Page 30 of Infidelity Rules

I’m in the middle of teaching a fuck me lesson when Cindy starts to cry. Oh for Pete’s sake , I think, exasperated by Zack’s wife and these ludicrous lessons.

And I really need to stop thinking of them as fuck me lessons. Damn that Emma.

“Cindy. I did not sleep with your husband,” I say, trying to hide my annoyance. “We’ve been over this.”

I am trying to be sensitive, but I’m in no mood for tears today.

I woke up this morning with my head pounding.

I barely slept as I was so worried about Dezi and the whole rotten situation.

She left Persimmon last night before we had the chance to really talk it out.

Is Elliot angry with her? Can we remain friends?

How am I supposed to fix all this? I have so many questions and no answers.

But what I do know is this, I would erase James and Nathan and Derek and Zack if I could. I really would. But not Marcus.

I just can’t. I won’t.

I didn’t even get the opportunity to tell Dezi about these dumb lessons.

Not that it would help her situation much, I suppose, but there’s a chance.

I agreed, on a trial basis mind you, to give Cindy what she wants and start these “lessons” a few weeks ago.

I haven’t mentioned it to a soul because, well, it feels so hokey.

But I’m here, trying to teach lesson #3.

I’m not exactly sure why I agreed to this trite nonsense, but I’m certain it’s a combination of things — those disturbing photos, the horror of “Cake Night,” the fear of Cindy-the-stalker and just plain old guilt.

Oh, and my sincere lack of excellent juju.

So here I am, trying to take this seriously.

“Cindy, things seem to be going much better with you and Zack, yes? So let’s not get hung up on the past.”

Cindy just nods and sniffs and takes a sip of her tea. “It’s true,” she says. “Just last week he brought home flowers and cooked me dinner.”

“Well there you go,” I say, encouragingly.

“It’s a step in the right direction,” she replies. “But it’s still nowhere like with you and the waffles.”

I’m not a magician, I want to shout. I have no control over the level of romance in your relationship. Nada. Zippo. Zero.

“I’m sorry Cindy, I just don’t think I’m any good at this.” I sigh. “I don’t seem to be helping you at all.”

“No, you are,” she says. “You really are. Things are better and Zack is paying a lot more attention to me.”

“Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, it’s because of you? And this has nothing to do with me? Or these lessons?” I ask hopefully.

She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. He didn’t want me before you. He didn’t want me after you. But he wants me now,” she says, smiling.

I’m glad she’s happy, but I think she’s wrong. Clearly, however, I’m still on the hook for this tutoring nonsense.

“So, what’s next?” Cindy asks me eagerly.

I’m exhausted and I’ve run out of little nuggets of womanly wisdom. At least for today. I’m about to tell her we need to wrap up early when she gets a text. And it’s from Zack, apparently.

“It’s soooo working,” she squeals, clutching the phone to her chest. “Look,” she says, showing me the text screen:

Zack: Surprise dinner. 8 p.m. Wear a cocktail dress. I’ll text you the address.

“That’s great,” I say, smiling. And I really mean it. “Does Zack know about these lessons, by the way?”

“Of course not. Are you nuts? He would royally flip out.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Okay. Are you sure you want to hide them from him?” I wish I could take back the words as soon as I say them. They sound preposterous given the situation.

Cindy just gives me her navy-blue-eyed stare. “Seriously? Anyway, the last thing I need is for him to know we’re hanging out. I don’t want him to think about you at all.”

“Fair enough,” I say, hoping to usher her out of my apartment soon so I can take a long nap and unscramble my brain. It appears a bit of good juju is with me as she stands and collects her purse and jacket. Hallelujah !

“I’m heading out,” she says. “I have a new dress to buy.”

I smile. I’m happy today is over, but also genuinely happy for her and Zack. I do think deep down he’s a good guy and I really like Cindy. I hope they find their way back to each other.

“Sexy,” I shout from my open door as she makes her way down the communal stairs. “Sexy dress!”

She turns to look at me and rolls her eyes so hard I fear her blue irises will spin around to the back of her head and never return. Which would be such a shame.

“Again, seriously?” she asks. “THAT much I do know. It’s a good thing I’m not paying you.”

I laugh and wave goodbye. She’s a hoot, that one.

.....

I need a snack before my nap and pop a piece of bread in my toaster.

I slather it with peanut butter, thinly sliced green apple and a scatter of raisins.

Comfort food. I pour myself a glass of milk and sit down to turn my phone back on in the hopes that Dezi reached out.

I take a big bite of my toast and, yay, a text!

Zack: Surprise dinner. 8 p.m. Wear a cocktail dress. I’ll text you the address.

What the hell? A wad of half-chewed toast falls out of my mouth. I really need to stop getting surprised while I’m eating. I text him back immediately.

Me: You accidentally sent me this.

Zack: No accident. I miss u. Please don’t say no.

You have got to be kidding me, I think, crunching through the last of my toast while trying to think fast. What in the world is happening?

Me: Zack. U sent this same message to your wife.

Zack: What? No I didn’t.

Me: Yes, you did. Check your phone.

Zack: Holy shit! I did! Wait, how do you know?

I ignore his question entirely. Frankly, I’d like to know how he managed to send the same suggestive text to both his wife and his former fling, but I’m not about to prolong this conversation.

Me: It’s over Zack. You know that. I am very much in love with somebody else. Please, please, go on this date with your wife. She loves you.

Me: Cindy LOVES you.

So much for my crack juju. Or my nap. I need Dezi.