Stage 6 - Do You Need A Lawyer?

~No matter what form it takes, all types of cheating are devastating to a marriage.~

The closer we got to celebrating our anniversary, the Fisker Rome became, as doubts about his commitment to our marriage swirled around in my head. 

“Good morning, baby.” He kissed my forehead. “Did you enjoy my pre-anniversary gift?" he whispered.

“I wasn’t expecting that. What’s gotten into you?” 

“It's our anniversary, and you were good. I love to catch you off guard, especially when you are sleeping. I love spontaneity, don’t you?” 

“No,” 

“No? You don't mean that. Come here…” He pulled me closer. “You are my only one.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Okay, let me go. I'm ready to get up. You should let me change the sheets. 

Rome raised himself on an elbow with a seductive, playful smile. “Why bother when we’re going to dirty them again later?”

"No, we are not. Not if I can help it."

"What's with the stank attitude. You should be happy after five years. My desire for my wife is still evident."

“What's evident is I’m hungry,” I reply, walking into the bathroom. Still unsure about how I felt about being coerced into intimacy while still very much asleep. Especially with that text looming in the back of my mind.

*******

The scent of vanilla and freshly brewed coffee lingered as we stepped into Joe's Café, our typical Saturday spot. It was bustling, as usual, with families enjoying brunch and friends catching up over steaming mugs. I was happy when we entered. Everyone had been served. So we moved toward the counter, my mind wouldn't stop nagging me with the thought of that unexpected text I'd received from Rome the other night. I know it was meant for someone else, and a part of me felt I should bring it up. But as I glanced over at him, my resolve wavered, my heart heavy with the weight of the pregnancy and what it might do to our marriage.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice deep and playful. Rome leaned casually against the counter, his smile flashing a level of charm that made me weak in the knees, even after all these years together.

"Beautiful? That's a new one," I teased back, trying to push away the anxiety that had been building up inside me. I kept telling myself there was a plausible reason for the text. Rome can be a tease, trying to get a rise out of me. At least, that's what I told myself, but the doubt lingered, refusing to be dismissed.

"Just calling it like I see it!" Rome winked before turning his attention to the barista, a girl maybe a few years younger than us. Her name tag read 'Megan,' and she had big, bright eyes that sparkled as Rome started to engage her in conversation. An involuntary tightening formed in my chest as I held back a sigh.

"Can we grab a table?" I pointedly looked at him while motioning toward the small, circular table by the window. Part of me wanted to roll my eyes, but part of me couldn't help but feel flattered. It was nice to see Rome enjoying himself. He's always been a friendly, outgoing guy. We'd been married long enough that the day-to-day grind often dulled that spark.

"Sure thing!" he flashed another grin. You get the table, and I’ll put the order in.” He told me, still engrossed by Megan as she laughed at something he said—an innocent laugh that rang with flirtation. She smiled at him in a way that made me wonder if I was simply being paranoid.

"I’ll stay here while we order first," I said, trying to divert his attention from Megan, but he shrugged and waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, I'll have whatever you are whipping up." He turned back to Megan, leaning closer to the counter now, his fingers drumming lightly on the surface as he continued chatting her up. 

"Rome," I started, feeling a familiar irritation flare up. "We're supposed to—"

"Hold on, babe," he interrupted playfully. "I'm just finding out what their special is today."

The words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat as I watched him. I took a deep breath, glancing at the shelves lined with pastries, all beautifully displayed. My mind still drifted back to that text. The one that had started with, "I can't wait to see you tonight." My heart raced, the doubt creeping into my mind like an unwelcome guest. I should say something, but what if this was a harmless moment? Or is this Meagan girl the one the text was meant for?  The internal struggle was tearing me apart.

A well-dressed man walked into the café and got in line behind Rome. I had decided to grab the table by the window. I was waiting for Rome, but so was the man in line behind him, and his patience was waning as he glanced at his Rolex watch. He seemed to have a keen sense of things and recognized what was happening. Then, with this impassive expression, he nodded at me, but his eyes looked knowing, almost as if he could sense the energy shift. I turned my head, too embarrassed to look at the man or in the counter's direction. The man stood behind Rome long enough to catch the tail end of Rome's flirtatious banter with Megan. I could tell he was observant; his penetrating eyes were like a watchdog ready to tear Rome to shreds. The man took a few steps back, far from my table.

"Hey, is he with you?" he asked. His voice was deeper than I expected, and he held a reserved expression. 

"Yes, that's my husband. Hey, Rome! Is our coffee ready? There are other people in line, you know." I smiled back at the man, trying to shake off my embarrassment. 

The man glanced between Rome and Megan. The gentleman didn't look oblivious to the dynamic unfolding before us.

"Yes, almost ready, babe," Rome says while his full attention is on the barista. 

"If you ever need a lawyer, a good one. Here’s my card. You know where to find me," he said, with a serious, tinged tone. 

I looked at him, mortified yet grateful for his interference. "Thank you, but I'm fine!" I lied; I was far from content at the moment.

"That's what they all say until it’s too late." The man says to me, staring at Rome as he passes him, heading to the counter to put in his order.

Rome finally leaves the line with the tray of coffees for me and him. He is oblivious to the man's presence and that he had even spoken to me. The man could have been asking me out on a date, and my husband wouldn’t have even noticed, and dare I say care… 

My eyes narrowed slightly in acknowledgment of Rome. "Do you know the young lady from somewhere? You seem to have a lot to discuss with her."

"Yeah, Cane and I have eaten here a few times and always chit-chat with her when I see her." 

I glanced at the well-dressed man, who was trying to suppress a smirk. He shook his head at Rome, as if to say, “pathetic.” And then he glanced at me as he left the café. I turned my attention back to Rome. 

"Hey, can we talk for a second?" I called out, my voice carrying more urgency than I had intended, but I couldn't suppress the need for this conversation any longer. 

"Of course! What's up?" He turned to me, momentarily shaking off the playful banter with Megan. 

"I, um…" just about to bring up the text, but the moment slipped away with the new drink in Rome’s hand as he took a sip. 

"Mmm, this is tasty. Hey Megan, thumbs up." Lift the cup toward the girl behind the counter.

“Hey, thanks, enjoy!” She said, smiling from ear to ear.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out that crisp business card, and discreetly glanced at it. 

"Here, try it, Hailey, it tastes so good, that Megan knows her stuff."

 I mumbled, 'I could use legal advice on this…flirting with the barista situation".

"It tastes good, right?" Rome says, utterly unaware of the cues around him.

"Sure, tasty," I say, slipping the card into my hand, pressing it gently to my palm, and nodding in Rome's direction.

I felt the weight of the conversation I'd wanted with Rome slipping further away as he said, "Are you looking forward to our fifth anniversary? Can you believe it's been five years already? Where did the time go?" Rome said, chuckling.

"I found myself trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach as his laughter filled the air.

And there it was—a blend of confusion, frustration, and the return of that nagging desire to confront him about that text lining up just beneath the surface, all overshadowed by the light-hearted interactions at the café. To top it off, a lawyer approaches me and gives me his business card. All signs point to bringing it up and facing it head-on:

Is Meagan the barista girl the one he meant to send that text to? Or is it someone else?