Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

I tilt my head under his chin. “How come?”

“I want to do it right, but I need to upgrade my equipment if I want to be competitive. I have to turn that office into a studio. It’s been so long since I did this professionally, I feel like a bit of an amateur.”

I look up at him. I’m both glad and worried to see him pursuing his dream. I don’t know much about the stock market, but I’ve heard it can crash, and if that’s where his money is, I hope he knows what he’s doing. It isn’t easy to walk away from that kind of job stability, and I could never do it. But I remember that long-haired artist from the coffee shop, and it makes my heart swell with happiness. I kiss the underside of his jaw. “You should do it. You were great with me.”

He smiles. He doesn’t seem that worried, but he must be somewhere inside. His life has been upended. He just quit his job. He’s ending his marriage. And I wonder about the little things too, like taking on an exorbitantly expensive gym membership when he has no income.

I pull back a little. “Can I ask you something you might not like?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you having a mid-life crisis?”

He chuckles, pets my hair, and pulls my head to his lips for a kiss. “I love when you surprise me with stuff like that.”

I wait until his smile eases away. “Are you?” I ask.

He glances at the ceiling and sighs. “I’m not even close to the halfway point. At least, I hope not.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, if that’s what you want to call it, I guess I am. I don’t see it that way, though. I think I was sleepwalking, and I’ve finally opened my eyes. I don’t owe anyone my happiness, not even Marissa. If she sees me living my life for myself, then she’ll know what it looks like when it’s time for her to do the same.”

I study his face, smooth but settling with fine lines and creases. The truth is, I’ve seen firsthand the changes he’s going through, but it’s been easy to forget his transformation started before that morning we met in the hallway. “What made you open your eyes?” I ask. “Did something happen?”

“Sort of.” He snort-laughs. “I could tell you, but it’ll make me sound like a huge hypocrite.”

“I’m the last person to judge,” I point out.

He nods a little and rubs my thigh. “So my boss and his partners go out a few times a year and just light up the city. They get plastered, hit the strip clubs, steak and cigars, the whole nine. And they hire these, like, escorts, you know? For the night. These women stroke their egos and their—” He stops. “You get the idea.”

I swallow down the urge to gag. I can’t imagine Finn and his romantic ideals getting caught up in that. I don’t worry that he’ll say he’s treated women that way. It’s not in his nature.

He shakes his head. “Anyway, if someone like me gets invited to a night out with them, it’s some kind of privilege. You’re expected to participate, and if you don’t, you look like a pussy. And pussies don’t make it to the top in a place like that. You know who told me that?”

“Not Kendra?”

He laughs. “Her dad. He used to be one of those guys at another firm. It was more important to him that I get promoted than stay faithful to his daughter.”

I frown. “That’s disgusting, Finn.”

“I know it.” He squeezes my knee reassuringly. “I didn’t do it.”

“I know. But you were invited?”

He nods. “Turning down a promotion would only delay the inevitable. That culture wasn’t changing anytime soon.” He goes quiet a moment, seemingly lost in a thought. “I had to accept or move to another firm if I wanted to go any higher. I asked around. Want to know what I found out? Everyone at my firm, and at other firms, hated life. They didn’t come out and say it, but I knew it was true for them because it was true for me.” He sniffs. “I hated my situation. Once upon a time, I believed I would create art. I believed I’d find the love of my life and do whatever it took to make her happy. Not once did I think screwing a prostitute was part of the deal. And it’s not like I had to stick my dick in someone—sorry—or I’d never succeed. It was more about what it meant that I worked in that kind of industry . . . and that I was considering how to do it while keeping everyone happy.”

My conscience tugs at me. He quit his job to be a better man. “I’m sorry,” I say.

He sighs. “It’s just a fucking disappointment when life doesn’t turn out how you want. I’m doing something about it, though.”

“Do you regret anything?” I ask.

“No. Not yet, at least. When I saw you again, it was like a light at the end of the tunnel. Like, if I could just get through this, I’d be rewarded.”

“Or punished,” I say. “Maybe you’re not supposed to have me.”

He shakes his head definitively. “I don’t believe that. I might’ve done some fucked up things, but I’m not a bad person.”

“Neither is Nathan.”

“Maybe this is his reward too. Maybe he wants out of your marriage but feels trapped.”

I swallow. Finn can’t know how that word scares me, how just hearing it stings. When my dad tried to leave my mom and Andrew, she got pregnant with me. I’m the hinge that closed the door. He wasn’t particularly upstanding, but he was above leaving his pregnant wife. He never got out. Their marriage is all drinking, fighting, and gambling.

Finn adjusts in his chair, and I shift on his lap. “So he’s bowling tonight, right?”

I play with the collar of his cotton t-shirt. Nathan could be anywhere at this point, and it would mean the same thing. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Because he isn’t here.” Finn understands. He pulls my bottom lip down with his thumb, exposing my gums. He releases it. “When you frown, I frown.”

“I’m sorry. It can’t be easy for you to talk about this.”

“I can handle it,” he says, and adds, “to a point.”

“Thank you.” I peck him once on the lips. “It’s getting late.”

“Not that late.”

I glance at the oven’s digital clock. “It’s almost nine.”

“That clock is fast by a few hours.”

I roll my eyes, grinning. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“We didn’t finish our tour yet,” he says. “Come on. Aren’t you curious?”

I can’t picture his bedroom. Does it have Kendra’s stamp on it? Is there an ornate bedframe to match the couch?

I’m not sure why I’m even watching the clock, because I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to hear Nathan’s excuses, or worse, his silence. Apparently, the best I can hope for from him is a few naughty words and good, hard fuck. That’s all he’s given me the past few months that means anything.

Finn squeezes my hips, and I get up. He holds his hand out to me.

It’s more than an invitation to see his bedroom. He’s asking me to stay. To choose him. To live the life of happy people. My confidence in Nathan has been circling the drain for a while, and now I don’t think I even feel it anymore. It’s time for me to face the facts. I promised I’d never trap him.

He doesn’t want to make our marriage work. And even if I do, I can’t force him into it. Then again, maybe I don’t even want that anymore.

I take Finn’s hand.

THIRTY-ONE

Finn switches on a dull light, and for the first time, I’m looking at his bedroom. “So, this is it,” he says flatly. It’s what the space calls for. It’s not the palace I’d expected Kendra to build. There’s no furniture, nothing on the white walls. His bed is a sheeted mattress on the floor with two pillows and a bedspread. It’s empty aside from a couple suitcases, a full laundry basket, and a lot of bare hangers.

He clears his throat. “If I’d known you were coming . . .”

My heart aches. It’s not the room of a married couple. It’s lonely. I try to stay upbeat, thoug

h. It won’t always be like this. “It’s fine,” I tease. “Don’t unpack on my account.”

“I try—I do,” he says. “But I get hot and frustrated. It makes me think of what I left at the house, and the decisions I need to make. It’s easier to paint horses . . .”

I take my hand out of his and peer into the laundry basket. “Can I help?”

He tilts his head. “Really?”

“This stuff looks clean.”

“It is.” He picks up a pair of jeans and gets a hanger. “I just haven’t put it away.”

“This is New York,” I tell him. I take the pants from him and fold them in half, then quarters. “Hanging space is valuable. Jeans can be folded.”

“Wow,” he says. “You did that fast.”

“I’ve folded a lot of jeans in my life.” I smile and stick them on a shelf. “You’ll need some kind of storage, like an armoire or something.”

“All right. Maybe you can help me pick one out?”

I waggle my eyebrows. His hopeful tone makes me playful, even more so because I can picture us furniture shopping on a Sunday afternoon. “We’ll see.”

He puts a button down shirt on a hanger and sticks it in the closet. It needs to be ironed, but I bite my tongue. Baby steps. I can bring my ironing board over. Permanently? I wonder.

“We could go to a flea market,” he says. “Maybe fix some pieces up. I’ll have paint left over.”

I’ve never really refurbished anything, but I like the idea. I have a stack of magazines under my bed dedicated to home décor new and old. “That sounds fun.”

He hangs a few more things while I create piles of jeans and casual t-shirts.

“You can stay here tonight,” he says out of nowhere.

I stop folding. Standing in his bedroom, I’m surrounded by the reality of Finn and me. I can’t help thinking how strange it would be to sleep next to a new man. Isn’t that why I’m here, though? Why else would I be if I weren’t giving in to the idea of leaving Nathan for Finn?

“I know it isn’t much,” he says, misreading my silence. “You deserve a real bed. I can get one here tomorrow.” He pauses. “That’s my way of saying you could stay again tomorrow night. I’d buy a bed—for you.”