Page 68 of My Infatuation with Isabella

December 26, 2026

“Scott, just give meher fucking number!”

I hear him sigh on the other side of the phone. “Dyl, I’m sorry, but I promised her I would never break the pact again.”

“Screw the pact! Just give me her number.”

“This is the seventeenth time you’ve called me since yesterday morning, so this is the seventeenth time I’m giving you my answer. No. The last time I broke the pact, she was pissed off with me for, like, a month, and you didn’t want to speak to me forweeks. And I know you blame me for what happened between you and Francesca after that.”

“I don’t blame you.”

I do. I absolutely, one hundred percent blame him. I liken it very much to what happened in Macbeth. That dude was just going through life, minding his own business until his wife and those witches started whispering shit in his ear about killing Duncan and becoming king. If they hadn’t done that, he would’ve been content in the space he was in. But they planted the seed, showed him how much better his life could be, and then all of a sudden, just being content wasn’t enough anymore.

That was me. I was coasting along, living a very content life with Francesca, but then Scott, the witch, sent me that link and turned my whole world upside down. I heard her voice...I heard the truth and suddenly content wasn’t enough for me anymore. The only reason I ever stayed away from her was because I thought she cheated on me. I never would’ve let her go otherwise. It took me a while to understand why she lied to me about that, and even though I’m still pissed off about it, I can empathize with her reasons for doing what she did. She was young at the time, and I was a dick for abandoning her. And once I understood her reasons, I didn’t have a reason to stay away from her anymore.

This convoluted mix of emotions ended up destroying my marriage. I hate myself for that. Francesca is an amazing woman, and she didn’t deserve the shit I put her through. It was never my intention to hurt her, and one of my biggest regrets is that I broke my best friend’s heart. And it’s not like I didn’t love Fran. I did. I do. I always will, but when I weigh that up against what I feel for Isabella...nothing compares. I wanted to make my marriage work, but at some point, I had to stop lying to myself about what I wanted...whoI wanted.

I always ask myself what would’ve happened if Scott hadn’t sent me that link, and the answer is simple. I would’ve still been coasting along, living a very content life with Francesca because I would’ve been blissfully unaware of the alternative. Just like Macbeth. Just like Schrödinger’s fucking cat. And, yeah, my fertility issues caused a lot of problems between Fran and I, but I think I would’ve made more of an effort to work them out if I truly wanted to be with her. But I didn’t. I wanted the alternative that was presented to me by the witch. So, when you can pinpoint the exact event that threw your life into a downward spiral, then it’s a little hard tonotblame the person who caused that event.

“You do blame me, Dyl. You’re just saying you don’t because you’re trying to get her number out of me. And you wanna know how I know that you blame me? Because when I gently reminded you that marrying Fran was a mistake?”

“Gentle reminder?” The unmitigated gall of this douche. “Dude, you used to call over random guys at the gym and say:See this guy? See how miserable he looks? I fucking told him he’d end up like this.Is that the gentle reminder you’re talking about? Or are you referring to the voice note you sent me where you repeatedly rubbed it in my face that my marriage fell apart and followed it up with anI told you so? That gentle reminder?”

“I thought I was a lot more subtle than that.”

“You weren’t. And I want you to know that I’ve kept that voice note and one day I’m going to use it as agentle reminderto you, too.”

“You do that, but it still doesn’t change the fact that whenever I reminded you...which was often, you told me that you blamed me for what happened.”

“Fine. I blame you.” I take a breath and try not to get frustrated because I need his help. “But that’s in the past, okay? Be a decent human being now. Scott, please, as a friend, I am begging you to give me her number.”

“Why do you want her number so desperately? Did someone die and you need to get hold of her?”

“No.”

“Then why do you need it?”

I rub my forehead, willing this headache to go away. “Something happened...between us...and the next morning I...fuck...I, uh, I sort of...wasn’t there when she woke?”

“No! Stop right there. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear another word. Listening to this is already breaking the pact and there’s no fucking way I’m getting involved in that hot mess. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. Dyl, I love ya, and I wish you the best of luck with this...situation, but I’m gonna end the call now.”

And the bastard does. I toss my phone across the desk and throw my head back in frustration. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I grab my car keys and walk out of the back office into the restaurant. We’re running with skeleton staff today because we hardly get any customers between Christmas and new year.

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