Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

He doesn’t answer, but takes my elbow as we cross the street.

“Can we just get a car home? I’ve been in the same boots all day, and the subway is still blocks away.”

“I need the fresh air.” He takes out his cell. “Want me to get you a car? Who knows what the subway’ll be like at this hour.”

“No.” I yank on his arm, and he drops his phone.

“Sadie,” he groans.

“I’m sorry.” I pick it up, brush it off, and hold it out to him. “It’s fine, babe. Not a scratch.”

He glances at me sidelong as he sticks it back in his pocket. “What were you drinking?”

I grin. “Old-Fashioned.”

His raises his eyebrows. “Thought you hated those.”

“I figured they’d do the trick if they’re potent enough for my dad.”

“Potent, huh?”

I hope he’ll ask what I’m trying to accomplish by choosing my alcohol by that criteria. At least it would start a conversation. He leads me across another street. I glance at his hand on my arm. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it. “You’d save yourself some trouble if you just held my hand.”

“It’s no trouble,” he says and lets go of me when we’re back on the sidewalk.

“Oh.” I nearly trot just to keep up with him. “Did you win tonight?”

“We were just screwing around.”

“But you kept score. I saw. I saw three of your strikes.”

He rubs his nose. “I guess, technically, I won. But it wasn’t really—”

“I knew it,” I say, clasping my hands. We’re nearing the subway, where it’s more crowded, so I’m not the only loud girl. “You’re the VIP.”

“VIP?” he asks. “You mean MVP.”

“You’re my VIP and my MVP.” I slur the last part because of my goofy grin. I think I’ll make those girls at the bar my new friends. Assuming none of them are sleeping with my husband, that is. The thought makes me snort. “Hey,” I cry, suddenly remembering my talk with Donna. “Donna invited us to Park Slope for dinner and sangria. I think we should go.”

Nathan nods at me. I swear he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah? You’d leave the city for once?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I ask. I’d prefer we were in Manhattan, where a cab ride home would take five minutes, but I keep that to myself.

“I guess,” he concedes. “Thanks for coming.”

It takes me a moment to register his unexpected gratitude. Maybe all Nathan wants is for me to take a little more interest in his life. If that’s the case, I’ll definitely show up for the next Wifey Wednesday. “I really like the girls,” I say and mean it. Riding the Brooklyn wave that got us into safer waters, I continue, “They made Park Slope sound great.”

Instantly, he tenses, and I watch his almost-good mood extinguish. “Really?” he asks, pursing his lips. “Is that what the girls said?”

I frown. There’s no missing the sudden irritation in his voice. What set him off, though? Does he not like me hanging around them? Joan, specifically? “What’s wrong?” I ask. “You don’t like them?”

“I have no problem with them.” He kicks a beer can on the sidewalk. It flies into a brick wall with some Banksy-style graffiti. He sighs. “Awesome. We’ll go to Park Slope if that’s what you want.”

I furrow my brows at his sarcasm. “I thought you’d like the idea.”

“Whatever.”

My smile fades. “Whatever,” I mimic. “So grumpy all the time.”

He glances at the ground but quickly looks back up. “Are you really coming next week?”

“Yes,” I say. “One-hundred percent. I will be there.”

He scratches his jaw and squints ahead of us. Bedford station is in sight now. People of all sorts are gathered around it, loitering by storefronts, smoking, playing music. Others are just trying to get through. “I don’t think you should.”

His words sting, transporting me right back to this morning’s rejection in the shower. I felt like we were making progress just now. I keep coming back for more, though, and I struggle to get words out. “You don’t want me there?”

“I don’t know. I think I need these nights to myself right now.”

Without warning, tears scald my eyes. Maybe it’s the bourbon. Maybe it’s the ache of my feet, swollen from a long day in heels. It’s hard to swallow the truth—but in a way, these little jabs, like his earlier dismissal in the shower, are breakthroughs. Before now, he hasn’t really admitted anything is wrong. At least we’re no longer on different planets.

“Don’t cry.” He mutters too softly for me to determine if he’s annoyed or concerned. I don’t know how he can tell. He didn’t even look at me.

Our footsteps are hollow on the sidewalk. I wait until I’m sure the threat of tears has passed to ask, “Why don’t you want me to come?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I have time.”

He shrugs. “I don’t want to talk about it. For one, you’re wasted.”

“I’m sobering up fast.”

He swallows, focused on the subway stop ahead. “You won’t even remember this tomorrow.”

“You know that isn’t true,” I argue. “You just want an excuse not to talk. It’s really unfair to shut me out like this.” He picks up his pace, and I pick up mine. My boots are getting tighter and tighter, the balls of my feet screaming. I avoid making eye contact with people I pass. “Nathan,” I say. “Hello?”

He turns on me. “It’s unfair, is it?” he asks. “Is it fair that I’ve told you a hundred times about Park Slope, yet you act like you’ve never heard of it until Donna mentions it?”

Between his pace and all the people around, I have to concentrate to catch each of his words. I’m shocked. It’s entirely possible he’s mentioned Park Slope before, but I usually wave it off when he talks about moving. Gramercy Park is perfect for us. Growing up so close to Manhattan, it was the only place I ever wanted to be, and it has everything we need. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just that Brooklyn—”

“Is it fair that every other wife shows up for her husband but mine?” he continues. “And when you do, you have the gall to accuse me of not wanting you there. No, it’s not fair, but that’s how it is in Sadie world.”

My mouth falls open. Sadie world? I have no response. If I live in my own world, it’s not news to Nathan. He used to love doting on me. I’ve always made sure he knows what an important part of that world he is.

I’m a few paces behind him, and my feet start to cramp. They hurt. I hurt. “How long have you been feeling this way?” I ask.

He gets out his subway card and wipes his forehead on his sleeve. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No,” I say.

He heads down the stairs, and I hobble after him, rifling through my purse for my wallet.

Nathan waits at the platform entrance for me. “Midnight in a subway station is not the time to have this discussion,” he says.

“Fine.” I swipe my subway card and go through. “Go sulk by yourself. When you’re ready to talk, find me.”

“Come on, Sadie,” he says. The turnstile beeps at him when he tries to pass. “Wait. My month is expired.”

“I don’t care,” I call behind my shoulder and storm away. An overhead marquee tells me the subway is five minutes away. It should be enough time for Nathan to buy a new monthly pass, but still, I glance over my shoulder for him. I have to stop at a bench to take off my bootie and massage my foot.

Nathan walks in my direction, putting his new pass away and sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “I don’t like when you run off like that,” he says as he approaches.

“Tough shit.”

He nods at my feet. “Cramp?”