Slip of the Tongue (27 page)

We part to look at one another. Times Square suddenly sparkles. The neon signs are reflected in his eyes. I’m grateful for the cold that keeps us close. I touch my mouth, burnt by the small shrub on his face.

He catches my hand and thumbs my lower lip. “I’ll shave.”

“No. Don’t.” I smile and repeat what I said to him years ago about his long hair, “You look like an artist.”

He studies me a moment and smiles. “Are you hungry?”

“I guess.”

“Your stomach grumbled.”

“No, it didn’t.” I laugh. “Did it?”

“I felt it. You’re pressed up against me, after all.” He kisses my palm. “Come.”

He takes me to a chain restaurant with burgers and beer. It’s dim inside, night or day. Each table has its own yellow lamp. At this odd time of afternoon, the bar and restaurant areas are crowded, but not full. The hostess hugs two menus and shows us to a table.

Finn stops her. “Can we get a—”

“Booth? No problem,” she says. She’s been at this a while.

A minute later, we’re nestled into one corner on the same side of a squeaky, springy bench. Our waitress wears a black polo and a nametag that says
Ashley! Albuquerque, New Mexico
. Finn orders us some greasy food and two hot chocolates with whipped cream.

“If you’re going for romance . . .” I start. Families populate the tables around us. A crayon flies by our booth. “You nailed it.”

He winks. “Romance isn’t really about atmosphere, is it? Maybe for some people.”

“Not us?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “For us, romance is these stolen moments to ourselves. It’s taking you in a theater full of people because I can’t survive another second without being inside you.”

He looks as though he expects a response, but he’s robbed the breath right out of my lungs. Breath I need to live, let alone speak. He’s right. Our time together is always charged by what we can’t say or do.

“The pictures turned out exquisitely, by the way,” he says. “I’m going to hang them in my living room like art.”

I wiggle against him. “You can’t.”

He slips his hand between my denim-clad thighs and rubs. “My bedroom then?”

“I don’t think Kendra would go for it.”

He stops touching me.

“Sorry,” I say and close my mouth to keep any other stupid comments inside.

“It’s fine,” he says calmly. “We should be able to talk about them.”

“Should we?” My stomach gets queasy, which doesn’t bode well for the heavy food he ordered. “I’m not sure.”

“Yeah. We should. Especially if this might get serious. And it could. Is there anything you want to know?”

Sex is the first thing that comes to mind. Now that I’ve been irreversibly intimate with Finn, curiosity about Kendra and him needles me. “Are you this insatiable with her?”

“No.”

“Were you ever?”

“Not really. We’ve never lost control in a public place, for example.” His expression softens. “I’ve never risked everything just to be inside her.”

I look at my hands in my lap. It’s the truth. He’s putting his whole life on the line for sex. I am too, of course, but I don’t have as much as I once did. Nathan might’ve already gone there with another woman. If I thought Nathan weren’t about to drop a bomb on me, I’m sure I’d do better at resisting Finn.

“What about you?” he asks.

“Our sex life?” I bite my bottom lip. Nathan could fuck with the best of them, and he only got better with time. He isn’t as adventurous as Finn—up until the whole slut thing, that is—but my body is his well-worn map. He knows every curve of every road.

If I were that candid, though, Finn would probably get up and leave. “I have no complaints,” I say, not wanting to lie. I look up at him from under my lashes. “I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

When he swallows, his throat ripples. “No. I want you to be honest.”

“We’ve done it in public, but not with other people in the room.”

“You liked that, though?” he asks hesitantly. “It seemed like you did.”

“Yes. You have rough edges. Nathan doesn’t take things to that level very often.”

He strokes my hair away from my face. “It’s just because you make me crazy.”

I smile so Finn doesn’t see the hurt on my face. Does he think I don’t make Nathan crazy? Is that why Nathan needs a slut? Is Nathan going to someone else looking for what I can’t give him? There are, after all, things I might be incapable of giving. Things he deserves. Things that sleep deep inside me, a black, empty pit in my stomach. Nobody can fill that void, probably not even Nathan at this point. If he isn’t planning on leaving me, if he still cares at all, he still couldn’t fix this feeling that I’ve failed him as a wife.

“There you go, looking sad again,” Finn says. “You’re thinking about him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. We’re going through so much, and I can’t even pinpoint what’s wrong. I’m lost.”

“If he isn’t talking to you, he’s talking to someone else. I hate to say that, but more than likely it’s true. Look at us.”

Yes, look at us, where we aren’t supposed to be. Or do I have that all wrong? Am I finally where I belong? I don’t know anymore. “Do you think Kendra’s talking to someone else?”

“No. She doesn’t want anyone else. Normally, we’re pretty candid.”

“But, you haven’t mentioned—”

“Of course not. I might, if I weren’t worried about her family trying to keep me from Marissa.”

I take his hand. Of course, I’ve considered Marissa. She’s nearly old enough to understand our affair. I haven’t thought about her in terms of divorce and custody, though. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

“It just means we have to be a little more careful. And if we decide to—”

Our waitress whistles and sings, “Yoohoo, love birds. Hope you’re hungry.” Ashley wears an enormous grin as she delivers spinach-and-artichoke dip, fries, and a basket of chicken tenders. “First time in New York? It’s romantic, isn’t it?” She clucks her tongue. We’re both looking up at her. “Just wait ’til it snows. Hope you get a chance to see it during your visit. Your hot chocolate’ll be right up.”

Finn turns back to me and laughs. “When people think we’re together, I swear, it turns me into a teenage girl. I love it.”

He kisses the tip of my nose when I wrinkle it. “It is fun,” I say. “Like acting.”

“Yeah.” He feeds me a fry and then eats one himself. “As I was saying, an affair wouldn’t look good in a custody battle. If it were anyone else, I’d stay away, but it’s not. It’s you, my coffee girl.”

His coffee girl. I’d smile, but my mouth is full.

“If it were to come to that, though,” he continues, “I mean, let’s be frank. We’re adults here. How do you feel about kids? Why don’t you and Nathan have any?”

My angora sweater is already itchy, but the neckline starts to burn against my skin. I scratch my throat. His question is simple, but I don’t even know where to begin. I swallow my food. “Kids?” I repeat.

“Yeah. How do you feel about being a stepmom? Hypothetically. Or not. I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you off, but I can’t not ask.”

The restaurant is suddenly bright. I pull on my neckline. Maybe Marissa is a blessing I hadn’t considered. An answer to the lonely part of me not even Nathan can touch. “I don’t know if I can talk about this.”

“Why not?”

I scrunch my eyebrows. Kids? How do I feel about them? It’s complicated. I don’t even understand my feelings, and I’m sure any way I try to express them will come out wrong. It’s been months since Nathan and I talked about having a baby, and since then, so much has changed. “I just can’t.”

He stops chewing and tips his head to one side. “Sadie. Babe. You’re in pain.”

“Aren’t we all?”

He sighs. “I guess. I know I am. Kendra is.”

“Nathan is,” I say.

“You make me happy, though,” he says. His smile is forced, but I really do appreciate the effort. “If he’s cheating on you, I’ll kill him. I will.”

“Finn. That’s not really fair.”

“Maybe not. But if I were a fair man, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I frown. Whatever Finn says about himself is also true of me. There’s no getting around that. I’ve let Nathan down, and it isn’t the first time. I used to make him happy, though. Now, I don’t even have that to fall back on.

The truth is, cheating on Nathan isn’t even the worst thing I’ve ever done to him.

Finn puts down a chip he’s already dipped. His eyebrows are drawn. “What is it?” he asks.

I just say it. “I had an abortion when I was younger.”

The skin at the base of Finn’s neck pulses with his quickening heartbeat. “I see,” he says. “And you regret it.”

I look up at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“Oh. No—I’m not saying you should, I just thought—” Finn looks as uncomfortable he sounds. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to assume.”

“I get it, though. A normal person would regret it. I, on the other hand, was relieved.”

He taps a finger on the laminate table. “I don’t think there’s any ‘normal’ in that kind of situation,” he says slowly, as if his thoughts are forming at the pace of his words. “Whatever you felt, someone else has felt that too.”

I shrug one shoulder. “I guess. It was the right decision at the time.” I swallow. “Except that, well,” my heart rate picks up, “now, Nathan and I can’t get pregnant.”

A look of fear flashes over his face before he schools it. “You’re trying?”

“We were,” I slice my way through the thicket of words in my way, “for seven months. It was awful, so we stopped. I went back on birth control. He thinks we still have a chance, but I think I fucked that chance up.” Once they’re out there, words I haven’t even said to my husband, a realization hits me. All this time, I’ve been waiting for Nathan to recognize the significance of my profound flaw. And then what? Leave?

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“I had my chance to be a mother,” I say, “and I passed it up. I made the best choice I could at that time.”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it,” he says, almost incredulously. “You, who doesn’t even believe in fate, think you have an allotted number of tries to conceive?”

“Maybe it’s crazy, but I can’t get pregnant. There’s the proof.” My hands are curled in my lap, all bloodless white knuckles and engorged red fingertips. I try not to want it. Most days, it works, but Finn has forced open a door I usually keep closed.

“Is there evidence linking abortions to future pregnancy problems?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“So? There you go.”

“We were so excited when we started trying. But then it didn’t happen, and I felt responsible. The more we talked about it, the further away it felt. I don’t want to put him through the disappointment anymore.”

Finn isn’t as close as he was a minute ago, but we’re still huddled in a corner. When he breathes hard, I feel it on my face.

I scoot toward him. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Sadie—”

“I’m fine.” I nearly force him out of the booth, feeling light-headed. “Really. I’ll just be a minute.”

I feel Finn’s eyes on me as I hurry away, and all I can wonder is what exactly he sees.

TWENTY-THREE

I can’t breathe. I’m on a toilet in a restaurant in Times Square, and I can’t breathe. I’m having an affair in a restaurant in Times Square and my throat won’t open. Back at the table, there’s an untouched hot chocolate and a man who isn’t my husband.

Nathan always wanted a baby, but we didn’t start trying until a year ago. Every month I bled, my heart broke more. For myself. For Nathan. I tried to be strong for him, but it’s hard to hide from someone who knows me better than I know myself. When Nathan caught me on the bathroom floor clutching a tampon, he made an appointment to put me back on birth control.
We have all the time in the world
, he said.
We’ll talk to a doctor. We’ll try again later.

I told him I could keep going. I knew he already loved this child that hadn’t even been conceived. But he refused to put me through the disappointment month after month until we had more information.

I get up from the toilet. The mirror above the sink is splattered with water spots. It reflects a pallid picture. Behind me, the word
go
is carved into the stall door. I’m hot to the point that I could vomit if I set my mind to it. I wet a paper towel and dab it along my hairline, down my neck.

My beautiful, pink angora sweater suddenly seems stupid, like dressing up a Barbie only to leave her out for the dog to chew. I turn around and lean back against the sink. I was wrong about the door. There’s more in fainter letters, as if the vandal got tired partway through.
Goodbye
.

That’s easy for you to say
, I think. Just go. Just walk away. Is leaving Finn the right thing to do? Or would Nathan and I be better off apart? I wash my hands and flick a paper towel into the trash. I’m halfway back to Finn when I’m nearly accosted.

“Sadie Hunt!” I’m pulled into an enormous hug and engulfed by a cloud of perfume. Jill pushes me back by my shoulders. I’m looking at a face so familiar, it makes my heart stop knowing Finn is half a restaurant away. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks.

Jill has been a close friend of mine for at least a decade. Since Nathan and I started having problems, my friendship with her has been put on the backburner. She knows us better than most people, especially since Jill and I were together when Nathan and I met.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I say, still stunned. I could list a thousand places I might run into Jill—Lord & Taylor, ABC Kitchen, hot yoga. A bar and grill in tourist central wouldn’t be on there.

She leans in to whisper. “I have family in from Minnesota. Of course they want to come to fucking Times Square on a weekend. The little shits need to piss every hour. We just came in to use the bathroom.” Her husband, Victor, stands off to the side with another man, their hands stuffed in their jacket pockets. She waves wildly at Victor. “Did you see? Nathan and Sadie are here.”

Vic and I smile at each other. We’ve known each other longer than he’s known Jill or I’ve known Nathan. We bonded in a college writing course when we were paired together and discovered we’d both fabricated our personal nonfiction essays.