Page 51 of Infidelity Rules

I’m sitting in my kitchen, admiring my emerald bracelet as the brilliant green gems glint in the winter sunshine.

Marcus put it on my wrist several weeks ago now and I have yet to take it off.

No matter where he is in the world, it’s a constant reminder of him.

Of us. Of our love. And that goofy poem, which always makes me smile.

He has officially filed for divorce. Juliette has left me alone. And my best friend is over the moon planning her blue wedding. Oh, and my mother is out of her mind with glee over the bracelet gift. She still doesn’t know Marcus is married, but that’s a conversation for another day.

Things are good.

Marcus and I have yet to take a deep dive into Juliette, the baby and how this is all going to work, but we’ll get there.

We have to, I suppose. I am the queen of looking no further than tomorrow, but I know I will have to come to terms with a new reality eventually.

It’s the only blemish on an otherwise rapidly blooming relationship.

Although it’s hard to think of a baby as a blemish.

And it’s hard not to think about Juliette. Pregnant.

I get the feeling that in a different life, under different circumstances, we might be friends.

I blow out a big sigh. Leave it to me to fall in love with a married man who then dumps his wife right at the time he gets her pregnant. I twirl the delicate bracelet around my wrist and glance at the time on my phone. Cindy will be here soon for her “lesson,” but I have time to ping Dezi.

Me: Hey bride-to-be, busy?

Dezi: Was just thinking about you! Nah, just reviewing some client charts for tomorrow.

Me: I’m waiting for Cindy …

Dezi: Ha ha ha! What’s the lesson plan today?

Me: Hmmm. You ask as if I actually plan these out ...

Dezi: You should. You need a theme.

Me: How about this — fighting with your man? Show him your can. Or better yet, fighting with your dude? Flash him your boob.

My phone starts ringing. It’s Dezi. I pick it up and all I hear is her musical, tinkling laugh.

“I love that,” she says. “And the funny thing is, it probably would work.”

I smile. “I try. I’m also hoping this is going to be the final lesson.”

“I don’t know. You seem pretty good at this. Plus, if you keep it going, maybe she’ll forget about testing Zack.”

“Good god I hope so,” I say, picturing the naked, dancing surprise Cindy keeps threatening. “I want to ask her about it, but I also don’t want to remind her in case it’s off her radar screen.”

“Look,” says Dezi. “I’m actually calling to check in on you. See how you’re processing everything …” she trails off for a moment. “You’re going to have a lot coming your way soon.”

“I’m okay. I mean, things are great with Marcus. Really great.”

“Quinn, it’s not just going to be you and Marcus.”

“Believe me, I know that. And I’m okay with that. There are worse things.”

“Of course there are. But have you two discussed this yet? Do you have some sort of plan?”

I start to feel annoyed. I know she’s just looking out for me, but not everything has to be planned down to the minutia.

I’m confident we’ll work things out. But Dezi knows me well, and she’s homed in on my buried feelings of unease.

Will Marcus dump me once he lays eyes on that baby?

Will he still have room for me in his life?

Will he move back to New York? Will I give up my job and go with him? Would he even ask me to?

Would I make an okay stepmother? Do I even want to be a stepmother?

I sigh into the phone. I can always count on Dezi to hold up a mirror. “I don’t know the exact plan yet, Dez. I just don’t know how this is all going to work. And I’m worried.”

“Maybe it won’t be as complicated as you think,” she says. “And perhaps having an actual plan, at least a tentative one, will make you feel better. More in control. The not knowing is sometimes worse.”

“As usual, I know you’re right.” I nod into the phone. “I’ll probably feel better. And sleep better too,” I say, thinking of all my restless nights the past few weeks. And strange dreams that always end the same — me walking down the aisle in a wedding dress and unable to see the face of my groom.

“You okay?” asks Dezi.

“I am. I’m just tired of feeling on edge.”

“What worries you the most?”

I know the answer in an instant. Knew it the moment I found out Juliette was pregnant. It’s been burrowing inside my gut like a parasite, constantly there. Constantly gnawing.

But I can’t tell Dezi. I can’t even say it aloud to myself. I can only think it right now.

How long will this child hate me?

Forever. The answer to that is forever.

My thoughts are interrupted, thankfully, by a knock at my door. Cindy.

“Oops, my student has arrived,” I say to Dezi. “Gotta run, but we’ll talk later.”

“Uh huh. Saved by the bell, literally. Have fun with the lesson. Love the theme.”

I smile at that as I answer the door.

Cindy comes bustling in, all wrapped up in her winter gear. She sheds what appears to be several pounds of mittens, scarves, wooly things and a bright orange puffy coat.

“Wow the temperature is dropping fast,” she says, pulling off a knit cap and shaking her hair out.

“Hot tea?” I offer.

She nods and gets settled on my sofa. I still can’t believe I got myself into this.

I actually like Cindy quite a bit. But I’d rather we were simply friends and hung out like normal women instead of gathering for these weird, antiquated lessons.

I’m hopeful we are about to wrap them up for good as I’m running out of things to say.

And honestly, for the most part, she just talks and I listen.

I have touched on the giant ass rule, but that really doesn’t apply to Cindy and Zack. I still believe Zack is genuinely a good, decent human being. And Cindy is a loyal and kind, albeit pushy, woman.

The other biggie is just as straightforward — sometimes, it’s simply too late. No matter how wonderful the two people are, no matter how much history they have, sometimes, the damage is just too great. The crevasse too wide. And that sucks.

But I’m optimistic that Cindy and Zack have not crashed into that wall of finality. I think they are going to be just fine. With or without me.

Now if only I can convince Cindy of that.

“So, how’s Zack?” I ask. “Bring me up to speed.”

“Good, I guess. Although we’ve been arguing a lot lately.”

“That doesn’t sound good at all. What about?”

“We’re just picking at each other. It’s annoying. I can’t even remember what we’ve been fighting about.”

I’m no counselor, nor do I want to be, but I’ve somewhat grown into the role Cindy has forced upon me.

She has made me think about how I choose my married men, why I home in on certain husbands and how I set myself apart from their wives.

Often, it’s done more subconsciously than with true intent, but as I scrutinize my past, patterns do emerge.

I don’t know what it is about long-term marriages, but most of my husbands have said the same thing — they fight with their wives about nothing and about everything, but none of it remotely meaningful.

They feel as if they are getting chipped away at for no real reason.

I recall my second affair with Nathan, a hunky gym owner and personal trainer.

A few months into our affair he said to me, “she keeps hacking away at me. It’s all pesky, nonsense stuff.

Eventually, she’s going to whittle me down and you know what’s going to be left?

A sharp spike. Why doesn’t she see that? ”

At the time, I was just annoyed that we were sucking up precious moments together talking about his wife. But, in retrospect, it was rather insightful of him. I’m pretty sure nobody goes into marriage wanting to turn their sweet, loving spouse into a sharp spike.

I glance at my student and decide to test out my extemporaneous theme for the day’s lesson.

“Cindy. Now pay close attention. You may want to write this down.”

She looks at me somewhat suspiciously and cocks her head.

“I have a rule for you. Two rules, actually.”

“Yes?” she says, sitting up straight like a grade-school student expecting an award for good merit. I know she’s excited about this as I never actually give her any rules, much to her dismay.

“Rule number one. Don’t fight about small stuff. Save the aggravation and the headache for the big stuff. Otherwise, you’ll wear each other out.”

Cindy rolls her eyes. “That’s stupid. We all know that.”

I laugh. “Still always honest, I see.”

“Come on Quinn, we all know not to fight about dumb stuff. That’s not exactly a revelation.”

“I wasn’t done yet,” I say. “I know inevitably you will argue about the little things. We all do. So, rule number two; when you’re fighting with your dude, flash him your boob.”

Cindy’s freckles almost dance across her cheeks as she breaks into a smile. “That is insane advice but so simple. And I bet it would work.”

I nod. “Think of how quickly you’ll disarm Zack if you flash some cleavage. Or even give him a nipple shot.”

“Or the whole boob, depending on how stupid the fight is,” she says, laughing. “Are men that easy, do you think?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but it seems worth a shot. I figure it can’t hurt, but then again, I’m no expert.”

“But you’ve had experience with married men in a way most women haven’t.”

I nod. I suppose that’s true.

“How many?” she asks.

“What?”

“How many married men have you slept with?”

I shake my head. “Oh I don’t know ...” I say, trailing off.

“Yes you do,” she replies. “I know Zack wasn’t your first.”

“I never slept with Zack.”

“I know, I know, so you say,” she says, training her blue eyes on my face.

“Four. I’ve had flings with four married men. Zack would have made five, but we never got that far,” I say, returning her gaze.

“Why?”

“Because Zack loves you,” I say, omitting a few choice details.

“No, why married men at all?”

“Ah. Well, that is a long story. And you’re not here to learn my life history.”