Page 40 of Infidelity Rules

“Well, that about wraps it up for today,” I say to Cindy, thankful another lesson is behind us.

I still think this whole thing is nuts, and it’s not as if I have any earth-shattering gems to share, but Cindy seems pleased with the results and I suppose it’s the least I can do.

Especially given those waffle photos that are now forever out there, floating in space. And forever branded in my memory.

“Already?” she asks, glancing at her watch. “I was hoping you’d tell me more about how you and Zack met. And how you knew he’d be open to an affair.”

I sigh. I was hoping to avoid this. I want her to move forward, not backward. But I suppose having some insight into how, exactly, your husband strayed and why he was lured into another woman’s arms is the crux of these so-called lessons.

“Are you sure you want that kind of detail? You and Zack seem to be doing so well.”

“We are,” she says, smiling at me. “He actually pulled me onto his lap the other day which he hasn’t done in years. Years!”

“So why regress?”

Cindy furrows her brow and wrinkles her freckled nose. I can tell she’s considering this.

“I don’t want to be blindsided again,” she says, quietly. “I want to examine this from every angle, otherwise, what’s the point?”

“Okay,” I say. “If you’re sure.”

Cindy nods. “Remember what I said about tap dancing naked on a case of wine?”

I laugh. “How could I possibly forget? You want to know, in your bones, that a woman could dance naked in front of Zack and he’d turn her away and head straight home to you. That was the gist, yes?”

“Yes,” she says. “But we’re not there yet. I’m not ready to put him through that test yet.”

“Wait,” I say, starting to freak out a little. “You’re not thinking of staging that experiment, are you?”

Cindy shrugs and says casually, “Maybe. We’ll see how things go.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or wig out.

“That is bananas.” I shake my head. “And for the record, I want zero part of that caper. I want to know nothing about it.”

“Until it’s done,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I would imagine you’d want a full report afterwards. Think of it as an end-of-semester review.”

I stare at Cindy. She cannot be serious, can she? I’m not sure I even want to know. One minute she’s swooning over Zack and the next she’s scheming ways to test his devotion. And given his somewhat recent double texting incident, I’m not so sure it’s a hot idea.

It is most definitely time to wrap things up.

“We are out of time for today,” I say. “We can pick up where we left off next time, okay? I’m meeting up with my friend Dezi soon.”

“Dezi. That’s the woman who was with you at Dough?” asks Cindy, referring to when she first stormed into my life, demanding lessons. “Elliot’s girlfriend, right?”

I nod. “Yes and yes.”

“I heard what happened at his dinner party. Emma told me.”

Cake Night, I think, shuddering at the memory.

“I’d tell you I’m sorry but I’m not,” says Cindy. “You sort of deserved it.”

“Cindy, I admire your honesty,” I say. And I really do. The woman has chutzpah.

Cindy smiles at me. “I love what you told Emma about Greg, too. He is a jackass and I wish she’d leave him.”

“Is she going to, do you think?” I ask, curious as to how that’s going to play out. Although I’m certain Dezi will keep me in the loop.

“I don’t know. But you sure did give her a lot to think about. She even contacted a lawyer.”

“Wow,” I say, surprised. “I didn’t really expect her to listen.”

“Hard not to when somebody calls your spouse a super-duper ass,” Cindy says, laughing.

“Geez. I probably shouldn’t have said that.” I shake my head.

“No. I’m glad you did. You just told her what she’s been thinking all along. What we’ve all been thinking, really. But you said it aloud,” says Cindy, gathering her things to leave. “You’re much better at this than you think you are, Quinn.”

.....

An hour later, I’m settled at an outdoor sidewalk table with Dezi at Mamacita’s, one of our favorite places for casual Mexican fare.

I’ve had tacos on the brain for days and Dezi mentioned margaritas, so here we are.

It’s a lovely evening for people watching and we have a pile of hot, salty tortilla chips, salsa and a bowl full of chunky guacamole in front of us. Mexican food heaven.

“So,” says Dezi, dunking a chip in salsa. “What’s new? How are those lessons panning out?”

“Very funny,” I say, sipping my extra sour margarita. “They’d be going much better if you’d agree to be a guest lecturer.”

“No way in hell.”

I fill her in briefly on today’s lesson with Cindy, including her crazy idea to “test” Zack.

“I think she might actually be serious.”

Dezi grins at me. “These lessons are so much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “For you, apparently. I wonder when Cindy will cut me loose?”

“Probably when Zack passes the test,” says Dezi, her blue eyes dancing.

“I need to get out way before then,” I say, eyeballing the taco menu. “Anyway, I want to hear about you. How are things? How is Elliot?”

Dezi’s face lights up at the mention of her boyfriend. “He’s great. We’re great. Even better now that you two are on better terms.” She smiles. “Your advice to Emma was priceless. You got on his good side with that.”

“Well, I’m glad I could do something right. And Chef is beyond pleased to have his cheese cart back. I have strict orders not to piss off Elliot ever again.”

“Well that I can get behind,” says Dezi, crunching through a handful of chips. “We had better order before I inhale the rest of these.” She pushes the basket towards me.

We place our taco orders — a grilled fish and an al pastor for me, a shrimp and a gringo-style for Dezi — and request another side of extra hot salsa.

Dezi tells me that she and Elliot now see each other nearly every night. They take dance lessons together and often meet for lunch as he can easily bike from Barnyard Funk to her office.

“Yesterday he put together a picnic lunch from a selection of cheeses and charcuterie from his shop,” she says. “I’m starting to understand the cheese freak in you.”

“It’s about time. I knew you’d come around. You can’t date Elliot and not fall in love with all things cheese.”

Dezi nods. “Even the blues and the stinky ones now.”

“Wow, you two are serious,” I say, smiling at her. “I’m so happy for you Dezi. He’s a good guy.”

“He is,” she nods. “And we are. Which begs the question, Quinn …” Dezi says, looking at me expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

I know she’s asking about Marcus. She still doesn’t know about Alex and the inquisition the other day.

“Marcus is not Liam or Chris,” she says quietly, putting her hand over mine. “You must see that. But he has a wife, Quinn. A wife. How long do you plan to hide from that?”

“Look, saved by the food,” I say, as our server places platters of tacos and several bowls of hot sauce on the table. The sun has just set, so she takes down the umbrella and leaves us to enjoy our dinners.

“Briefly saved,” says Dezi, delicately biting into her gringo taco. How does she do that? It’s as if she’s biting through a carrot rather than a messy, saucy, ground beef taco.

I am not that talented , I think, as I top up my fish taco with a pile of pickled red onions and a squeeze of lime. I take a big bite just as I start to feel an electric charge in the air, as if it’s going to storm. Lightning and all.

Marcus.

It can’t be. It simply cannot be.

But it is.

That is Marcus. My Marcus. Walking by. With whom I can only imagine is Juliette.

My mouth drops open. Taco falls out.

Dezi whips around to see what I’m staring at.

“Is that … Marcus?” she asks, slowly.

I nod. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head and attempt to wipe bits of taco and lime juice off my chin.

We watch as Marcus and Juliette disappear down the sidewalk.

I’m relieved to see they aren’t holding hands.

I didn’t get a good look at Juliette, but I saw enough to know she’s lovely.

She’s willowy and in the tall-ish category — probably hovering around five-foot-seven or so.

She has long, honey-colored hair that hangs in a glossy sheet down her back.

It swings perfectly with every step. I’m mesmerized by the hypnotic sway across her shoulders as they walk away.

I’m certain she just wakes up with hair that perfect.

Bitch, I think, then chastise myself. I’m the one sleeping with her husband.

“Who is that with him?” asks Dezi.

“That, my friend, is Juliette. His wife,” I say, sighing and taking a huge glug of my margarita.

Dezi’s blue eyes widen as she looks at me, taking a swig of her own drink.

“Spill it,” she says, signaling our waitress for another round. “We clearly have some catching up to do.”

I tell Dezi about my day with Alex and Marcus. And Juliette. And the ultrasound picture of Jett.

Dezi’s eyes don’t leave my face as I recount the whole hoopla from that afternoon of axe throwing.

“Wow,” says Dezi. “That is quite a bit to take in. And so, so sad about the baby.”

I nod, my eyes welling with tears again at the thought of Marcus in all that pain.

“Hey,” says Dezi, squeezing my hand. “I know it’s overwhelming, but this is a good thing. Your brother stepped up and forced his hand a bit.”

“I’ll say,” I reply. “I wanted to kill him at the time.”

“But now you’re armed with information, which may help you make a decision down the line. You are not the only one with a choice here.”

“I don’t know that I have a lot of say in the matter. My only real choice at this point is to stop seeing him.”

“That’s not the only choice,” she says, looking at me with what I can only describe as her therapist gaze. “But it may be the wisest choice.”

“But their marriage is over, Dezi,” I say, eyeing my tacos warily. I’d like a bite, but fear this conversation is leading toward my mouth flopping open again. I’m tired of food falling out of my face.

“Quinn, they all say that. Plus, he was out tonight. With his wife.”

I nod, look around furtively to ensure no surprises lurk within my sightline, and take a hasty bite of my taco. “I knew you were going to say that. It has to work out for some people.”

“How, Quinn? How do you foresee this working out for you? Do you want to marry him?”

I sigh and push away my food. “I can’t answer that yet. I don’t know if I ever want to get married again. I think the first question I have to answer is whether I want him to leave his wife.”

Dezi fixes me with her blue-eyed gaze and waits. She reminds me of Alex in this moment. And Julian.

“I like things the way they are,” I say quietly. I put my hand up as I see Dezi gearing up to respond. “I know that’s not possible. But Dezi, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. It never gets this far with married men. I don’t know what the hell happened.”

Dezi nods and tells me to eat my tacos. “Brain food,” she says. “You have a lot of thinking to do.”

We pick at the last of our tacos and sip our second round of margaritas.

“Are you going to tell Marcus you saw him tonight?” asks Dezi, folding her napkin into a little hat.

“Probably,” I nod. “Now that I know more about his wife and their marriage, I feel comfortable asking him about it. I’d sort of like to know what they were doing in D.C.”

“Oh that’s right, they live in New York,” says Dezi, now unfolding her little napkin hat and fanning it out on the table. “Are you certain that was his wife?”