Slip of the Tongue (17 page)

Finn sighs, weary from his speech. As I watch his body deflate, I think about another man who can woo a woman as if his life depends on it. Who made me feel so special, my way of thinking changed. Nathan made me believe in romance and in the healing powers of true love. What happened to that man? Did I crush it out of him, the way Kendra has with Finn? If so, how? I’ve never forced Nathan to stay with me. I’ve told him more than once I love him too much to trap him in a bad marriage. I’m one of the few people who believe divorce can be a good thing. My mom would’ve stayed sober and done an all right job with my brother and me, but she made the mistake of loving my dad. Eventually he dragged her down to his level.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It sounds hard. But maybe you need to say more.”

He studies me closely. “Meaning . . .?”

“If you don’t want to be in the marriage, you don’t have to be. I know you think she’s forcing you, but she’s not.”

“It’s complicated.” He sits back and rests his ankle over his knee. “There’s Marissa. And Kendra—I do love her. I know how I sound, but I do. It’s just that lately, I’ve been wondering . . .” He looks at me as if I’m supposed to finish his sentence.

“Wondering what?”

“About life. How we get to be certain people. The paths we choose. Whether fate has my back or is just playing a cruel joke.”

“Fate,” I repeat.

“A pebble can change the course of your life. You can run it over, get a flat, and never get back on track. Or you can swerve around it and end up on a different road.”

I pinch my lip and look away. It’s no pebble of a thing, me sitting here. Nathan with Joan. I should be there, lest Joan’s fate overtake mine. Not that I believe in it. Nathan does. If he thinks our romance is dead, he might go looking for it somewhere else and blame it on fate like Finn is attempting to do.

I yawn. My beer is almost empty. I wonder if continuing this discussion is smart. Finn might get the wrong idea, thinking somehow fate brought me into his kitchen tonight. When really, I think I just didn’t want to be alone. What would happen if Nathan came home early and didn’t find me there? I stand. “I’m going to take off. It’s been a long week, and it’s only Wednesday.”

He also gets up. “Get some sleep. Drink lots of water. For the photo shoot, I mean.”

No doubt he’s noticed the shadows on my face. “I will.”

He walks me to the front door. “I don’t know how you can stand it in here,” I say.

“Me neither. Tell Nate thanks for trying.”

I look up at him. “You got the part?”

“He didn’t tell you? He came by to fix it, but it still doesn’t work. I have to replace the whole thing. I’m waiting for a new one.”

“He didn’t mention it.” I shift feet. “When he’s here . . . what do you talk about?”

“Typical stuff. Tools. Mechanics.” He lifts a shoulder, looking past me. “I asked him about the beer I had at your place. We figured out we’re both Yanks fans.” He returns his eyes to me. “Don’t worry. You didn’t come up.”

I’m not worried. Nathan is too trusting to suspect anything.

“Oh. Well.” I glance around the apartment. It’s not as bad as I thought earlier. A white sheet, folded up in one corner, covers a Victorian-style couch. The button-tufted bench is deep green velvet with carved wooden legs. It’s not something a man would pick out—more like a woman’s version of pissing on a fire hydrant. I suspect it’s as uncomfortable as it looks, and I pity Finn and his situation a little more.

I look back just as Finn leans in to, what? Hug me? Kiss me? I flinch, and he ducks left at the last second to get the door. “See you Saturday morning.”

I step back. “See you then.”

In my apartment, I move Nathan’s bedding and sit on the couch. I turn on the TV and change channel after channel, but I’m not paying attention. I replay my conversation with Finn. He’s a hearts-and-flowers guy. So is Nathan. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nathan had his own version of cheering a girl up in high school. They’re just a couple of starry-eyed, doting Yankees fans. I’m not sure what to make of the fact that they’re alike in some ways.

I switch to a sitcom rerun and hug Nathan’s pillow to my chest. After a minute, I write him a text.

I miss our romance.

I erase it.

FOURTEEN

Nathan walks into our bathroom as I apply my third coat of mascara. In the reflection, I catch him scan my outfit, lingering on my backside. “Client meeting on a Saturday?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Really?” He reaches past me for his toothbrush. “That’s the dress you wear to close deals.”

I check my lipstick for the fourth, fifth time? I’ve lost count. “Yep.”

He loads up on toothpaste, sticks the brush in his mouth, and leaves the bathroom. It’s the abrupt end of another conversation. But then, he stomps back in and pulls the toothbrush from his mouth. “Where are you going?”

For the last week and a half, we’ve been sidestepping each other, averting our gazes. He’s still sleeping on the couch. Neither of us has made a move to change that. There’s been no invitation on my end, no request to come back from him. Progress is at a halt. Why not give him a taste of his own medicine? A giddy current travels up my insides as I ask, “Since when do you care?”

He looms behind me. “Come on.”

“‘Come on’ what?” I lean closer to the mirror and pretend to focus on my eyeliner. The deep indigo of my dress turns my irises almost purple. “I won’t bother you with my plans.”

He spits in the sink, tosses the brush on the counter, and walks out. He isn’t the only one who can keep a secret. Not that it’s anything exciting—seeing Finn today is a work obligation. Nathan doesn’t know that, though.

I select nude YSL patent leather pumps. I don’t normally waste them on work, but they lengthen my legs, and I have a feeling the camera will love them. My dress, fitted with a scoop neck, doesn’t offer much coverage. I select a wool coat and scarf and head for the front door.

Nathan looks up from the couch while he laces his tennis shoes. Judging by his Adidas athletic pants and long-sleeve t-shirt, he’s got another pick-up game in Brooklyn. It’s his second this month. “I’m your husband,” he says. “I have a right to know where you’re going.”

I stop in my tracks. It’s oddly intuitive of him to choose this moment, when I’m off to spend the day with another man, to remember I exist. It’s also infuriating of him. He’s given me nothing since the night I sucked him off five feet from where I’m standing. “I see,” I say, turning to him. “
Now
you’re my husband. I didn’t realize we got to pick and choose when our vows apply.”

He pulls back. “Our vows always apply—period. Don’t question that because of a few rough weeks.”

“Try months,” I say.

“When have I ever left you in the dark?” he asks.

If nothing else, Nathan has been better about keeping me in the loop this week. A text or scribbled note lets me know where he is or where he’s been. The question is whether or not I can believe him. “Where are you going?” I challenge.

He points to his sneakers. “Basketball game.”

“Where?” The game is in Brooklyn. I know it, but I watch his face closely as he answers.

“Same as usual.” He says it as if he goes there every weekend. “Park Slope. There’s a court between Michael and Connor’s apartments.”

We stare at each other, him on the sofa, me across the room near the door. He’s always spent time with his friends in Brooklyn. I swear it’s been happening more lately, though. “I’m getting headshots taken for work.”

“Oh.” He goes back to tying his shoes.

“By Finn,” I add.

He stops. “Finn. Across the hall?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He’s a photographer.”

“You told me he was an investment banker.”

“He was.” I wrap my scarf around my neck. “Now, he’s a photographer.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Yes,” I agree. “It is.”

Nathan leans his elbows on his knees and gives me another once over. This time, he narrows his eyes on my dress. “It’s a little sexy.”

I shrug. “It’s for the website. I want to look good.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“Oh, well. What’s that saying? Beauty hurts.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” He stands. “Beauty is pain. Or the other way around.”

He makes no move to leave. My neck begins to sweat. The scarf quivers when my heart beats. “Why doesn’t his wife live here?” Nathan asks. “What’s her name again?”

“Kendra. They’re moving.” I swallow. “She will . . . live here.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

He flaps the hem of his shirt as if he’s hot. We still haven’t switched on the heater, though. “Are you doing this in his apartment?”

“No. We’ll be outside.” I lean back against the wall. “Do you want to come? You’re better at this creative stuff than me.”

He looks past me into the entryway. “I have the game. I’m sure Finn’s plenty creative.” He snorts. “
Finn
. What kind of a name is that? Is he an appendage?”

I cross my arms, unimpressed with his attempt at an insult. But at least he’s taking an interest. It could mean giving up alone time with Finn, which I’ve come to enjoy, but it’d be worth it. “I’d like for you to come, Nathan. Can you reschedule the game?”

“Can you reschedule the shoot?”

My question annoys him. I see it in his eyes. As if it took
him
two hours to get ready for some stupid basketball game. I brace myself against the wall and keep my voice mellow. “It’s just that my hair and makeup are done. And Finn’s already set his day aside.”

“I was making a point.”

“What point?” I ask.

“Never mind.”

“No, what?”

I can tell he’s about to brush me off again, but he stops. He blinks to the side, gnawing his bottom lip. “I don’t ask you for a lot,” he says. “Do I?”

I don’t really need to think about it. It’s no secret Nathan goes out of his way for me time and time again. My girlfriends tease me about it—with envy. “No, you don’t ask me for much,” I agree.

“It would be nice to . . . get a little bit more back. I wish you knew what was important to me the way I know what’s important to you. I’d never really expect you to give up your photo shoot to spend the day with me. But why should I always have to skip my plans?”

I feel a pang in my heart, equal parts guilt and sadness, over the implication that I don’t care as much as he does. But I can’t quite swallow his words down without pointing out the obvious. “Because you made me this way,” I say. “If I’m selfish, it’s because you nurtured that in me. You practically forced me to be adored all these years.”

He frowns, and I see the struggle on his face. I think he wants to let go of what’s bothering him, but he won’t allow himself to—maybe out of principle. Maybe there’s still a point he has to prove. “I want you to feel adored,” he says. “I guess I just want to feel the same.”

He doesn’t know how much I adore him? Does that mean I’ve failed as a partner? I don’t think so, because I don’t show my love the way he does. I give myself over to him in the kitchen and the bedroom. Those are my most intimate places, and that’s where he’s my king. I’ll make whatever food he wants, and I’ll fuck however he wants. Every time. I glance over my shoulder at the front door and back. Finn and I didn’t set a time, so maybe we can push the headshots back. “I’ll come with you to Brooklyn,” I say. “Would that help?”

“I’m not trying to guilt you into it,” he says. “You were right. It doesn’t make sense to cancel for a basketball game you won’t even enjoy.”

I slouch my shoulders. “I don’t get it. If you didn’t think I’d enjoy it, why’d you make a point to bring it up?”

We look at each other a few moments, and I think we’re both trying to understand the other person. The problem is, Nathan’s held my hand through a lot of this marriage. I’ve never been good at expressing my innermost thoughts to him, but he
is
good at that, and he shows me how to be better. Now, I feel lost without his guidance, as if I’m being tested but haven’t learned as much as I should’ve. When he sighs, I feel like I could do the same.

“I’m not doing a good job of explaining.” He checks his watch. “And I should head out, or they’ll cut me from the game.”

“What about Ginge?”

“I’ll take her quick.” He whistles, and Ginger gets up.

“All right. If you’re sure.” I take the door handle and look over at him as if there should be more to say. He concentrates on getting Ginger in her leash. “Have fun. Bye.”

I walk out. Finn’s place seems farther than usual, the hallway narrower, as if I’m moving in slow motion. I knock. Finn opens right away with an eager smile, and I’m inside before Nathan even leaves our apartment.

I accidentally kick over a large camera bag near the door. When I put it upright again, Finn steals a glance at my bare legs.

“We should go now,” he says. “There’s a chance of rain later.”

I think I hear footsteps in the hallway, the jingle of Ginger’s tags. “I might need a drink first. To loosen up.”

“No time. I don’t want to lose the light.”

I’d rather lose the light than run into Nathan with Finn. “Yes,” I tease him, “that would be a shame.”

He half-smiles at me. “I got that from the
Photography 101 Manual
. It’s under the chapter titled ‘Douche-y Things Photographers Say.’ Forgive me?”

“Sure.” I stall, in case Nathan is waiting for the elevator. Finn has his camera bag over his shoulder and his hand on the doorknob, but I’m peering into the living room. A box labeled
Equipment
is open on the floor. “Is this an old camera?”

“From college. I have a newer one, but I’m more comfortable with this one. Don’t worry, it still takes great photos.”

“I’m not worried.” He could tell me he’s using his cell phone. I wouldn’t know any better. “Did you study photography, or was it something you just kind of picked up?”

“I majored in it at NYU.”

I turn back to him. “Really?”

“I was serious about it. But like I told you, life got in the way.” Finn’s cheerful disposition is beginning to dim. “We should go,” he says, opening the door.