The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5)

by Nicole Strycharz

  “I wasn’t either,” she pushed the heel of her foot into her shoe. “I just left a note for you on the microwave. My boss is having a last-minute dinner with one of our new partners.” She rolled her eyes. “I am so stupid because I forgot that he had it planned like a month ago. My assistant dropped the ball, again.”

  I nodded as she spoke. For a woman that lies habitually, you would at least think she would get better at it. She’s saying it was last minute, now it was planned for weeks. The quieter I am, the more she talks.

  “I had it in my planner,” she went on. “But I think I overlooked it. I had it circled in red, that should have helped, right? I mean, how do you not see a big red circle? But that’s what an assistant is for. She should have known I didn’t remember because I never brought it up even once this week.” Ruby pretended to swipe away something under her eye, then rubbed her elbow. “Anyway, I had to rush home from work, shower, change— And get this! On my way here, my boss calls and says I have to dress up, hence the heels and the dress. Apparently, it’s some ritzy place. I’m getting a cab because I’m not walking in heels and you know I hate to drive.”

  I decided to rescue her from more tales. “Have a good time.”

  She nodded in a hyper way. “Yeah, thanks, I will… um…” she stared at me. “Thank God I’m married to a cook,” she laughed nervously. “You don’t need a woman to scramble up a dinner. Especially this woman. I can hardly boil water.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and then started up the stairs. “I’ll see you later.”

  She turned to follow my progress with her eyes. “Yeah, okay. Um, listen, Lorenzo…”

  I waited again and leaned on the banister.

  “I’ll be late, okay, so don’t wait up for me, you need sleep. You get up too early and no sleep makes you a grouch.”

  You fucking other men makes me a grouch, baby, not the lack of sleep. Instead of voicing my thoughts, I only nodded again.

  I know, I know. Communication is the foundation of a healthy marriage. We’re past that. I’ve communicated about this plenty of times, nothing changes. Ruby is who she is.

  Once I got to the apartment, I unlocked the door and made my way around the dark space. I don’t need light; I know this place like the back of my hand. I pulled my favorite red wine bottle and poured a large glass of it.

  Wine helps. It helps because if I think about what my wife is doing, I could potentially go into a blind rage. She has me by the balls in so many ways. I can’t just lose my shit. So, I drink. Not until I’m drunk. Just until I’m numb.

  Numb is better.

  Feeling nothing protects you from yourself. You can think clearly but reacting seems too exhausting.

  I picked up a three-legged stool from our dining room and carried it to the window. There I sat my glass on the sill and opened the window. I straddled the stool and hunched over to find the cigarettes in my jacket pocket.

  I lit one and angled my body toward the window. The only light came from the street, and the orange glow at the end of my smoke.

  I have three addictions that are slowly killing me.

  Cigarettes.

  Drinks.

  Her.

  And tonight, is our anniversary. At least God has a sense of humor.

  LYDIA

  While I sat in my corner of the living room, where my workspace was, I drifted in thought. I restore toys and I love it. There is something magical about seeing a forgotten doll’s eyes light up after a thorough cleaning or seeing a vintage American Flyer wagon roll on all four wheels again. It takes attention to detail and patience. It’s my hobby.

  I have a few hobbies. I also scrapbook.

  “Honey,” Noah knelt by my chair and smiled up at me. “I’ve got to go; did you find my tie?”

  I dropped what I was doing. “I am so sorry, I forgot. Which one is it?”

  A mild flicker of anxiousness passed over his features. “The violet one.”

  “Okay, hold on,” I stood up, making a mental checklist of where he might have left it. “The violet one,” I repeated. “The silk one?”

  “Yeah,” he stood with me, dressed in his basketball shorts and a long t-shirt. His duffle bag was slung over his shoulder. “You have no idea where it is?”

  I looked him up and down. “Since when is basketball a formal event?” I held back a laugh.

  “Since I told Lark that I would lend him my tie.”

  I erased the mirth from my face. “It’s for Lark?”

  “I’m lending him my suit, too, remember? I had you send it to the dry cleaners. I’m going to snatch it on my way to the court. But I need the tie.”

  I walked around him and up the stairs to his closet. He has a hidden box of ties at the very back. Typically, his expensive, never need to use, ties. I found the violet silk he was talking about. It was wrapped in a neat roll.

  “Voila!” I presented it to him. “And tell Lark to thank me, because I got you that one.”

  Noah grinned, laying his duffle on the bed, and kissed me. “Thank you.”

  “You are so welcome,” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “And, hey. Guess what?”

  “What?” he gave me his full attention, holding my waist.

  “I’m ovulating this weekend.”

  “Well, that’s funny because I’m not,” he teased.

  I laughed.

  “No, really,” he said with a serious expression. “I checked with one of your sticks out of curiosity. I am not ovulating this weekend.”

  I caught my breath and stood on my toes. “You are so weird.”

  “Just think how weird our kid will be,” he picked me up at the waist and I wrapped my legs around him. “Weird will be her superpower.”

  “What if we have a boy?”

  “I need a girl, so I have an excuse to go to father and daughter dances. I always thought that was cool.” He stroked my hair back. “But, no guy would ever be good enough.”

  “Maybe she would find a guy like you,” I pressed our noses. “You are good enough,” I shut my eyes, thinking about what kind of father he would be.

  His arms stiffened a little. “Nah,” he swallowed. “I’m not that good.”

  I pulled my neck back. “Why would you say that?”

  He lifted his brows, removing the strange funk he layered the air with and replacing it with humor again. “Good guys don’t throw their wives around.”

  “What?”

  He tossed me on the bed, making me bounce and laugh after my initial scream of surprise.

  “Okay, got to go,” he bent and kissed me. “I’ll be late, okay?”

  I swatted him in the face with my pillow.

  He straightened. “You only get to do that once,” he warned as he walked backward to the door. “You are so lucky I’m late.”

  I hid behind the pillow, only my eyes showing over the top. “Bye!”

  After he left, I went downstairs and resumed my restoration work. The hours ticked by quickly because I lost myself in the job. I was sewing the lace back into the slip of a Chatty Cathy doll, circa 1959. This one, I found at a flea market. She told a story only I could hear, of a time when she was someone’s companion.

  There is something magical about working with toys. I don’t resell them, I just collect them in our spare room. I’m probably sitting on a small fortune, but I’m a collector at heart.

  I wake up hours later with my head on my work desk. The bright lamp I use for close work is blinding me. With a yawn, I turn it out and quit.

  I take the stairs like they’re a mountain before wandering into our bedroom. After flipping on the light, my eye catches on a big black bundle sitting on our bed.

  It’s Noah’s duffle bag. I grab my cell from off its charger by our bed and call him while I unzip it and look inside. His change of clothes, his ball, his energy bars, electrolyte drink, towel…

  “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Noah Spencer,” his voice filters into my ear without even ringing as I zip hi
s bag. “If this is regarding Juvenile Probation or the King’s Hope Fellowship Church, please leave your name, number, and a brief message. God Bless.”

  At the beep, the words stuck in my throat at first. “Honey, you left your bag and I remember you saying Lark doesn’t have a ball…” I remembered the time and frowned. “And… well, it’s late, so, if you guys didn’t shoot hoops, is everything okay? Love you, call me back. Bye.”

  I stared at the bag and then looked through my phone contacts. Noah gave me Lark’s number once. After finding it, I called Noah five more times. Each call goes straight to voicemail and with each of his greetings, I feel a constriction in my chest. I’m picturing car accidents and all manner of crap.

  When I called Lark, he answered on the fourth ring. “Who’s this?”

  I sighed in relief. “Lark, hey, it’s Lydia,” at his silence, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Noah’s wife…”

  “Oh!” he exclaims.

  “Yeah, he left his duffle, and I was wondering if you guys aren’t playing basketball, is everything okay?”

  Lark gave me a long uneven, “Uhhhh,” that made the constriction in my chest even worse. “Everything is cool,” he assures, suddenly very chill. He’s a man-child. I can’t stand Lark, but Noah sees something good in him. “When we realized he forgot his shit, we just… hung out, walked the block, then went back to my place and watched… uh… what’s it called?” he blew out a breath that was too loud in my ear. “Fast and Furious movies.”

  My nose wrinkled. “Noah wouldn’t watch movies that secular…”

  “What the fuck is secular?” he sounded like he was eating.

  “Cussing, pre-marital sex, brutal violence—”

  “Ain’t all that shit in the Bible?”

  “Only to show us how not to act.”

  “Well, he’s watching it, so he knows how not to act.”

  “May I please speak to Noah?” I redirected our queer conversation.

  “Can’t, he fell asleep. I can have him text you when he wakes up… or he might wake up, then head home…”

  I moved the duffle to a chair in our room and fought the need to scream, hiss, and spit that I wanted to talk to Noah. That I wanted Lark to wake him up because this night felt too out of whack, but I don’t want to seem cloistering, especially not to Lark. After I hung up with him, I climbed in bed and took my naughty book from under my pillow to read.

  Then I felt guilty.

  Noah wouldn’t like me reading this book and the congregation that we know, and love would be deeply offended. Noah works with young adults, be it at work or at church, and I’m here reading the kind of stuff that messes them up. They even say bad words in it.

  I shut the book and crammed it under my pillow, turned out my light, and looked at our door, hoping Noah would walk through it, explaining his night, removing the weird tingle of unease in my stomach…

  Chapter Three

  LORENZO

  The next morning, I got up and went to the restaurant before the sun was even up. I like the feel of my place before there is any noise or busy energy. I find my table near the window and that’s where I drink my coffee. That’s where I watch the sun come up.

  This is where my dad and I used to sit. We rarely even spoke a word between us. We just sat with our cups and thought separately, or not at all.

  When the clock above the window reads five in the morning, I get up. That was our starting point.

  As I walk to the kitchens, I feel that the place is opening its arms to me. Of course, my kitchen is a woman. She’s here to embrace me and places both hands on my shoulders as I begin to work. The aromas and the colors, the cleanliness of the tools and counters, but the ruggedness of the interior, take me back to childhood memories of watching my mom and dad cook.

  I may not have grown up in Italy, but my mother arrived here from Italy the year she met my father. I was the first on my mother’s side to be born here. Whereas my dad’s side had been making a life here for generations. My father worked three times as hard making this place, the best. Picking up where our ancestors left off. It went from a humble four-star, with a great reputation for authentic dishes, to a five-star phenomenon, that was justified charging hefty prices for superb food.

  Cibo Degli Dei is my legacy. The name of my restaurant.

  I will continue to improve it where I can and hopefully leave my siblings something grand for them and their children.

  Soon my kitchen is busy. All my cooks including Liam are here, working side by side, in a kind of dance that keeps us from disturbing one another. It still happens, though.

  Liam has tried countless times to interact with me, but I ignore him. I will deal with him for Giada’s sake, but only as much as I must.

  Liam comes to my side during a dull time and stammers trying to speak to me. “Lorenzo,” he begins. “I wanted to say that… I know I’ve disappointed you—”

  I brought my meat cleaver down on the lamb leg I was preparing with a resounding thunk and turned to look him in the eyes.

  He put his hands up, submissively. “I don’t want it to be like this with us.”

  “You cannot have it all,” I studied him. “You cannot have my friendship, and sneak around with my little sister behind my back. You know why I am upset, huh?” I resumed my work, pretending the lamb was his head. “You tell me to my face that you understand my rules, no? Do not go near my sister… she works here, I said, she’s young, I said, and she is in school.” I can feel my temper rising like the mercury in a thermometer. “You then say, to my face, that you understand…” I leaned to tap his forehead hard with my two greasy fingers. “Capire?” He took it and I kept on. “But then you do it anyway. You hide it. Now she is pregnant and what can I do? If I kill you, she will cry, I don’t like to see my sisters cry…so…” I look back at him over my shoulder. “You don’t want it like this, but you made it like this.”

  Liam shifts foot to foot, looking at the floor. “How can I fix it… with us?”

  “You can work, and not talk to me, and when I bark harsh orders and call you profane things, you can take it with silence. And one day,” I let him wait. “One day I might want to kill you a little less, and only want to break something on your body, instead.”

  I thought I saw the corner of his mouth curl in humor, but he quickly hid it and went back to work.

  My sister Angela ran into the kitchen. She sidestepped my people to get to me.

  “Ang,” I scolded. “Not at the lunch hour.”

  “I know you got a crowd, but listen, I need Ruby to give back the little red cocktail dress I lent her. You know the one, the one with the black lace.”

  I read the orders coming in. “Yeah, I know it.”

  “I need it by tonight, Bobby and I got a date at that club and Ruby won’t answer my calls.”

  “She don’t answer nobody’s calls when she’s out.”

  Her face paled. “Jesus.”

  “I’ll tell her, but you may not want it back.”

  “She said it was for a dinner…”

  “Probably was,” I dictated to my crew and then returned my attention to Angela. “But I can’t say what happened after.”

  “She got herself another one, then?” Angela put both hands on her hips and lowered her voice sympathetically. I hate that.

  “She always got herself another one. I’ll tell her about the dress.”

  “Nah, she can keep it. You can’t wash out skank.”

  I pointed to the back door with my wooden spoon before stirring a sauce. “Go out that way, no bumping the staff.”

  She looked at me a long time while I worked. She’s looking for a telltale sign that I’m hurting, but I won’t give it to her. I’m not in that place right now. I’m at work, in my church, as the owner of a birthright. Not the scorned, and morbid husband from last night.

  “Alright,” she finally says once I’ve ignored her long enough. She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Bye, Love.”<
br />
  I grunt my goodbye.

  LYDIA

  Noah came in at around four in the morning and he was in a serious hurry. I pretended to sleep through all the commotion until I heard the shower.

  I got up and stuck my head into the quickly steaming room. “Hey, you don’t have to be to work until six,” I whisper. I’m not sure why I’m whispering. We are the only two here.

  Noah stops, about to pull down his shorts and just looks at me blankly. “I need to shower… I sweat a lot.”

  His movements are stiff and unnatural. My next question is, why is he waiting to undress fully?

  “You couldn’t have sweat that hard, considering you left your duffle here,” I teased, not feeling totally awake yet. “With your only playing ball.”

  His deer in the headlight expression shrunk my smile. It was as if he didn’t remember forgetting it. I opened my mouth to tell him how I talked to Lark, and Lark explained their evening when he interrupted me.

  “Lark bought a ball,” he laughed. “After all this time, he randomly decided to get one…”

  My smile disappeared completely as he spewed this lie. It was him lying or Lark, and Lark, as annoying as he is, isn’t the one with a reason to lie to me.

  Noah ran a hand through his hair, not giving me good eye contact. “Crazy, right? That the night I would forget my ball, he would have one on hand. And man, did we play…” he ran a hand down his abs as if to indicate they were sore. “We played hard. I feel gross. I was so worn out after, I fell asleep at his place. We didn’t even have the energy to start a movie. We just… passed out…” At my lack of response, he hefted a sigh. “He won, too. He gloats when he wins, wouldn’t shut up about it. How was your night? Did you finish that doll? The um, the one from the forties, I think you said forties?”

  I locked up, unsure if I should expose him with knowing he was lying or if I should keep quiet. Then, in a quick second, I rationalized. Maybe he did watch secular movies with Lark as Lark said, and like me with my book, he feels guilty about it. Maybe he’s lying because he’s afraid I’ll think less of him.

  I offered a tight smile. “I fell asleep working on her,” I said. “Then I tried to call you about your duffle…”