Page 28 of Infidelity Rules

“Drunk I don’t mind,” she says. “It’s the fighting with her husband at my dinner table I’m trying to avoid.”

“Well, she seems to have simmered down,” I say, nodding towards Emma, who is now quietly tucking into her food. “And at least she’s eating something. That will help.”

.....

Elliot announces it’s time for coffee and dessert, so we all make our way over to the living room to sprawl out a bit.

He presents a gorgeous, wedding cake-esque coconut layer cake.

Ohhhhh, that is absolutely one of my favorite desserts.

Right up there with soft-serve ice cream and no-bake cheesecake.

“Why didn’t you tell me there would be coconut cake?” I say, chiding Dezi. “I would have saved some room.”

I tell Elliot that Marcus and I will share a piece as he pulls me into his lap. “Meaning I’ll get one bite,” says Marcus, wrapping his arms tightly around me as we sink into the chair together.

I am thoroughly enjoying the feel of Marcus’s muscular chest against my back when I notice Emma sitting across from us, staring.

She’s holding a glass of clear liquid that looks suspiciously like gin or vodka and staring at us.

Man, she really doesn’t like to see cozy couples, I think, as Marcus feeds me a bite of cake.

“Oh wow, that is good cake.” I take another bite. “I think that cake just made it on my death row menu.”

Elliot laughs and tells me that he ordered it from his favorite pastry shop in D.C.

He’s about to tell me the name and neighborhood when I interrupt him.

“Oh god, please no. Do not tell me,” I say, putting my hand up to stop him.

“I need to forget this place even exists. If you tell me, I will never fit into my jeans again.”

“Well by all means, help yourself to more cake,” he says, diving into a healthy slab of his own. “There’s a ton of it in the kitchen.”

I can see Emma is still staring at us. And she has no cake.

I grudgingly disentangle myself from Marcus and say to Emma, “I’m going back for seconds. Can I bring you a piece?”

Emma cocks her head and looks at me oddly, as if I just asked her if she’d like to join me in the backyard for a hootenanny. She keeps staring.

“Emma,” I say gently, so as not to startle her. “Cake?”

“What?” she says, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge a memory. “Oh no thanks. No cake.”

I shrug and think, suit yourself.

“Anybody else?” I ask, looking around the room.

Everyone is otherwise engaged in their own cake or conversations or after-dinner drinks.

I am the only oinker. But to be fair, I did share my slice with Marcus, so really I’ve only had half a piece.

Three-quarters, tops. I’ll go for a long, long run tomorrow.

I am rationalizing as I make my way to the kitchen.

I snoop around a bit on my way and notice that Elliot’s place is lovely and stylish, with beautifully restored hardwood floors and a stunning, not-quite-Emerald green accent wall in another room.

He likes big, hulking furniture but it’s sparse and tastefully arranged, so the rooms still appear open and airy. The man has excellent taste.

I wander into the kitchen and find the cake, resplendent and formal under its glass dome.

The man has a cake stand! I don’t even own a cake stand.

I put my glass of bubbly on the kitchen island — cake and Champagne are magic together — and help myself to another wedge.

To share of course. I’m licking a bit of frosting off my fingers when Emma comes tumbling into the kitchen.

“Oh hey,” I say. “Did you change your mind? Shall I cut you a piece?”

Emma comes right up to me and points a finger in my face. “I know you,” she slurs, her eyes now just slits.

Wow, she’s short , I think, as I look down at her. And very, very tipsy.

“Well, yes, you do,” I say, pulling out a barstool for her to sit down so she doesn’t take a tumble. “And I know you.” I eat a forkful of cake.

“Noooooo,” she says, refusing to sit down. “I know who you are. You’re the one giving fuck me lessons.”

Whaaaaat …? I think as a hunk of cake falls out of my mouth.

“I recognize you from the pictures Cindy showed me,” she says, peering closely at my face.

Cindy. Zack’s wife. Holy shit.

Just then Elliot and Dezi breeze into the kitchen, Dezi searching my face and Elliot trying to steady his tottering sister.

“Everything okay in here?” asks Elliot.

“It’s her,” says Emma, spitting the words out. “She’s the one who ruined Cindy’s marriage. She’s the one who had an affair with Zack.”

Elliot frowns and looks from me to Emma, clearly confused.

“Emma,” he says, taking her gently by the elbow. “You can’t be serious. You’ve had a lot to drink. You must be mistaken.” Elliot looks at me and mouths, “I’m so sorry,” as he tries to calm Emma.

“No!” she shouts, thrusting her phone in his face. “It’s HER.”

Uh oh. Those can only be waffle-feeding photos. Syrupy kiss photos. Oh boy. This is bad.

“You have got to be kidding me,” says Elliot, studying the photos. “It is you. What’s going on?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck!

Elliot keeps staring at the phone, scrolling through the photos. “I don’t understand. He’s married. And you’re,” he gestures toward me, “you’re practically licking the wedding ring right off his finger.”

It’s so quiet I swear I can hear the creamy frosting nestling into the coconut cake. I’d like to do the same, frankly.

“Elliot, I dated Zack briefly,” I say, breaking the silence.

He suddenly snaps his head toward Dezi. “Did you know about this?”

I glance at Dezi, who looks, well, gobsmacked.

“Dezi had nothing to do with this,” I say quickly. “And it wasn’t an affair. I never slept with him.”

Elliot holds up a hand to stop my excuses. “Please,” he says quietly. “Just don’t say anything. Do me that favor, okay? I don’t want to hear from you right now.”

He looks again at Dezi, who seems frozen, her eyes wide and barely blinking.

“Come on,” I say, ignoring him. I’m not about to let him badger Dezi. “This is stupid, it was nothing.”

“Nothing?” he says, incredulous. “Is that how Cindy feels do you think? What about my sister? Who still sometimes shows up at my house in tears. Do you think it’s nothing to her that Greg had an affair? That he broke their vows?”

“Yeah! Yeah,” pipes up Emma, still tottering about and slurring her words. “You tell her big brother. It’s not nothin!”

Okay. Now I feel stupid. Maybe I will shut up.

“Zack was a mistake, Elliot,” says Dezi, finally emerging from her stupor. “People make mistakes.”

“But you knew,” he says. “You knew .”

“She’s my best friend Elliot. Yes, I knew, but it didn’t get far. She had two dates and then ended it. But honestly, it’s not any of your business. And it’s not like I was cheering her on,” Dezi says.

Elliot sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I know. Of course you weren’t,” he says. “I’m just shocked by all of this. Emma. Cindy. Quinn. Those pictures.”

Damn those pictures .

“Look, I know shit happens and people do stupid stuff,” says Elliot. “But I’m just still pissed about Emma’s nightmare and now this. I’ve had my fill of homewreckers for the moment.”

Ouch. I suppose I deserve that.

“Elliot,” says Dezi gently. “Quinn didn’t break up their marriage. In fact, she’s helping. Aren’t you?” she asks, her eyes piercing mine.

What the hell? Is she referring to those absurd lessons? No way!

“But why did you have to go and mess with Cindy’s husband in the first place?” he asks, looking pointedly at me. “Why did you have to go and mess with anybody’s husband? Don’t you get the pain it causes?”

I’m about to answer when he cuts me off.

“You know what, never mind,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t think I even want to know. But it’s over, right?”

I nod.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, all of us looking at each other.

Emma frowns and collapses in a chair, the booze finally catching up with her.

And then I watch with relief as Elliot pulls Dezi into a hug and rests his chin on her head, his eyes closed.

I’m about to slink out of the room when Marcus swoops in.

“Everything okay in here?” he asks. “I seemed to have lost a gorgeous, green-eyed redhead.”

Emma whips her head around and says, “Marcus baybeee! It’s all good. We’re just talking about how your girlie friend here screwed my friend’s husband. And now she’s giving fuck me lessons,” Emma says, cackling.

Oh boy.

“I’ll explain later,” I say, pushing Marcus out the door.

“I want some of those lessons too,” shouts Emma. “Heck yeah!”

I hustle Marcus out of the kitchen and into the living room, but now what? Do we leave? Do we continue with the party? Normally I’d stay until the end and help with dishes, but I’m not super eager to walk back into that hot mess of a kitchen. I glance over at Marcus and he’s grinning at me.

“I can’t wait to hear about these lessons,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “You are just so much fun.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I promise to fill you in.” What else can I do? “But I should check on Dezi,” I say, steeling myself for more crazy. “You go mingle with the remaining guests so it doesn’t look weird.”

“I’m on it. Take your time,” he says, still smiling. “But for the record, I think you’d make an outstanding teacher.”

I slip back into the kitchen just in time to see Emma slide down a stool and stretch out on the floor. “Marcus is hot,” she says, talking to the ceiling. “Like, smokin’ hot.”

I am starting to wonder about Greg, her husband. Why isn’t he in here checking on his wife?

“I betcha he’s married too,” she says, giggling to herself. “The hotties always are.”

Dezi and I lock eyes in an instant. It’s just a flash. A mutual oh shit current of electricity passing between us, but Elliot notices.

“I don’t know what’s fact or fiction around here,” he says, sighing. “Dezi, please tell me Marcus is not married. That you didn’t invite a philandering husband into my home. Not after everything we’ve been through with Emma.”

“Marcus is married, Elliot,” Dezi says quietly. “I’m sorry. Believe me. I know this is a really sensitive topic for you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Elliot says to me. “And you,” he says to Dezi. “You’re a therapist. How could you go along with this?”

“I am a therapist. And a damn good one,” Dezi says. “But that requires patience and compassion and understanding. Yes, Quinn sometimes drives me crazy, but people are complicated. Marriages even more so.”

“But they don’t just get a pass,” Elliot fires back.

“Of course not,” Dezi says. “But you don’t know Quinn’s history.

Our history together. Or even Marcus’s history.

Nothing is as simple as it seems. And I’m not going to dump my friend just because I don’t agree with her personal choices.

And Quinn doesn’t need to explain herself to you. Or anyone else for that matter.”

Okay. I’ve had enough. My romantic life has nothing to do with Dezi. But I’m grateful she’s standing up for me.

“Elliot,” I say. “Dezi isn’t the boss of my love life. So if you have a problem, it’s with me. And frankly, my love life is none of your business.”

“You’re absolutely right. It’s not,” says Elliot. “But my sister is my business. And my girlfriend is my business. And this is all just too much for one night.”

I look at Dezi. “I am so sorry,” I whisper. “I never meant to put you in the middle.”

“I know. You never do,” she says, raking a hand through her pale blonde hair, making it stand on end. “Quinn,” she says, with a big, exhausted sigh. “The party’s over.”