Page 53 of Infidelity Rules
Daily Special
Roasted cauliflower soup with Parmesan cheese crisps
House-made tagliatelle with prosciutto, brown butter and fried sage
I’m late getting to Persimmon, so I hustle past the kitchen and make quick work of my wine selections.
I’ve had a few days off, which has been mentally torturous since Juliette’s visit, so I am glad to be back.
I’ve been skulking around my apartment, ruminating and eating ricotta cheese sandwiches.
I didn’t even have the heart to tell Dezi yet about Juliette’s latest visit as I didn’t want to dampen her sheer, bride-to-be joy.
And Marcus is still on a trip, so I haven’t had the chance to talk to him yet either. My plan is to be honest and direct as he needs to know what Juliette is doing and we need to figure out a plan. I can’t keep fighting her. This is his battle and he needs to take over.
I make my first pass through the dining room to get my early birds squared away. I need three bottles of Crémant, an Italian primitivo, a half dozen cocktails and two bottles of sauvignon blanc that “don’t smell like cat pee.”
“Q,” says Julian as I head to the bar to put in my cocktail orders. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking intently at my face.
“Not really. Don’t quite have my usual mojo.”
“Anything I can do?”
I shake my head. “It’s been a rough few days. I’ll get through it.”
“Well, you know where to find me. My ears are always open.”
I smile at that. “Thanks Julian. I plan to take full advantage.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says, winking at me as he starts filling my orders. “Happy to help.”
The rest of the evening goes by in a blur of customers and wine orders and Chef barking at me about refilling the cheese cart.
I happily take care of everyone and everything, grateful for the distraction from my internal war.
The term cognitive dissonance pops into my head from my eons ago psychology 101 class when I was a college freshman.
My head and my heart want different things. How do you reconcile that?
The evening crush is over, so I take advantage of the lull to take a quick break and check my phone. I really want to hear from Marcus. I have three text messages:
Marcus: How’s my green-eyed girl? I love you. I miss you. I’m thinking about you.
I smile at that. I’m thinking about him too. Always.
The next two are from Alex. Uh oh. I’ve been ignoring him a bit since I found out Juliette is pregnant. I don’t know how to tell him.
Alex: Yo. Quinn. What’s up?
Alex: Are you alive? Are you avoiding me? I thought we were supposed to get together soon.
I shoot Alex a quick text just to tide him over while I think things through.
Me: Ha ha! I’m good. Just crazy busy. At work now. Talk soon?
I tell Marcus I love him and miss him too and then put my phone away and head back into the dining room.
I can’t wait to see him. Every time I do it affirms how much I adore him and renders all this other nonsense inconsequential.
He’s a part of me now, almost like an appendage or a vital organ. I need him. And he needs me.
I do a table sweep, pouring more wine and offering additional suggestions and pairings. I get my six-top a few more bottles — two reds and a white — but everyone else is now content, happily slurping shallow bowls of pasta or slicing through slabs of meat or Chef’s eggplant Parmigiana.
I see Julian out of the corner of my eye, trying to get my attention.
“What’s up?” I ask, making my way over.
“Somebody is asking for you at the bar,” he says. “And before you even ask. It’s a man. Never seen him before.”
I sigh. At least it’s not Juliette, I suppose.
I walk into the bar and see Alex sitting on a stool. I let out a whoosh of air in relief.
“Alex,” I say, giving him a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working on a story and had to come to D.C. Your text said you were at work. Thought I’d come say hello.”
“I’m glad you did. Hungry?”
He nods, “Starving. I keep seeing these giant bowls of pasta come out. Can you set me up with that?”
I nod. “Absolutely. It’s tagliatelle and it’s delicious. Chef’s special tonight.”
I get Alex squared away with his dinner and introduce him to Julian. They start yapping almost immediately — I knew they would get along great — so I leave him to his dinner and his new friend while I wrap up with my tables for the evening.
Twenty minutes later I’m done for the night, so I flop down next to Alex at the bar.
“What’s new little brother?” I ask. “What story are you working on?”
“Can’t say yet,” he says, shrugging. “But what’s new with you? You seem out of sorts.”
“What is it with you two?” I ask, looking from Julian to Alex. “Do I look that horrid?”
“You just aren’t your usual, joyful self,” says Alex. “And you’ve been ignoring my texts. Spill it Quinn. I know you. Something is going on.”
I sigh and fiddle with my emerald bracelet. Julian slides a Cognac in my direction.
“Quinn, you aren’t getting scared off because of the divorce, are you?” Alex asks. “Please tell me you aren’t going back to dating married men.”
I shake my head and take a sip of my drink.
“Whew. You had me worried there. Marcus is a good guy. I like him. You two are great together.”
I nod. “We are.”
“So, what is it?” he asks, turning my barstool toward him and searching my face for clues.
“Juliette is pregnant,” I say slowly. “She keeps badgering me to leave Marcus alone and give them a chance.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he says, shaking his head. “Wow.”
“You’re telling me.”
I relay all the pertinent details — Juliette’s two visits, the yelling, the begging, the name calling and Marcus telling me it wouldn’t matter. He’s leaving Juliette regardless.
Alex stays quiet and just listens.
“So that, dear brother, is what’s new,” I say with a half-hearted flourish.
He does his usual thing and remains silent.
“I love him so much,” I whisper.
“I know you do,” Alex says. “You finally turned a corner.”
“Alex. What do I do?”
“I can’t tell you that. Nobody can.”
I sigh and take a long sip of my Cognac.
“Quinn, there will be regrets either way. But only you can decide what you can live with,” Alex says. “And what you can live without.”