The Affair: Cristiana's Story

by Aidèe Jaimes

  It feels normal, and nice. And when I lay my hand on the table and he reaches for it, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

  “Why, hi there, chère! Look who it is, darlin’.”

  Even before I fully face him I know who I’m going to see. Tall, blond, and beautiful, he’s Bo’s exact duplicate in different coloring. I snatch my hand out of Owen’s so fast I yank his with me a little, and I think with that act alone, I give everything away.

  A woman comes out from behind him, and when she sees me she screeches so loud my ears ring from it. “Oh my god! Cris! What are you doing here?” she pushes him aside and squeezes into the booth to hug me tight.

  “Jane! I can’t believe you’re here! When did you come into town? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “It was sort of last minute. Nate here decided to take a few days to come and see… his family,” she says after a brief hesitation, looking towards her handsome husband.

  He’s smiling at me, but throwing Owen a few weary glances. “So…”

  “Cris, are you going to introduce us?” Owen asks rather stiffly.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course. Um, Owen, this is Nate and Jane Chevalier. And this is my husband, Owen.”

  He shakes their hands. “I’m sorry, where did you say you met?”

  “Hey, Nate, why don’t we let them enjoy their meal.” I feel for Jane as she desperately tries to help me, but even she cannot dissuade her husband from the conversation.

  “New Orleans. Back at the beginin’ of November last year.” Nate looks over to me accusingly. “You never said you were married there, chère?”

  Owen grumbles something I can’t make out, his jaw working as he sits there putting all of the pieces together.

  Jane tries once again to intervene, but it’s in vain. “Of course we knew that. Come on, Nate. Our table is ready.” She pulls at his arm, but he doesn’t budge.

  All niceties gone from his features now, he looks like he’s been betrayed himself. “I didn’t know. And I have to wonder, did Bo?”

  At the sound of Bo’s name, Owen’s eyes whirl onto me and spear me to the spot. I shake my head wishing I could deny whatever he’s about to say, but there’s no point.

  “Bo, as in the Jensen’s son?” he practically spits at me. Dear lord, he hardly ever talks to the Jensens, but this one thing, the name of their son, he remembers?

  “Owen, I…”

  “Yeah, that’s my cousin,” Nate throws out.

  Now, I realize Nate’s looking out for his blood, but at this moment all I want to do is slap him. I want him to just shut the fuck up. Glaring at him, I’m ready to tell him so, but before I can utter a word, Owen is getting out of the booth and storming off.

  Clumsily, I follow him, pushing past Nate and Jane, and through the crowd of hungry people waiting on their food. “They’re just sandwiches!” I yell out because it makes me so angry that they’re slowing me down. “Owen!” I call out, but he doesn’t stop.

  Far ahead of me I see him jump into my Civic and just as I step outside he drives away, leaving me stranded.

  Jane nearly explodes out the door, Nate not far behind her.

  “Oh my god, Cris, I am so sorry! This damned knucklehead wouldn’t stop!” she whacks him hard on the arm.

  “Am I the only sane person here?” he asks in annoyance, his blue eyes darting from Jane to me. “She’s married, Jane. Married! What the fuck was she doin’ with Bo if she’s a married woman?”

  “Hush!” a young lady tells him as she covers up her young daughter’s ears. “Why don’t you take this conversation somewhere else?” He momma bear look seems to scare Old Nate, and he pulls us away from them in a retreat.

  “Come on, Cris. We’ll take you home,” Jane says to me, taking me by the arm.

  “The hell we will,” Nate growls at her.

  “Nate. You will get in that car. I will drive us there if you feel so strongly. Or, you can stay here. It’s your choice.” She turns away from him and pulls me towards a blue Dodge Charger. “We’re staying at Lydia and Dan’s place for a few days.”

  I listen to her, still shell-shocked over what just happened. Owen just learned who I’d slept with. What he must be going through. It’s opened up that fucking wound all over again.

  We get into the car, and all the while I can see Nate on his phone, texting wildly. It’s not hard to guess who he’s messaging.

  “Nate, you ass. Bo knows. He’s known all along.”

  Nate slams his phone down onto his thigh. “Well it seems you knew, too. And you kept this from me. Damn it, woman! Did you not see fit to tell your husband?”

  “It wasn’t for me to tell!” she yells back at him.

  They get into it the entire way home. I tune them out after a while, watching the road instead, my mind going through every possible scenario I will encounter once we arrive. What will Owen say? What will he do? Does it really matter who I slept with? It shouldn’t, but I know it does.

  It occurs to me to call him, or text him at the very least. But even I know he’s not going to be looking at his phone right now. And if he does, he’s not going to respond, he was so angry with me.

  The drive home takes a good twenty minutes, and with every passing mile my heart thrums harder and faster. By the time we arrive I am sitting straight up on the edge of my seat, and practically burst out of the car the moment it stops in front of my drive. From my peripheral vision, I register people across the street at the Jensen’s house. Bo’s large truck is parked there as well.

  Jane drives away just as I fly through the front door. Katie is hastily gathering her things and a bag she packed for Mia.

  “I’m taking Mia to the park for a little while,” she says. Even though she’s smiling, I can tell she’s flustered. Perhaps all the pounding sounds coming from upstairs did it. “We’ll be back in about two hours. Is that all right?” she asks, though I know what she really means is, “Is that enough time for you people to get your shit together?”

  “Yes, thank you, Katie.”

  “Bye, Momma,” Mia says sweetly, sadly. She looks worried, not to mention confused. And when I lean in to give her a kiss, she holds my face with one hand, completely breaking my heart for any innocence this may have taken away.

  Fuck! I hate it when any part of this affects Mia, even if she has no clue what’s going on. Kids are so much more intuitive than we give them credit for.

  “Momma loves you, baby. Have fun with Miss Katie, okay?”

  When they leave, I take a few calming breaths and head up to find our large gray suitcase on the bed, clothes being thrown into it. He is just throwing them in there, hanger and all.

  “Owen, let’s talk about this,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice calm, hoping that will help diffuse the situation somewhat.

  “About what?” His voice is emotionless, though I know the anger it really carries.

  “Nothing has changed since this morning.”

  “Everything has changed, Cris.”

  “Like what? I haven’t done anything wrong.” Today that is. “We can still have our chance. What does knowing who it was matter now?”

  He stops in front of me, two hanged shirts in his hand. “Because I know who it is, Cris! And now all I see are images of you and him wrapped up in each other, of him coming over while I’m at work. Of you looking at him every time I turn my head!”

  “He doesn’t live there!”

  “No, but he’s always there. Which means I can’t be here. Not right now. I need time away from you.”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know. A while. Maybe forever.” At my intake of breath, he rephrases, his tone changing. “Look, I just need space to think clearly.”

  I know what he’s telling me, though I don’t want to hear it. After throwing in everything he would need for a long time away from home, he zips up the bag and takes the heavy thing down stairs. I follow him all the way, through the house and out the door.

&
nbsp; We both pause when we see the small group of people in the middle of the street close to the house. Nate, Jane, Jess, and Bo, all grouped together looking our way. Bo is watching me so intensely I can feel it all the way over here, but then his eyes move to the man standing next to me. Bo’s and Owen’s eyes meet briefly, something exchanged between the two men that I can’t interpret.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” Owen asks me. “The Jensen’s son.” Though he’s heard of Bo, he’s never actually met him.

  “Yes.”

  “The way he looks at you, Cris, it’s like he owns you.” Owen looks down to me when he says it. “Does he?”

  I remain quiet because honestly I don’t know anymore. Instead I say, “Please don’t leave.”

  “Tell Mia daddy will see her in a few days. Tell her I’m out of town or something. I’ll figure out how we can spend time together without her suspecting something’s wrong.”

  “I think it’s too late for that,” I say and he pauses only slightly before he throws his luggage into the backseat.

  Owen gets into his truck and slams the door shut. I stand watching him in near horror, a scream lodged in my throat choking me all the while. He’s leaving. He is really leaving.

  Unable to process this, to think that this may be over, I simply stand there like a dead robot and watch my life fall apart as he backs out.

  Then, from across the street another loud engine roars to life, and when I turn to it, I see that it’s Bo. The truck nearly burns rubber as he leaves just as angrily, right behind Owen.

  I walk to the end of the driveway to watch the caravan of two black trucks as they make their way down to the end of the street. Then one turns left and the other right, and then they are both out of sight.

  Jane and Jess are by my side in an instant, though Nate is nowhere to be seen.

  “Are you all right, honey?” Jane asks taking my arm.

  Shaking my head no, I say, “I couldn’t even tell who was who?”

  “What?” Jess asks.

  “I couldn’t tell them apart, the trucks. They confused me when they drove away.”

  Jane and Jess look at each other, then talk to me like they think I’m having a mental crisis. Who knows, maybe I am. “We’ll help you inside,” Jess says.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Jane tells me, too.

  I let them lead me in, but all the while I’m trying to decide who went left and who went right.

  34

  The tension in my kitchen is so heavy I can feel the glares behind my back as I brown the meat for my Not-Yo-Macho-Nacho-Night. Mia has been asleep for almost an hour now. She knew we were having guests once she went to bed, and it broke my heart to tell her it was a grown-up night when I know how much she loves nachos. But the promise of leftovers helped.

  I don’t get it, how my two girls are not getting along.

  Jess is working on the margaritas, which in truth is a little nerve wracking because she has the gut of an ox and can really handle her liquor. And as tequila and me don’t mix, I’m a little scared of the outcome.

  “Does Nate know you’re here?” I ask Jane, thinking about his bond with Bo and what he must be thinking about me now that he knows the whole story.

  “Yup. Downright pissed him off. Said I was coming out to cavort with the enemy,” Jane says as she chops the tomatoes for the salsa. “Hey, you think that meat’s still good. I’m getting a funky smell over here. Maybe too much seasoning?” She wrinkles her nose, then moves her station to the table.

  Jess grumbles, “Maybe it’s your upper lip,” almost inaudibly and throws in a little more tequila into the blender. I know Jane’s complaint greatly offends Jess because she’s the one who prepared the meat.

  “It seems ok,” I say ignoring Jess. I lean in to smell the pan, taking in the scent of cumin, peppers, garlic and onion. “Well, maybe too much garlic?”

  Jess’ mouth drops open in indignation and she points a spoon at me. “That’s an amazing recipe. You just don’t know about Mexican food.”

  “Well you got me there, Barbie.” It’s kind of true, I don’t cook any kind of food as well as she does.

  Jess eyes Jane from the bar as she takes in a sip of her fresh brew. “She’s weird,” she whispers to me and I nudge her side.

  Dear lord these women. Maybe if it wasn’t because they feel obligated to certain loyalties, they would have gotten on better. But as it is, they are on opposites sides.

  On the one hand, I have Jess. Team Owen. She obviously feels guilty over her role in my affair. And truth be told, she likes Owen. Every time we get together those two end up talking about things I’ve never heard of. They have similar interests, same taste in music, books, etc. Could also be that she sympathizes with him. She had an affair herself, she knows everyone is capable of doing it.

  “You need to work this out with Owen,” she says when the conversation inevitably turns to them.

  “Jess,” I say, “I wish it were so simple, and you know I’m trying. If only I’d never met Bo. If only I’d never slept with him. I gave him my heart, stupid woman that I am. Now I feel like I’m being torn to shreds with the thought of saying goodbye, never to give us a chance. That ‘what if’ question is killing me!”

  Then, on the other end I have Jane. Team Bo. He’s her cousin, if not by blood, by law and in her heart. They get along great, she’s seen him go through a lot and wants him to be happy. She doesn’t know Owen from Adam, all she knows is that he cheated on me. She has never talked with him, never had the chance to love him as I have.

  “Owen had his chance. If he’d kept his dick in his pants this never would have happened. It’s his own fault.”

  “Jane,” I tell her. “He’s more than that ONE thing he did. You haven’t loved him intensely like I have for sixteen years, so I know it’s hard for you to see that. But this affair, this is a small part of our lives, and beyond that, he’s been an amazing husband and father. That’s why I hated him, because I never expected he’d do this.

  “You don’t know how much this hurt him, too. He was so distraught over what he’d done, he was willing to humiliate himself and let me…” My voice cracks and I can’t even finish the sentence, just thinking of it. I wipe away at the burning in my eyes and sniffle.

  Neither one of them cares about what I have just said, both set in their opinion. I can see them rolling their eyes at each other through my peripheral vision. This is awful. They both argue their points, even though I’m not really listening to either.

  “Bo is the right one for her because…”

  “No, Owen is who she should choose because…”

  Back and forth they go, each one trying their best to influence me. It sort of reminds me of those cartoons where there is a devil on someone’s left shoulder, and an angel on the right, only in my case I’m beginning to wonder if they are both just wrong.

  “Look guys, I appreciate that you love your teams,” I start.

  “Huh?” Jane says.

  “You know, Team Bo. Team Owen.”

  “Ooookay,” says Jess.

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter because there is no choice to be made. I am married to Owen. And even though things have gone a little south with him lately, he is my priority because he’s my husband.”

  “But you love Bo, too,” Jane throws in. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she also loves Owen. She loved him first,” Jess says.

  “Yes.”

  “What does it matter who she loved first?” Jane asks.

  “Because it just does!” Jess screeches.

  “Stop it you two! You want me to choose? How can I. They are both great men. I love them both beyond crazy. You know why I can’t choose? Because I’m terrified of what that will mean! If I choose Owen, does that mean I’m a coward who’s unwilling to give myself a chance at something even greater?

  “And if I choose Bo, does that mean I am turning my back on my vows and destroying a man’s heart
simply because I’m horny for someone else? Who would be there to help Owen put his life back together? My dad had me, but who will Owen have?” I ask, trembling, remembering how it had been for my father, nights sitting out in his driveway drinking after a long day of packing up the home he’d shared with my mother. Crying.

  Jess brings her arms around me and pulls me to her. “You’re not your mother, Cris. Everything about this situation is different.”

  Jane says nothing, but sits watching us wide-eyed and somewhat confused. I can see her brain going a mile a minute as she processes things we’ve said, knowing there is more to the story.

  “To be honest, I’m a little afraid I’m going to end up like El Perro de las Dos Tortas.” I slump my shoulders and look at my hands.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Jess finally asks.

  “It’s a Spanish saying. You know, the dog with the two sandwiches.”

  “Never heard of it,” says Jane.

  “Never mind, if I translate it, it’s just going to sound funny to you.”

  Jess is already laughing when she demands I tell them. “You cannot leave us hanging!”

  “All right. So, there was a dog, and he had the best sandwich ever. Then, someone walks by and throws him another one, just as good. So, he drops the one he has to go eat the new one. But as he does, he thinks, what if this one isn’t as good?”

  “Dogs can think like that?” Jane asks.

  “Anyway,” I continue. “So he leaves the new sandwich, only to find that another dog has already run off with the first. He chases after him, but he’s too fast. Then he comes back to that second sandwich only to find it gone, too! So you see, because he couldn’t make up his mind, he ended up with nothing.”

  “No sandwich,” Jess says sadly, then she and Jane both cackle hysterically until they just plain piss me off.

  Sighing, I wonder if this is how it’s always going to be always; my life divided in two.

  Jess has already had two margaritas, while both Jane and I are still working on our first. I’m already feeling it for sure.