I clicked ‘Images’ on Google and an influx of photos came into view. Some were personal pictures from her social media and others were professionally taken for newspapers and special articles in magazines.
She’s beautiful.
I sat back in my chair and tapped picture after picture. It was almost addicting. She was flawless, even when she used no filters or was in baggy clothes (she usually isn’t).
I sucked in a breath as a picture surfaced of her at an outdoor restaurant table, arm linked with a really attractive man. It was attached to a website I clicked.
It took me to an online article covering her engagement to a Lorenzo DiGregorio. He was the owner of a prominent Italian restaurant in Little Italy that dated back many years.
In the article was the picture I clicked on, another one of them in the same position, but about to kiss, and another of them standing in the doorway of the place. Her arms are wrapped around his torso, and he’s looking down at her like she’s a goddess. So much love. I can feel it from here. This article is years old. Twelve to be exact. Obviously, they married since her last name is the same as his.
I made a screenshot of his restaurant’s name and address and then shut off my phone just as Noah’s keys could be heard dangling in the front door.
I didn’t realize how many hours I had been sitting here. Looking back at the stove clock, I saw it was almost six in the morning.
“Hey,” Noah looked surprised to see me, slowing his movements. “You didn’t stay at the Reverend’s place?”
I couldn’t calculate his question. All I saw was last night, playing over and over in my head.
I have a choice.
Vomit my feelings of betrayal and let him know he’s been caught or act oblivious. Act normal. Until… I don’t know where that road leads.
“Are you okay?” he dropped his duffle on the floor by the fridge. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
I looked at his wrinkled shirt and tousled hair. “Where were you?”
He relaxed a little, pushing both hands in his pockets. “I crashed at Lark’s. The house felt too big without you.”
After a moment, I nodded.
“You didn’t answer my questions,” he came closer. “Are you alright? You look tired and you have tearstains down your cheeks.”
I felt my face, knowing it was swollen. “It was a really emotional prayer meeting,” I lied. “And… I… um… I need to shower and maybe…” I looked into his eyes. How could he lie to me like this? How can he be two totally different people? “Sleep,” I said. I stood.
“I could run you a bath,” he offered.
I could feel tears collecting in my eyes again, so I just shook my head. “Nope, I’m okay.”
He called out, “Yo!” when I turned to leave, forcing me to face him again. He came up to me, all smiles. “Can I have a kiss before you go? I missed you.”
My hand twitched. I feel it might fly up without my permission and smack the lie out of his mouth. He wants me to kiss him? His mouth? The mouth I just saw on that woman’s neck, her chest, her chin, his tongue tasting hers. Then I fold because if I plan to act normal, I have to suck it up and let him.
He holds the back of my head and dips his, slanting his mouth over mine. It’s a possessive kiss, sweet, but in charge. My jaws are tightening up, not allowing him too deep, fighting the urge to bite down on his tongue or lip until it bleeds.
Getting to the bathroom afterward I see myself in the mirror and touch my face.
I’m so plain.
I’m a troll compared to her. What was her name?
Ruby.
Fitting.
I’m gravel and she is a ruby.
I started brushing my teeth. I brushed so roughly that when I spit there was blood because I’m washing Noah and his woman out of my mouth.
It all starts to close in on me, answers floating up.
The night we last tried to make a baby, we fell asleep after sex… but then he got a text and went out.
To sleep with Ruby…
He was inside me and then her on the same night.
“Oh, God…” I sobbed before dropping my toothbrush and kneeling in front of the toilet to hurl.
LORENZO
Two days after watching Ruby with her newest lover, I stand in my kitchen barking orders and taking over in some places.
I find solace again in my work and the aromas I love so much.
Soon, as always, I forget about Ruby and what we have become. It’s just me and the food until Giada comes in, standing in her designated safe spot where she won’t cause calamity.
“Enzo,” she calls over the sounds of pots banging, pans scrapping on burners, and knives thumping against wooden cutting boards.
“Yeah, what?” I ask, hardly listening as waiters filter in and out behind her.
“There’s a woman here to see you.”
I catch an onion as it rolls away from one of my chefs. “Watch what you’re doing,” I warn.
“Enzo!” Giada yells.
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“What do you want?”
“There is a woman here to talk to you.”
“Customer?”
She sighs, dramatically proving how annoying I am. “I don’t know, she said she needed to speak to the owner. She was here yesterday, I told her to come back today, now it’s today, so come on.”
I figure it’s a complaint. The only time someone wants to talk to the owner is when they have a complaint or a compliment and ninety percent of the time, it’s not the latter.
I took off my half apron and hung it before going to the sink to wash my hands. When I came out front where the hostess stand is, I expected to see someone standing there, but it was quiet.
“Where is she?” I asked Giada.
“Over there,” she pointed to the table where I sit every morning with coffee. There at the window was a petite woman. Her hands were closed around a cup or pinching at the little white saucer underneath.
“Why is she sitting down?” I asked.
“She wants to talk,” Giada made a bubble with her gum and then went to smacking at it. “You’ve got time, the lunch rush isn’t for another twenty minutes.”
I put my back to the woman. “Is she selling something?” I whispered.
“Nah, she didn’t bring nothing. She certainly ain’t no cosmetics rep.”
“Even if she were, she wouldn’t be selling here,” I looked over my shoulder and Giada and I stared at her. “Jehovah witness, maybe.”
“Nah,” she said again. “They come in twos.”
“Alright, just keep watching the front, and spit that friggin’ gum out, you sound like a cow chewing cud.” I left her to walk over to the table.
The woman was new to me when she looked up, I didn’t recognize her from anywhere. “Oh, hi,” she straightened. “You must be Mr. DiGregorio.”
I inclined my head before sitting opposite of her. “I am,” I put my hand across the table for her to shake.
“My name is Lydia Spencer…”
“Nice to meet you,” I settled with my back against the chair and my leg crossed over my knee. She nervously fidgeted. Her eyes kept avoiding mine. “What can I do for you?”
“Uh,” she opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it and looked out the window beside us.
“Are you looking for a job?” It dawned on me that was a good reason to want to sit with the owner. “If so, you need to fill out an application with Giada at the front. We have certain…” I looked her up and down. “Requirements…”
Not to be impolite, but she is as plain as hell. Not unattractive, but entirely forgettable.
“I’m not here for work,” she pulled at the sleeve of her oversized sweater and crossed her legs under the table, her long skirt only hiking high enough to reveal sneakers. “I needed to talk to you about something really personal.”
My mind is going a million miles an hour trying to predi
ct her reasons. The way she drags out the truth is unnerving. “Well,” I tried to word it carefully. “What is it?”
From under her lashes, I saw that her eyes are a clear gray. They were also glassy. “I think…” she stopped again, and I tried to be patient. “I think… your wife is seeing my husband…”
My forehead hurt with the deep frown pressing down my brows. “What?”
“I saw them… a few nights ago, they were meeting at this house and… they kissed. I assume they spent the night there. I don’t know if it was your house. I didn’t want to call you to tell you, that seemed cold.”
I leaned forward, braced my elbow on the table and covered my mouth with my hand, speaking behind it. “I don’t understand.”
“I felt you should know. Your wife is cheating on you.”
“So.”
Her eyes went wider than the saucer her coffee was served on. “So, isn’t that a little devastating for you?”
I took in a deep breath. “Lady, you came here to tell me my wife is fucking another man?”
She winced at the word fuck. “Well, yeah—”
I let out a humorless laugh. “This is not news to me.”
Her shoulders came down a little. “You know?”
“She’s been this way a long time.” I held the back of my neck. “I am sorry if this is the first time your husband has cheated on you. You should know, it probably wasn’t all his fault. Ruby has her ways of turning a man’s head.” I let the moment settle. “Is that all you came about?” I was ready to put distance between myself and this woman. She makes this all very real and I prefer to pretend it isn’t during the day hours.
When I readied to stand, she made a noise of protest and almost touched my hand before thinking better of it. “Wait, um… can you just sit with me a minute, I’m trying to figure this out.”
I stayed between sitting and standing, trying to decide. Her eyes were pleading, though, and I felt obligated to resume my seat.
“Then,” she looks at a person almost too brazenly. Maybe it’s just me, but she gives me a transparent feeling. “You know and… you just accept it?”
I sense she’s asking more for herself. “My circumstances are complicated.”
“Do you still love her?” her voice was uneven. “Do you just pretend not to know, or does she know you know? How do you handle it, knowing?”
“Again, it’s complicated.”
Lydia looked down into her coffee and I was glad to not have her attention for a minute. “My husband loves me, he’s just, he was tempted, and he probably felt weak. We were planning to have a baby, so I know he doesn’t love her, your wife. He’s just… confused probably. Maybe the baby thing was scary for him and he didn’t tell me, and it festered, and now…”
I don’t know what to say so I just sit.
“I have no one to talk to about this,” she confesses. “Our church is small and if I tell the wrong person it could mess up everything. Who do you talk to about it?”
“No one,” I wish I had alcohol.
“Does it get easier?”
“No.”
She stared at me again. “I can understand why my husband might have cheated on me; I don’t understand why your wife is cheating on you. You’re as handsome as Noah.”
So, his name is Noah. “Cheating doesn’t always have to do with looks.”
Her hands went back to the cup and saucer. We sat in silence for a few minutes. It was easy to do with her.
“I suggest,” I began. “That you confront your husband and move on. If he’s cheated once he may do it again.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that; marriage is binding and… I’m not…” she shook her head more adamantly. “I’m not ready for that kind of change.”
I pity her. My obstacles to divorce are big, hers are inward. “I have to get ready for the lunch hour rush,” I stood as customers started coming in. “I’m sorry about your husband, I hope it works out.”
“But,” she looked up at me in a panic. “Can you tell me…”
“What do you want me to say, huh?” I could feel the numbness filtering into my system. “That he loves you? That there is some magical cure for how to handle the hole in your chest?”
“Is there?” she said in a sarcastic laugh.
I started to shake my head but then I stopped. “Eat something.”
“How will that help? I can’t eat with how I feel.”
“You can always eat,” I put both my hands on the table, thinking about what kind of thing would appeal to her. “I’ll have them bring out the Tortelli di zucca.”
“No, I really can’t—”
“Eating solves everything,” I shrugged.
“No, I mean I can’t. My husband would see the receipt or on our banking website and know I came here. It’s too random. I only brought enough cash for a coffee or espresso or whatever this amazing little bitty cup of life is.”
“I never said you would pay for it.”
She thought about that. “Then, thank you.”
I nodded, but as I walked to the kitchen she asked. “How many calories are in the Tortelli thingy?”
I just laughed.
Calories? My mother was having a heart attack somewhere.
LYDIA
I told myself only to have a few bites to be polite to Lorenzo, but after the first one, I couldn’t stop. This is weird because I haven’t enjoyed food since my first discovery of Noah’s infidelity. Weeks. I’ve been hungry for weeks, but unable to find an appetite.
Here the food is rich, flavorful, alive.
I can’t get it in my mouth fast enough.
I’m trying not to think about the carbs.
Maybe Lorenzo was right? Maybe eating solves everything. Then again, it could be the atmosphere too.
Outside were three iron tables and chairs with red and white checkered tablecloths. Two big blackboards with all their specials written in chalk. Hanging plants, sleeping as October came around, hung from the streetlamps and the flag of Italy over their doorway.
The inside had three archways made of brick and above them were garlands of greenery. Garlic bunches in nets hung on the wall by the door, near paintings of Italy like vineyards, trees, villas, gardens…
Life-size statues of the Roman gods were erected in corners. There was a bubbling fountain with four levels in the center of the place, and in the middle was a carved Neptune holding his triton.
Italian music played softly around me, blending well with the trickling of water from the fountain and an expensive wine collection was displayed on the farthest wall. Tables were filled with tiny vases of red or white carnations and candles. The lighting was dim, comforting.
“Better?” Lorenzo’s voice pinned me to the present and I realized something.
“I wasn’t thinking about it…” I said.
“Huh?” he frowned at me again.
“For the first time in forever, I wasn’t thinking about Noah, or your wife, or their affair…” I looked down at the plate of food that still smelled alluring even though I was overly full. “This food is…” I couldn’t find a word. “Sinful.”
Lorenzo nodded cockily. “Very.”
“But this place…” I shifted in my seat to see more of the venue. “It’s like even the walls are sucking up my problems.”
He smiled, and my throat thickened. He really is handsome. “Cibo Degli Dei is a haven. Always has been.”
“What does that mean? The name, is that Italian?”
He nodded. “Food of the Gods.”
I glanced at the statues of idols. Noah wouldn’t like this place. Stone images of idols would freak him out. But I sort of like it. I feel transported in time.
“It’s beautiful here, your restaurant is amazing,” I told him.
“Thank you,” he pointed at my plate. “Dessert?”
“I can’t,” I held my stomach. “I would explode.”
“You eat too fast,” he pulled the chair across from me a
nd sat again. He moves his body slowly, as though every step he takes is measured and considered. “What kind of meal doesn’t come with dessert?”
“Well, I’m dieting, so—”
He snapped his fingers and barked a name, not listening to me. The girl from up front came to his side. “What the hell you yelling at me for?” she slapped his bicep, but I doubt he felt it.
“Get…” he gestured at me, not remembering my name. “What’s her name— a to-go box with dessert.”
“Lydia,” I supplied.
“He’s just being an ass,” the girl put her elbow on his shoulder, leaning on him. “Hi, I’m Giada, this one’s little sister.”
I offered my hand. “Hi,” we shook.
“I’ll get your box.” She left and Lorenzo and I fell silent for a time.
“You gonna call it off with—” he gestured to my wedding ring. He doesn’t remember my husband’s name. I’ve never seen anyone talk with their hands so much.
“No, I told you, he’s my husband, I can’t just break up with him. We just have to get past this bad spot.”
Lorenzo’s mouth twitched, he wanted to laugh but thought better of it, and I’m glad.
“I’ll pray on it,” I added.
He rubbed his face and then watched me drink more of my coffee. “Well, good luck either way,” he took my dessert box from Giada when she came to our table. She couldn’t stay as people began filtering in for lunch and she needed to seat them.
“Um, do you have a pen?” I asked.
He searched his pant pockets and came up with a slender black pen. I took it and started writing my number on a napkin.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you my number,” I held out the napkin with shaky hands.
“Why?”
“Because we should be friends.”
He lifted both brows, still not accepting the napkin. “Why?”
“We are both going through this, don’t you think it would be nice to have the support?”
“I have two friends that support me every time.”
“Yeah?”
“One’s name is Alcohol and the other is named Cigs.”
I sent him a flat expression. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I know what you mean, I don’t need to discuss my feelings. This has been going on a long time.”
The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5) Page 7