Page 14 of Friend Zoned

“Hello,” he says. He’s so smug, I want to scream.

“This is Jeannie Dubois from The Pierre.” I stifle my sigh and hope that he does not drag this call out for long. I need this job. More than that, I really like the parent company.

“Jeanine, I know who this is.” He has the audacity to sound irritated.

“I’ve spoken with Layla, and it looks like the third Saturday of February has an opening in the Lilac room. There was a cancellation a few minutes ago,” I lie. “I’ll be happy to put you down. The room holds up to one hundred and twenty-five people.” If he can find five friends who can stand him, I’ll be surprised.

“Someone just canceled. It’s a miracle.”

I count to ten before I speak again. “Do you want the room or not, Quintin? If you do, I’ll have the events coordinator contact you in the morning.”

“I’m going to pay a lot of money, so tone down the attitude.”

No, he’s not. He’s not going to pay much at all with the perks employees get.

“I’ll put you down. Eve will call you tomorrow and will go over the details and cost with you. Have a good day.” I slam my office phone down, uncaring if he makes trouble for me. I’m sure I can find another job in the hospitality industry fairly quickly. I love this company, and I’d hate to give up the benefits, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to tolerate Quintin showing up here whenever he wants.

I don’t miss him. I don’t miss our marriage. In fact, I don’t see myself ever getting married again, and even though it was Quintin’s infidelity that ended things, he’s still trying to stay in my life.

A little over two years ago.

I turn the key around in my winter coat. It’s funny how the thing that’s turned my world off kilter is the only thing keeping me sane. It can’t be. I’ve convinced myself of that about one hundred times.

Then how did a hotel room key end up in his pocket? He’s only worn the suit once since I picked it up at the drycleaners for him. And he didn’t take a trip when he wore it.

I shake my head, refusing to believe it. Yes, we’ve had problems lately. He’s been distant because he didn’t want me to do a master’s program. His distance is his way of punishing me, but we’re still a new marriage, and we’re still finding our way.

Even if he does have a hotel room key in his pocket, it doesn’t mean he’s doing anything. Maybe he had a meeting?

A meeting in a hotel room? You’re not that delusional.

I’m trembling by the time I reach the front door of the Upper East Side hotel. It’s under the Walsh Group umbrella, and that helps me breathe easier. Maybe it’s work.

Deep down, I know that’s not true. The conversation I overheard this morning confirms my suspicions. He told whoever he was talking to that he would meet them here.

I wasn’t meant to hear it. But I’ve been paying attention since I found this card in his pocket six days ago. He’s gone to work each day since. Except for today.

He got up early. Spent extra time in the shower. He also whistled while he was shaving. He only whistles when he’s looking forward to something. He doesn’t know that I know that little detail about him. It’s a tell. I don’t think he realizes he does it.

He said no to breakfast, and he didn’t take his to-go coffee mug as usual. One thing about Quintin is that he’s cheap. Not frugal, but cheap. He won’t spend a dollar that he doesn’t have to. He eats at home and doesn’t spend money on things like coffee.

After he left, I thought back to the last few months and realize that he does the same routine every Tuesday. Whatever he’s up to, it’s on Tuesdays. The day that I have an evening class after work.

Now, standing in the lobby of this grand hotel, it makes sense he would be here. One of the perks as an employee is that we get free hotel rooms if there’s capacity. The only thing we pay for is the taxes.

I plaster a smile on my face and pull out my work ID. I’m on autopilot when I approach the front desk. My work ID is like a master key. It’s like a secret club for employees that gives us access to information. The clerk is all smiles when he realizes I’m a colleague, and when I tell him I’m meeting my husband here and give him the name, I’m given a room number within moments.

He makes a key for me and gives me a wink. He probably thinks we’re here for a midday tryst. He couldn’t be more wrong.

I take the elevator to the thirteenth floor, and I almost chuckle at the irony. Isn’t thirteen supposed to be unlucky?

The carpet drowns out the sounds of my shoes. Each step is like a physical blow. I stop in the middle of the hallway and ask myself what I’m doing here. This is the end. If what I suspect is true, there’s no going back. I’m not going to be with a cheater. There will be no marriage counseling. No working it out. I’m gone. Quintin knows this. He knows this is a deal breaker for me in a relationship.

Which is why I take a deep breath. He knows. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but we love each other. He’s the one who wanted to get married. He said I’m the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and he would not jeopardize that.

By the time I reach the room, my heart is practically in my throat. There are only two scenarios. Either, he’ll be here alone, and I’ll be forced to apologize for my lapse in trust, or my marriage is over.

I have a key. I can just let myself in, but I don’t do that. I hold my breath and knock.

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