“Because I like you.” He absentmindedly caresses the nape of my neck with his fingertip. “So I want to be honest.”
I put my hand over his wrist, and he stops. Now, and for the last hour, it’s as if we’re the only two people on the planet. The Bad Wife and the Stranger. If I let him kiss me, nobody would ever know. He doesn’t wear lipstick. Neither do I.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he asks.
I nod. I don’t have to pull his hand away. He takes it back willingly.
“It’s probably best.” He hands me my sweater and the speaker. We forgot to turn the music on. “I can finish up here.”
Already, before I can get a word out, he’s walking me through the apartment.
I say the only thing left to say. “Goodnight.”
“See you around.” He pulls the door open, then shuts it again. He sighs. “Talk to him. If you want to know what’s wrong, just ask him.”
I pull my sweater around me, even though hair sticks to the back of my neck. My feet sweat in my boots. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He lets me out.
I walk across the hall, unlock the door to my apartment, and find the lights on. I set my keys down as Ginger comes in, wagging her tail. “Nate?”
“In here,” he calls from the living room.
I remove my shoes and socks, put them on the rack in the entryway, and find him on the couch in his sweats. “Why didn’t you come get me?” I ask.
He pauses whatever sports channel he’s watching. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“I left you a note.”
“You did?” He hits play on the remote and returns his attention to the TV.
I go into the kitchen. The Post-It is still on the fridge, but it’s been moved a few inches to the left. He just lied to me. I pull it off and go back to the living room. “You didn’t see this?” I ask.
He shuts off the TV, stands, and stretches. He’s so tall, his fingertips graze the ceiling. “I figured you were out shopping or something.”
“You should’ve called me. What about dinner?”
“I made a grilled cheese.”
I don’t know what to say. If he’s home, I make him dinner. Period. I want to tell him that. To tell him I know he moved the Post-It. I’m fairly positive he did. Though, I could be mistaken. Do I really remember where I stuck it? I’d sound hysterical if I were wrong.
“Where were you tonight?” I ask.
“I went to see my dad.”
“Without me?” I ask. “I would’ve met you at the hospital.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I just decided to stop by on my way home from work.”
I crumple the Post-It in one hand. Nathan’s dad’s health has declined quickly since they discovered his lung cancer. When we found out he’d been sick a while, Nathan blamed himself for not making his stubborn dad see a doctor sooner.
“He’s better, by the way.” He sniffs. “Radiation just hit him a little harder than usual. They’re keeping him there.”
“Did you call your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s sending ‘healing energy from California.’” He tosses the remote on the couch. “I’m done with the TV if you want it.”
“Maybe we can watch something together?”
There are shows Nathan and I watch together, and there are ones we watch when we’re apart. I can’t stand medical primetime drama. He’ll leave the room if he sees Tim Gunn. But when we find a show we both love, we always watch it the same way—gasping simultaneously. Laughing at the same things, even those that aren’t meant to be funny. Yelling at idiot characters.
“I’m going to read,” he says. “I’m finally starting that Erik Larson book I ordered forever ago.”
Historical nonfiction. Not my thing. I know he’s been looking forward to it, though. “All right.”
He turns to walk away.
“I was at the neighbor’s,” I say. “That’s what the Post-It said. He asked me to help him unpack the kitchen.”
“That was nice of you,” he says. “Moving on your own is a bitch.”
“I think you’d like him.” I hesitate. Maybe if they knew each other, the temptation of Finn would disappear. The funny thing is, I think they’d get along. “You should go over and say hello sometime. I don’t think he has a lot of friends.”
Nathan turns his head halfway over his shoulder. “His heater still busted?”
“Yes.” I run my hand over the back of my clammy neck and remember Finn’s fingers there. “I’m sweating like a pig.”
Nathan takes a long look at me and opens his mouth like he’s going to speak. After a brief pause, he asks, “What’s his name?”
“Finn.” I wait. “He worked in banking or something.”
Nathan shifts on his feet, watching me. “I’ll try to get over there to take a look, but no promises.”
He goes into the bedroom. I make myself something to eat and watch TV, but I’m not paying attention. Nothing has really happened today, and yet, my mind is spinning—from Nathan’s lipstick stain and his dismissal just now. From Finn’s strong hands and his confession. What is a kiss, really? Two body parts touching, like one hand to another. The thought of Finn’s unsolicited, forbidden kiss shouldn’t stir something deep inside me.
I’m still sticky, so I leave the dishes for the morning and decide to take a shower. Nathan doesn’t look up from his book. I undress in the closet and slip on my robe. As I’m taking my birth control, I notice the dry cleaning bag has new things in it. I drop to my knees and rifle through until I find his tie. I pull it out quickly, straightening and smoothing it over the carpet. It’s crumpled, but clean. I sigh, a mix of relief and embarrassment, as I hunch over the bag. Then, I smell it. Cigarette smoke.
I set my jaw. Nathan quit years ago and hasn’t slipped up once. This isn’t his stink stuck to his suit. It’s someone else’s. Or it’s from a bar. Either way, it is not from a hospital. How desperate must he be to lie about seeing his sick father?
My cheeks warm. I can barely form a thought that doesn’t involve me hurling curse words. I leave the pile where it is and charge to the foot of the bed. “Where were you tonight?”
He turns a page. “I told you. The hospital.”
The smell is trapped in my nostrils. I swipe my nose hard. “Where else?”
He glances up. “I went there from work, then I came home. I was watching TV for a while before you got here.” He cocks his head. “Why?”
I try to calm my breathing by inhaling deeply. He’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize—a suspicious wife. My friends and co-workers have their husbands on short leashes, and I’ve never understood why. Is this what happens if you don’t watch them closely? “I’ve had a weird day,” I say.
This is the part where he puts down his book and asks why. Then takes me in his arms and assures me I’m the only girl for him—now, and always.
“Well . . .” His eyes drift to the floor at my feet while he furrows his brows, as if he’s thinking much too hard about his next move. He hesitates so long, the silence between us becomes awkward. “This is a weird city,” he finally says and looks back at the page.
It must be an interesting book. I’m tempted to ask what it’s about that it’s worth more of his attention than his own wife. Or just skip the whole passive-aggressive route and accuse him of fucking around behind my back. What would he say to that?
This paranoia is new to me, just like his attitude. I don’t like it. I want things to go back to the way they were. “I already took the dry cleaning,” I say evenly.
“I know.”
“Your clothes from last night were pretty dirty. And now there’s more.”
“I get a few passes, don’t I? I’m always picking up your stuff.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s only half true. He likes things tidy. It’s not as though I leave a mess everywhere I go, though. I’d rather leave messes for the morning, but by morning, the messes are already gone. “I didn’t mean
it like that,” I say.
Somehow, he still seems to be reading.
“Nathan.”
He looks up again and makes a move like he’s going to put his book down. But he doesn’t. I see a flash of indecision, and then his expression clears. “What?”