Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

A nurse answers. I ask if Ralph Hunt is still there. “He is,” she says after a few moments on hold. “But he’s asleep right now.”

“So everything’s okay? There’s no emergency?”

“Emergency? No. Although, he doesn’t seem to be responding well to his latest rounds of radiation.”

I rub my eyebrow. “Yes, that I knew. I’m looking for my husband—his son, Nathan. I thought he might’ve stopped by after work. Do you know if he’s there?”

“Ralph hasn’t had any visitors today.”

I thank her and hang up. I can’t enjoy my relief, because it doesn’t give me any resolution. I try his office, but nobody’s there. Feeling helpless, I go into the bedroom and reluctantly put on chunky socks. Nathan sees me all the time in loungewear, but I wanted to catch him off guard in our own home. But then, after another fifteen minutes of watching the candles burn down, I remove my socks to sit on the bathroom counter and change my toenail polish. I’m not sure what else to do. It isn’t like Nathan to disappear, but then again, is it? Last night gave me hope, but it wasn’t the breakthrough we needed by any means. Considering the way things were going before that, it was only a matter of time before he stopped communicating altogether.

Was I right to worry when he turned away from me in bed? Did last night not mean to him what it did to me? After all, the night he called me a slut during sex, he went back to being a dick the next day. And after he came in my mouth in the doorway, he didn’t even wait until morning to blow me off.

So I offended him at some point in our marriage—does that give him the right to treat me like this? To leave me waiting at home without so much as a phone call? I hop down from the counter and stride through the apartment. When I stub my toe on a chair, I smudge my pedicure and curse.

With my third drink, wine sticks in my throat, turns my teeth blue. My lipstick has rubbed off onto the edge of the glass, but I don’t bother reapplying it. I call Nathan again. His phone is still off.

The food is getting cold. I eat a few bites of salad before shoving the rest down the garbage disposal. Would he really have stayed at work this late? Or did he stop by the downstairs bar again? Where else could he be? I’m staring down the black drain when it hits me—and I can’t believe I didn’t realize it earlier. It’s Wednesday night, and that’s when Nathan bowls. Instead of relief, though, rage blazes through me like wildfire through brush. After last night, and considering the state of our marriage, he should know it’s not okay to skip dinner to be with his friends. And not only did he not tell me, but he turned off his phone.

And I sat here like an idiot, worried about him.

Painting my face, my nails, thinking it would make a difference.

Wearing lingerie for him, going out of my way to get the flowers he likes, washing a blanket that was only dirty because he used it to sleep somewhere I wasn’t. I grip the counter until my knuckles are white. I’ve had enough of this. Enough walking on eggshells around him, enough pandering to his moods.

Do I even know my own husband anymore? Brooklyn Bowl didn’t occur to me because I never would’ve guessed he’d choose it over working on our marriage. Over me. That isn’t the Nathan I married, but it’s the Nathan I have now. Maybe The Shining isn’t even his favorite book. Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m eating enough. Maybe he’s used up all his kindness, and he’s out there right now, laughing at me and my pathetic ribs.

I wasted an entire day on cooking him dinner, and he doesn’t even have the decency to come home and eat it. For months, I’ve taken his bullshit and tried to make things right. For months, I’ve bitten my tongue.

I whirl around, knocking over the plastic salad bowl and anything its path. I yank the oven open and pull out the food. I’m so livid, so embarrassed, I lift up the heavy baking sheet to smash it on the ground, but at the last second, I freeze. Food is how I show Nathan I love him—but he doesn’t want to eat what I make anymore? Fine. I know someone who does.

With a cold, untouched rib dinner weighing in my arms, I bang on Finn’s door with the heel of my foot. It takes a minute until he answers, his hair disheveled, and his shirt halfway on. “Sadie?” He looks behind me and around the hall. “Jesus. What—”

“You like barbecue ribs?” I shove the food between us. “Here, have it. It’s good. Or, at least, it was two hours ago when it was hot. I made it for Nathan, but you—” A storm of emotions catches up with me. Anger heats my face. A sense of loss makes my eyes wet. “But I thought you might appreciate it more.”

“Sadie,” Finn says sadly and takes the sheet. He sets it on the entryway bench and wraps me in his arms. I burst into tears. All that time I spent on my makeup—pointless. All that time I spent in my marriage—wasted. Is this my fault? Did I let Nathan slip through my fingers, and if so, when did he get so far out of my reach? When did it become too late to bring him back? Did his love go away or, worse, did it turn into indifference?

“Shh.” Finn lets me cry over my husband. He massages my back but doesn’t hear my hiss when he kneads the shoulder blade where Nathan bit me. “It’s okay,” he says. “These things happen.”

I sniffle. When I’ve calmed a little, I look up at him. “What things?”

With an amused look, he pinches his shirt and dabs under my nose.

“Sorry.” I grimace. I’ve snotted and sobbed all over him.

He’s smiling, though. “It starts small.” His expression sobers. “An anniversary forgotten or a water ring on the fancy coffee table. Then it escalates over a long time. Those little frustrations become maddening. Sometimes they explode, and sometimes they just . . . fade. You stop caring.”

I look at the damp spot on his t-shirt. I don’t believe almost three months counts as a long time. Nathan’s personality changed overnight, without warning. But Finn only has his own experience as reference. “Is that what happened to you and Kendra?”

He sighs. “We were always doomed, I guess. I’m the one who forgot dates or kept not doing what she asked me to, like use a coaster. Not on purpose. I just didn’t think about what made her happy. Kind of like Nathan doesn’t.”

His words are eerily wrong, as if he accidentally swapped Nathan’s name with mine. Finn has only ever known Nathan as a neglectful husband, but I’m the one who forgets little things. I rarely throw out the coffee filter. I don’t buy body wash when we’re low. I eat the cherry off my sundaes first, while Nathan waits to offer his to me. That doesn’t mean I don’t think about what makes him happy, though. I show my love in other ways.

“But I won’t be that to you,” Finn backtracks, reading my thoughts. “That has more to do with the dynamic of my relationship with Kendra than with the kind of husband I would be.”

My attention snags on the confidence of his statement. “To me?”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” His question is less demanding than suggestive. “Don’t come running to me when you’re upset if you don’t want my comfort. The best way I know how to make it better is to tell you how it can be if you choose me.”

The elevator dings. My breath catches. It has to be Nathan. I wiggle in Finn’s arms, but he holds on tightly. “Ask me to let go,” he says. “Things will just go back to normal, and normal isn’t good enough for you.”

I look up at him. Not only does he want me, not only does he want to love me, but I want him back. Against all odds. It’s rare to have found such a strong connection even once in my life, but have I found it again with Finn? I stop squirming.

6D gets off the elevator. As he passes, he doesn’t hide the fact that he notices our embrace. He’s been in the building longer than any of us and knows this isn’t my husband.

Finn ignores him. “Come inside,” he says when we’re alone again.

“I don’t have anything.”

“What do you need?”

“For one, I’m barefoot.”

“We have shoes in here.” He slips his arm around my shoulder. Instantly, I’m comforted, sa

fe, sheltered from the storm. My heartbeat calms. “Do you have your keys?”

I open my palm. The teeth have made indents in my skin.

He smiles. “What else is there? You haven’t eaten, have you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Then come in, and let me feed you.”

THIRTY

Finn carries Nathan’s platter of cold ribs to the kitchen. At least the love I put into them won’t go to waste. Even though Finn has been in his apartment for weeks, there are still boxes on the floor. A couple cupboards sit open. I take it all in. “Finn, you’ve barely done anything since I was last here.”

“I’m doing the best I can in a state of transition,” he says flatly, as if it’s rehearsed. He leaves the room and comes back with a pair of wool socks. “Sit.”

One chair is stacked with photography manuals, a George Steinbrenner biography, and a DVD of The Secret Garden. Another is the new home of his record player, a box of Legos, and an army-green jacket. “Where?”