on the table, leans so close to my face I can smell her Jo Malone Pear and Freesia perfume and says, “I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry. I know where to find you.”

And with that, she’s gone.

“What the fuck just happened?” I say, whirling around to stare at my friend.

“Wow. You just signed yourself up to teach dating lessons. Or seduction lessons. Or whatever the hell that woman thinks she wants,” says Dezi. “That’s what just happened.”

“Well it’s absurd and I’m not doing it.”

“I’m pretty sure she thinks you are,” says Dezi, starting to giggle.

“I’m sorry, that poor woman. I know it’s not funny, but the look on your face is priceless.

And you kind of deserve this,” she says.

“You had better get on it. I think she’s expecting a lesson plan.

And a syllabus. And maybe even homework. ” Dezi grins.

I rake my fingers through my hair.

“I need my omelet. And a freakin’ bloody mary. Extra vodka.”

“Count me in,” says Dezi, still chuckling over my utter discomfort.

As we wait for our food, I put my head in my hands and sigh. “What am I going to do?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dezi says, shrugging. “I think this will all blow over. The important thing is that you stop seeing Zack. You WILL stop seeing him, right?”

“Of course, of course. No question there.”

“In all honesty, this was bound to happen eventually,” says Dezi. “At some point, you were going to get caught. And this won’t be the last time. I guarantee it.”

I blow out a sigh. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

I’m grateful to see our waitress placing two thick, red bloody marys brimming with celery, cucumbers and fat green olives in front of us.

I take a long, slow pull of the spicy drink from my straw. “Now I’m going to be looking over my shoulder, worried she’s lurking around, waiting to demand her lessons,” I say, crunching on a stick of celery.

I look up and see Dezi looking right at me. I know exactly what she’s thinking.

“You’re right. I deserve this, don’t I?” I ask.

She nods. “You do, my friend. You most definitely do.”