The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5)

by Nicole Strycharz

  “What? That’s— oh, my God, that’s—” he gripped his hair on each side of his head. “Wow, no way! You’re sure? Are you sure?”

  I speechlessly jumped up and down until he held me, picking me up, making me feel honored.

  “This is amazing!” He swung me around. “Oh, my God! A baby!” He set me down and held my shoulders. “You tested?”

  “This morning.”

  He grabbed me again. He’s showing the excitement I expected, being the Noah that I know.

  My heart is so full that it can’t contain all the feelings. Everything we prayed for coming to be.

  His phone alerted us to another text, robbing me of a thimbleful of joy.

  He checked, reading the text. “Okay, let me run to the office, I’ll get this fixed and then we celebrate. If not tonight, tomorrow. Are you tired? You need to rest. Lay down. Do you need to lay down?”

  I tried to keep smiling. “Stay here, Noah. I want you with me. This is a big night. We’re going to have a family.”

  “I know,” he held my face and kissed me. “I know, I just need to work out this payroll thing.”

  I held his forearms. “No, Noah, I’m telling you, I’m not asking…”

  His face smoothed out. “I don’t really have a choice. I won’t be gone long, like maybe an hour or two.”

  I moved my hands up his arms to hold his biceps, clutch his sleeves as I had his shirt front. “Please…” I whispered it as though someone might hear. “Please, stay here and don’t go out.” I’m begging him with all of me. “Not tonight. Tonight, is for us. For what we’ve asked God for, over a span of five years. I need you to stay.”

  Noah read into what I didn’t say, holding me closer. He put our foreheads together and took a deep breath. “Okay…”

  I closed my eyes, relishing that he chose me.

  “Okay,” he said again, kissing me.

  A new beginning. That’s what this was. For us. Because this was Noah choosing us.

  LORENZO

  “Lorenzo,” Ruby called my name from our bedroom as I was putting my coat on by the door.

  “Yeah?”

  She came around the hall with a stern expression and my phone in her hand. I checked my back pocket, realizing I forgot it.

  “Thanks,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “Who is Debbie?”

  I searched my brain. “Who?”

  “Debbie,” she flashed my screen at me and then looked for herself. “She’s messaged you a hundred times.”

  “Oh, that Debbie,” I took the phone and looked. “She’s new to the position at the restaurant. ”

  “And she has no friends except her boss?”

  “She’s learning to manage, but I don’t think she was ready.”

  “Since when do you hire without me?”

  I cocked my head at her, pocketing my phone. “Don’t start this now.”

  “It’s a valid question, we hire together. So, who the hell is Debbie and why did she get hired for management?”

  I saw where this was going and felt my temper rise. “Debbie already worked with us; you would know that if you ever went to Cibo Degli Dei.”

  “Then she wasn’t hired in, she worked her way up? Or did she fuck her way up?”

  I picked up my keys and dismissed her. My hand on the door, she cut me off, standing between me and the outside, and scowled at me. “Where are you going?”

  “To the restaurant,” I held up my watch. “I am there every Wednesday night, from six to close.”

  “What do her texts say?” she asked. “Read them.”

  “You are not doing this with me.”

  “You’re hiding something if you can’t just show me your messages.”

  “Ruby,” I warned. “Do not go here.”

  “Why, are you afraid? I’m just asking how she changed positions so fast. Did she start out under you or—"

  I threw my keys with such force that they busted the glass door cabinets above our sink. “You’re going to accuse me?” I started walking toward her and she backed away. “Me?” I asked thumping my own chest. “Let’s go look at your phone, Ruby.”

  “You’re deflecting,” she laughed nervously, tears in her eyes. “That’s what cheaters do; they deflect. I read that.”

  “You read that?” I sarcastically questioned. “Right, you read that.”

  “Why won’t you read Debbie’s texts?” she persisted.

  “Go get your phone.”

  She widened her eyes. “That’s deflecting.”

  I pushed past her to get to our bedroom and she flipped out. Following me down the hall, she snatched my arm or my coat, but I would pull loose and keep walking.

  “When have I ever kept you out of my phone? Huh? I have the same passcode as I did five years ago!” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “Stop it!” she jerked at my sleeve, but I opened our door and went to her side of the bed where her phone lay, charging.

  “I’ll read you Debbie’s texts, let’s read each other’s texts,” I swiped her phone even when she dove to take it first.

  “Don’t do this, you’re scaring me, stop it!” she screamed the words as though I was beating her.

  “It’s unlocked, how silly of you to leave it unlocked, huh?” I tapped her messenger app and saw the screen light up with dozens of names, mostly work-related, but I was looking for a specific one.

  She was yanking at my arms, smacking me, or plainly shoving me, but I worked around her assaults. When she became too much, I held her wrist and forced her to sit, pressing her down on the bed.

  “Who is Noah?” I asked, knowing full well.

  Her tears did nothing to my heart.

  I also saw the date of his last message. She’s acting out with me because they haven’t spoken in days.

  “I said, stop it!” she cried. “Stop!”

  “Will you meet with me on Saturday?” I read out loud. “I miss your touch, please come meet me,” my voice cracked on the last word. I came into this confrontation strong. At seeing the things they say to one another, I folded.

  At seeing my pain, her tears dried and became a heart-wrenching panic. “Lorenzo, stop reading, please, baby, please,” she stood as my hold on her loosened. “Baby, don’t.”

  I flicked her hands off me to read the next line. My vision wouldn’t focus past seeing the word ‘love’ where it was typed in two places. I couldn’t even read around that word. All I saw was love, love, love.

  And it impaled me. A lance made of letters.

  “Lorenzo, look at me,” she begged. “Oh, God, please, look at me. I love you, I love you, baby, I love you.”

  I shrugged her off and let her phone fall from my hands, flipping that internal switch. The numbness that protects me was two minutes too late in coming.

  “I want a divorce—”

  “No!” she screamed the word at me. “Don’t say that!”

  “Get off me,” I went to my side of the bed to get my charger and my overnight pack from under my bed.

  “What are you doing?” she shook with her fear and pain. “Stop it! What are you doing? Lorenzo! Don’t do that! Why are you doing that?”

  “I’m leaving you,” I threw my stuff in the pack and wouldn’t look at her, even as she crawled to my side of the bed and sat on her knees to touch me, to try and turn my face. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  “No, listen to me,” she wept. “I- I- think if we t-talk this out— we could try— we need to talk, you know? I need you. I always need you; I love you.”

  “I said don’t fucking touch me!” I roared, shoving her away.

  “You can’t do this to us!” Her eyes frantically darted from me to my pack. “You can’t do this to you! You know what will happen if you leave me!” she threatened, becoming wicked with it. “And it will happen, if you leave me, you wouldn’t risk it.”

  I zipped my bag and slung it over my shoulder. She ran to catch up to me, pulling at my bag.

  “Oh my Go
d, please,” she fell apart, seeing that the threats were not working.

  I went to the kitchen to search for the keys I threw but she took them and held them away. “You aren’t leaving me.”

  “Give me the keys.”

  “No, I can’t because— God, I love you and I won’t- I- I won’t let you leave.”

  “I will snap your damn neck, Ruby!”

  “No, you won’t.” She laid her body against my chest and desperately found ways to cling to me. “You’ve never hurt me, you can’t. You can’t— you’re my superhero. You know that, you know how messed up I am, how ruined… and you love me anyway, you always love me anyway. You stay. You always s-stay and catch m-me.”

  “Superheroes can’t save everybody.”

  “No, no but—”

  I bent her hand awkwardly, trying not to hurt her, but to force her compliance.

  Taking the keys and starting toward the door, I wouldn’t look at her.

  “I’ll kill myself!” she threatened. “I will, I’ll do it and you know it, I’ll do it, I swear to fucking God, I’ll do it,” she cried.

  I turned to tell her I didn’t care anymore what she did to herself, but as she said the words, she started to hyperventilate. Holding her chest, I saw the attack coming, and with every justified right I had to leave her in the middle of it, I couldn’t.

  “I can’t breathe,” she held her hair up, arms high to breathe. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

  I dropped my bag and shushed her, falling to my knees with her as she collapsed under the weight of her fears. “Baby, breathe with me,” I said.

  “I can’t!” she screamed.

  “Look at me. Look at me,” I demanded.

  She shook so badly that her teeth were chattering. “I can’t do this!”

  “Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear—”

  “Two things— t-two that I can smell…”

  “That’s right,” I supported her back, slow, calming circles. I put her hand flat on my chest, giving her a clear example of slow, steady breathing.

  She started to slip from me, I snapped my fingers. “Eh, baby, look at me.”

  She did as I said.

  “Breathe with me,” I continued.

  She did, erratically. Then she leaned forward, burying her face in my chest. The way out of this cycle was so clear but so unobtainable. I held her, stroking her hair as she recited the grounding technic, naming things she could see.

  Chapter Twelve

  LYDIA

  Lorenzo was a brooding sort of quiet a few mornings later. He poured us coffee from the Moka pot with a slight frown, his hands steady but his shoulders less high and proud.

  I didn’t say anything about it, though, knowing this time in the mornings was for us to reflect, not to talk. When I would look across the table at him, I would find him staring out the window, his mouth a grim line. I didn’t like it, seeing him so… numb.

  When we were done, he collected our cups, saucers, and the pot. “You’ll need decaffeinated, from now on. I didn’t think of that,” he said.

  I put my chin in my hand. “You’re right.” He wouldn’t look directly at me. “Goodbye,” I said as he headed for the kitchen.

  “Addio,” he said quietly over his shoulder.

  Noah stayed away from Ruby for a long time, and as Thanksgiving approached, I saw that this was going to be our new beginning.

  With Noah’s parent’s coming, I felt excited to celebrate a holiday about giving thanks. We agreed not to tell his parents about the baby yet, I needed zero stress or pressure, but it would still be wonderful.

  I made an enormous dinner and Noah’s mom brought her prized Brussel sprouts. God, I hate those.

  “So,” as we all sat down, Noah’s father Mike, began our conversation. “What’s happening lately, son? How is work?”

  I cringed a little, knowing work is a sore place for Noah and his dad.

  “Work is good,” Noah said politely.

  “How are the delinquents of society treating you?” Mike prodded.

  “This gravy is fantastic,” Sheryl quietly interrupted, leaning my way to compliment me.

  “Thank you, it’s an old family recipe,” I said.

  “They just need the right opportunities,” Noah answered tartly.

  “Real prison would be a good start,” Mike chewed around his retort.

  “You think a ten-year-old, should be surrounded by real convicts?” Noah sarcastically laughed. “Brilliant, dad, that should help.”

  Sheryl tried again. “How are your parents, Lydia? I haven’t heard from Elanor for a long time.”

  I drank my water before answering. “Mom and Dad are great. They retired, and they live upstate.”

  “I’m not heartless,” Mike told Noah. “But I don’t feel that these kids really get held accountable for their actions. Not to mention most of them are ghetto brats, what’s the point of pushing them to do better? As soon as they get let out, they go back to the crimes.”

  “I work mostly with kids from the Bronx area, crime is down recently,” Noah said with false calm. “And yeah, there are bad neighborhoods. But do you know how many privileged kids from wealthy families parade through my office?”

  “Your skin looks amazing,” Sheryl patted my hand. “What are you doing differently?”

  “Um—” before I could answer, Mike came at Noah from another angle.

  “Your brother starts the NBA this coming season,” Mike forked my turkey with venom. “Do you two keep in contact at all?”

  “Not really,” Noah set down the yams with a loud thud. “He has his life and I have mine.”

  “Yeah, true, your life is taking piss samples, following hoodlums around in the hood, and getting stabbed when a client wants a little freedom.”

  Noah wiped his mouth and scooted his chair back. “I wasn’t stabbed. The kid threatened, he didn’t do it, he only nicked me.”

  Mike took a big bite. “There’re no knives in basketball, son.”

  “Basketball wasn’t my calling.”

  “Right, being a martyr was. That’s what God wanted for my son, to be in dangerous situations for dangerous people.”

  Noah sat back and exchanged angry heated glare with his father. “Why’d you come here, Dad? To tell me what’s wrong with my life?”

  “When you become a father, you’ll figure it out. Your opinions now are moot until you know what it is to parent. Go toss your kid into the slums with people that want to stab him, and then get back to me. I have a feeling you and Lydia would prefer he play a professional sport.”

  Sheryl perked up. “Now, Mike, there are dangers in sports too. I heard that those football players are battling some very deadly concussions now.”

  “What about you, Lydia?” Mike asked me. “You like your husband working with dangerous people? Gone all hours of the day or night?”

  I glanced at Noah. He won’t look at me or anyone because he’s seconds from walking out, I can tell.

  I chose my words carefully. “A wife always wishes her husband safety, but I know that Noah is well trained for his work and will be as careful as he can. He’s good at what he does, and the kids need him. Someone that’s firm but also believes in them.”

  Mike finished chewing while looking at me, evaluating my statement. “And when you two start having children, is that what you want? You want him doing a job like this?”

  I opened my mouth, but Noah talked over me.

  “Lydia is pregnant,” Noah announced. “And it’s none of your business.”

  His mother gasped.

  I looked at him in open disbelief. “Noah,” I whispered.

  He held his hand up at me, still looking at his surprised father. “I’m the man of my own house, and I’ll make my own damn decisions. I love my job and I love my family; I’ll support them the way I see fit.”

  His father still had a cheap shot to make. “Yeah, with social security money, when you
die from a gunshot wound. Very well done, Noah. At least you plan ahead.”

  “Did you come here just to put me down?”

  “If you feel inferior, it’s your own doing, not mine. Congratulations, Lydia,” Mike lifted his brows. “You’re going to make a great single mother.”

  “Oh, Mike!” Sheryl scolded.

  Noah got up and took down his coat.

  “Where are you going?” his mom whined.

  “Out,” he said without stopping.

  I stood and went after him, meeting him at his car window as he started the engine. He opened it when I thumped on the glass.

  “What is it, Lydia?” he asked me coldly.

  “How could you tell them our news like that? This is a blessing we’ve wanted a long time and we agreed not to share it yet, that we wanted to lay low. Then you just leave me here with your parents?”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for the backup in there. I appreciate it.”

  “I did back you up!”

  “No, you made small talk with my mother.”

  A sick thought came over me. “Where are you going?”

  “Out, I just need air.”

  “But where are you going for air?”

  He gripped the steering wheel, not looking at me. The leather of the wheel crinkled under his grip. “I need some space. I’ll be back later.”

  I watched him drive off and couldn’t believe it. I know with ninety-nine percent sureness, that he’s going to see Ruby. On Thanksgiving. Leaving me with his parents. Who now know I’m pregnant.

  LORENZO

  “Happy Thanksgiving.” That was the text I got from Lydia at one in the afternoon.

  Instead of messaging back, I blew smoke away from my cigarette and called her. Standing on my mom’s front lawn, I waited for her to pick up.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “What are you doing messaging me? It’s Thanksgiving.”

  “And you are my friend, I wanted to say hello.”

  “You’re a woman, you should be too busy in your kitchen to text people.”

  She laughed. “How are you bossy, even about gender roles?”

  I smiled. “What’s going on?”

  “Why is something going on?”

  “Where is Noah if you’re calling me?”