Slip of the Tongue (43 page)

“I don’t understand,” I say. “What decision?”

“You don’t want children.”

I part my lips and frown. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. I’ve been struggling with this a while, but I’ve barely said it aloud. “How do you know?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve sensed it for some time. Comments here and there. The distance in your eyes when it comes up. And that day we went back on birth control, when you were out of the room, the gynecologist told me not to worry too much. He said a lot of women who have trouble conceiving convince themselves they don’t want children.”

“I mentioned it to him,” I say, glancing at our hands in his lap. There’s no right way to tell Nate that because I might not be capable of giving him what he wants, I don’t even want to try. “I’ve been having second thoughts.”

“I thought you’d say that. This is what I was talking about in the bathroom. I won’t let you selfishly decide something this big without me.” We sit in silence for a few blocks. Our palms are clammy from clutching each other. “And that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you what was wrong these past few months,” he continues. “I knew if you told me you didn’t want children at all, and I couldn’t convince you, I’d have to make the hardest decision of my life.”

From the way my chest aches, I know I understand the gravity of his decision. He’ll tell anyone I’m the love of his life. But is that enough for him if I don’t want to be a mother?

“By making the choices you have in the past without me, I couldn’t trust that you’d even count my vote.”

I squeeze his hand, not to comfort him, but because I feel like I’m floundering. “I made you feel unwanted.”

“Not unwanted—
unnecessary
. And I shouldn’t have shut you out, but I wanted to come in to the discussion with a clear head. Not when I was angry or hurt.”

“But we’re supposed to be able to get hurt and angry together. You didn’t let me be there for you for that decision. You’ve made huge decisions without me too, Nathan.”

He swallows. “I see that now. It’s okay to be scared. It’s not okay to be a coward, and I was, and I’m sorry.”

When I see the remorse on his face, I just want to be close to him. I lean in and nuzzle his neck, breathing in his musk. I can feel his fast heartbeat. He’s nervous. Or scared. Forgiveness isn’t hard to find, because I’ve wanted to give it for so long. I’ve wanted to move past this with him. He was the one holding onto things that couldn’t be changed. “I forgive you,” I whisper into his skin. I feel him here. Home. My Nathan. That’s why I can say the words and mean them. “Can you forgive me for not telling you about the baby?”

He nods. “Yes. I was never trying to be your enemy.”

“I wanted the baby, but it was the wrong time for us.” My chest stutters when I inhale, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears to keep talking into the warm space between his jaw and neck. “I want one now, but I’m afraid I can’t give you that. I can’t stand to disappoint you month after month, possibly even years.”

“What’s the alternative? We don’t even try? We break up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You chose me once over a baby,” he says. “Would you do it again?”

I swallow. There’s never been any question that Nathan wants this, but I have to as well. I can do it a lot of different ways—naturally, or with medical intervention, or by adopting—but I have to want to be a mother for myself. Not because he wants me to. “I choose you, and I want you to choose me back. Even if I can’t give you what you want most in the world.”

He cups his hand against my cheek, keeping me there. “I love you, Sadie. You’re what I want. You can close off your heart, but don’t forget—I know how to tear you open. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again and again until you realize I will never, ever let you abandon me. And I will never, ever abandon you.”

It isn’t until we walk into Ralph’s hospital room that the reality of what’s happening hits me.

Nathan’s aunt greets us with mascara under her eyes. We each take a turn to hug her. “I just got here,” she says.

Ralph is gaunt and the color of his hospital-green gown. He already looks halfway underground. He slits his eyes open and nods. I want to turn into Nathan’s chest and hide and cry. Ralph and I aren’t father and daughter by any means. The way Nathan was the last few months, cold and distant, is how Ralph has been his whole life. But he’s still family.

“You don’t got family of your own?” he asked me at dinner once, while Nate was in another room.

I wiped my brow. Ralph and I hadn’t spent much time alone. “I do.”

“They’re no good? Nathan gets bent out of shape when I ask.”

“He’s protective.”

“Maybe he thinks I’m going to try and be a dad to you. I’m not. Not that kind of guy.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I have a dad. Not a very good one, but Nathan and I have learned to live with what we got.”

“You saying I’m not a good dad?”

“I think you are, actually.” It was the truth. The man couldn’t tell Nathan he loved him, but I knew he did by the way he looked at him. Nathan had always blamed his dad for ignoring his mom so long, she’d had no choice but to go away. “Seems to me like maybe some things got mixed up along the way.”

Ralph eyed me closely. “He thinks I didn’t love his mom. I did. Too much. It was hard to watch her fall out of love with me.”

“So you pushed her away instead,” I guessed.

“She would’ve stayed no matter how she felt,” he said, looking away from me. “Now, she’s happier. Lives in California with some guy who has money.” I thought that was the end of it, but before Nathan returned, Ralph said, “If you ever think he’s falling out of love with you, stop him. Before it’s too late.”

I don’t think Nathan will ever understand the space Ralph put between himself and his wife, but I do. For whatever reason, he couldn’t make her as happy as he thought she deserved. Even if I understand it, I don’t want it for us. Nathan and I will have to work harder to be happy with ourselves so we can be happy together. To communicate, especially when it feels impossible.

Today, Ralph doesn’t seem well enough to speak. He’s alive, though. Nathan hugs his dad for a few long moments. He tells him he loves him, sits, and holds his hand as I hold Nathan’s.

Ralph falls back asleep, even though we’ve only been there five minutes. Nathan slouches back in the chair but doesn’t take his eyes off Ralph. “I should call my mom.”

“I’ll do it,” I say. “Stay here just in case.”

His expression is blank as he looks up at me. He pats his lap. “Sit with me?”

I smooth his hair back and kiss him on the forehead, his skin warm under my lips. Familiar. “I will. After I make the call.”

I pull up his mom’s contact information on the way to the cafeteria. She answers my call right away. “Sadie. This is unexpected. Everything okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “Well, no. Ralph is—” I pause.

“Oh.” Neither of us speaks for a few seconds. “I wish I could be there.”

“We know.”

“How’s Nathan?”

I find coffee and pour three cups. “As well as can be expected.”

“Sadie.” She sighs. “Take care of my boy. He’ll try to be strong for everyone. I’m so happy he has you there.”

I stare into the black coffee. I almost wasn’t here, but I am. It makes me grateful I made the hard decisions I needed to—today, yesterday, and in the past. I did it to protect Nathan, but now I that I’ve seen the damage of my one-sidedness, I don’t want to make any more without him. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Have Nathan call me when he’s made arrangements.”

“I will. Talk to you—”

“Wait—Sadie?”

“Yes?”

“Tell Ralph . . .” She pauses and whimpers. “Just tell him I love him. Tell him I never stopped.”

I lean a hand against the counter. I can hear the emotion in her voice, but I can’t distinguish if it’s regret, grief, or something else. “Is that true?”

“Part of me will always love part of him. Those parts are distant memories, but they’re there. I suppose those wounds’ll be fresh tonight.”

I nod. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

We both hang up. Since Thanksgiving is next week, I get turkey sandwiches, cranberry juice, and chocolate pudding. The four of us eat Ralph’s final meal together, and though the mood is somber, we share what we’re thankful for. For me, it’s not just Nathan, but also his forgiveness and understanding. I’m thankful to Nathan for a love so unrelenting, he continues to fight for me. And to myself, for letting him. For finally finding the strength again to let myself want what I know can hurt me.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Nathan and I get in a cab as the sun rises through the skyscrapers. He leans his elbows onto his knees. “I have to make some calls.”

I rub his back. “I’ll take care of it.”

“He has a burial plan.”

“I’m already looking into it,” I say. While Nathan and his aunt stayed with Ralph, I got to work on how to proceed after the death of a family member. There are a lot of details, and I want to take as much as I can off Nathan’s plate.

Nathan’s shoulders sag. He drops his face in his hands and inhales a stuttering, sobbing breath. Nathan has shed few tears in my presence. All that comes to mind is the day I walked down the aisle and the time he took a spiked ball to the crotch during beach volleyball. I scoot as close to him as I can get and hug him tightly from the side. He opens his hand for mine and holds it to his wet cheek.

This is my Nathan.
My
Nathan doesn’t hold back or withdraw. He loves and regrets, fears and hopes, with his whole heart. I’m happy to be reunited with him, and as hard as the past few months have been, we’re going to come out stronger. But in this moment, I can’t think of anything worse than watching him submit to his pain. I bury my face in his shoulder and weep with him.

Ginger greets us at the door. I came home briefly after dinner last night to check in on her, and it’s almost time for her next round of medication.

“I’ll take her downstairs,” Nathan says, picking up the leash before we’re even through the door.

I snatch it from him. “No.”

He raises his palms as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. “What was that for?”

“
I’ll
do it.” Nathan is back to taking care of everything and everyone. He measures his love by how much weight he can shoulder, and that has to change. “Then I’ll feed her. I’ll check her wounds. You need rest. Let me help you.”

He lowers his hands. “All right. Geez. No need to get grabby.”

“Yes there is, Nathan.” I pace the tiny entryway. Ginger watches me, back and forth. “I want you to listen to me, because it needs to be said. Going forward, things need to be said, not just tucked away for later.”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “I think we’ve proven that.”

“I love how you care for me. I don’t ever want that to stop. You have to let me return the favor, though.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not finished.” I face him. “You came into my life, swept me off my feet, and never put me back down. With that, you set a precedent. Sometimes, you have to let me take care of you. When things get to be too much, tell me. Ask for help. You have to put your own mask on first.”

He angles his head. “Mask . . .?”

“The pedestals,” I continue. “They’re over. Gone. We’re on the ground now, and that’s a better place to be because it’s firmer.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “You lost me. Maybe you’re the one who needs to rest.”

I sigh. “Andrew explains it better. I’m trying to say we aren’t perfect, and we have to own that.”

“Oh.” He straightens up a little. “You want perfect, though.”

“No, I don’t. Not anymore. I want us, the flawed version. I’ll never be the perfect wife, you won’t be the perfect husband, and when we accept that, I think we’ll both be happier. Not perfect, but happy.”

“I never asked you to be that.
I
don’t want perfect. You have to recognize that if you screw up, you can’t hide because it’s easier. You can’t make decisions on your own so you won’t burden me.” He presses his lips together. “When you’re lost, don’t turn to someone else.”

“And don’t leave me out in the cold again.” We stare at each other. I say, “I need your warmth, even when you don’t think you can give it to me. What do
you
need?”

“I need to be a father.”

I suck in a breath. I’ve heard
I want
from him. I’ve heard
wouldn’t it be great
. When it comes to having a family, Nathan is vocal, but he hasn’t yet said
I need
.

He takes my shoulders. “I know you’re afraid. So am I. It doesn’t have to be today or next year or three. But I need to love something outside of us. I have so much to give, and you—oh, God, Sadie. So do you. When you stop holding back, you are so loving.”

I feel my face scrunching. Loving? Does he think so? He believes in us. In me. And I do want that—to stand by his side and raise our child together.

“You might even want it more than me,” he says, “and that’s why you’re so terrified. If we can’t conceive, we’ll do something else. Do you think I’d have any less love to give if we adopted?”

His grip on me is firm. I flex my hands in and out of fists because I feel like I need to take a step back and I can’t. This is a different kind of intimacy. Just like Andrew, when Nathan says it out loud, I know it’s true—I
am
terrified. It doesn’t shock me that he probably knew before I did, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

He lets go and backs away. “There’re clean bandages and medication on the kitchen counter. I’m going to rest now.”

By the twitch of his lips indicating a smile, I sense he thinks he’s had some kind of victory—even though I haven’t agreed to anything.

While Nathan naps, I clean Ginger’s wounds. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” I tell her. “But it’s better now, isn’t it?” She tilts her head. Tenderly, I wrap her paws in fresh bandages. A child is far more accident prone than a dog. Inevitably, bad things will happen. Nathan believes in us, though. I can handle the heartache and disappointment of failing to have a baby. It’s watching Nathan go through it that worries me. I decided not to want kids to protect him, but I can’t make those kinds of decisions without him anymore. “He takes good care of you,” I murmur, “and I guess I do too.”