Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“What does that mean?” he asks, following me into the kitchen.

I return the forks and knives to their places in a drawer. Nathan isn’t the only tidy, angry person in this relationship. “Which part?”

“I can do what I want? What, you still think I’m out having an affair?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Sadie, look at me.”

I put the dishes in a cupboard and turn to him. He’s massaging his temples with one giant hand, and I have to bite back the instinct to ask if he has a headache.

“You don’t come home all night, and you’re not making any sense,” he says. “What’s going on?”

I slow-blink at him. My simmering anger heats to a boil. For months, he’s acted as though I don’t exist, and he can’t even handle the same treatment for one night. “What’s going on?” I ask through my teeth. “You tell me. I’m just following your lead. Why do you get to spend the night out, and I don’t? You already checked out of this relationship, and I’ve just realized I can do the same.”

“I have not checked out, and you cannot do the same,” he shoots back. “We made love not even two nights ago. What about that?”

I glance away, because I know I can’t hide from my face the memory of how it felt to be in his arms again. How could I have been so connected to him if there was nothing on the other side? “It didn’t mean anything.”

His laugh is cruel. “You don’t fool me for a second. You think you could ever fake that with me? You think I don’t know when your heart is wide open?”

“I think you do know when my heart is open,” I say evenly. “And you know exactly how and where I’m vulnerable.”

He shuts his mouth as the meaning behind my words sets in.

I’m not innocent, but this marriage is dead because of him. Nathan spent seven years getting me to feel safe with him, and then he turned around and used it against me. He rejected what I tried to give, physically and emotionally. Hurting me that way is worse than sleeping in another man’s bed. “I’m done with this. With you.” I take a few steps toward him. “Whatever I did to you, I hope it was worth our marriage.”

His eyes change as his frustration vanishes. He draws his head back. “Done?”

I hold his gaze. I hold my tremble inside. I hold my ground. He doesn’t get to see weak anymore. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He’s frozen to the spot, so I go around him into the living room.

“Wait,” he says, turning with me. “We need to back up a second so I can explain.”

I scoff, packing up the table linens. “Sorry, you’re about two-and-a-half months too late. An explanation might’ve helped a week ago—or even yesterday morning. You could’ve called me last night while I sat here alone, waiting. But I guess you were too busy in Brooklyn to think of that.”

“I didn’t go to Brooklyn. Well, I did, but not—”

I shake my head, focusing on my task. Brooklyn stings, as if he’s talking about his mistress. “Of course you did.”

He takes a placemat out of my hand and throws it on the ground. “Would you listen to me?”

I cross my arms and turn, but I can’t look at him.

“I got on the L after work,” he says, “but my head was all over the place. I was still mad, but being with you again felt so fucking good. I was confused about how I felt. So I stayed on the L longer than I should’ve, because I needed to sort it out before I faced you.”

“And you decided to get off at Bedford and bowl instead.”

“No, actually. After a half hour riding the subway the wrong way, I switched trains to come home, but as soon as I got on, there was an accident on the tracks. We were stuck for three hours, babe. I couldn’t call because I was underground with no service.”

I turn my head to the table. The L train is notorious for service interruptions, so I don’t question his story. I’m just not sure why it matters at this point.

“What is all this?” he asks gesturing around us. “The flowers? Candles?”

My jaw tingles. The feeling of having my hopes crushed remains as strong as it was last night. “You were right,” I say. “The other night meant a lot to me. I took work off yesterday to make you ribs and clean the apartment. I had it in my mind that we would finally talk. Figure this out.”

He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It was a surprise.”

He looks around. “I would’ve come straight home.”

“But you didn’t.” I uncross my arms and look up at him. “You knew how much it meant to me to have you back in bed. You said it yourself—I was open. On cloud nine. And you let me down again.”

He opens his mouth, but his protests seem to die on his tongue. He looks around. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat before I continue. “Maybe it’s for the best. It helped make some things clear to me.”

I don’t elaborate, because I see the wheels turning in his head, and I think wondering might be worse for him. After a few moments, he says, “I didn’t do all this to hurt you. I’m hurting too. I’ve been so confused, and, yeah—I haven’t dealt with it well.”

“You think? You shut me out completely. You know how hard it was for me to let myself love you. I didn’t want to end up in a shitty marriage like my parents, angry and resentful. And that’s exactly where we are, but the worst part is that I don’t even know why.”

He swallows, his lips tight. “It just . . . got out of control.”

“I don’t care anymore. You can shove your excuses.” I show him my palms. I’ve made my choice, and going down this path will only make it harder to tell him that. “You had plenty of chances to talk to me, and you didn’t. At this point, I’m more exhausted than curious, and I just want to be done with you.”

He grabs a fistful of his hair, and I don’t even think he realizes he does it. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve had a long night. I’m going to take a shower, call in sick, and go to bed. You should go. I don’t care where. Later, though, we need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

“Sadie—”

I turn and walk toward the bedroom.

“Sadie, wait,” he says. “I know about the baby.”

I stop. The baby? But there was no baby, and it’s impossible that he knows about the abortion. My brother is the only one I’ve told the entire truth, and he wouldn’t betray me. I turn back to face him. “What?”

“I know you had an abortion,” he says calmly. “And I know the baby was ours.”

THIRTY-THREE

My heart thuds at the base of my throat. When I had the abortion, I promised myself I’d tell Nathan. Maybe not that day, or even that year, but if our relationship made it, one day I’d work up the courage. Yet here we are, seven years later. I never thought he’d figure it out on his own—or that I wouldn’t be there to explain it when found out. “That’s what these past few months were about?”

“Yes,” he says, “and no.”

It makes me sad I wasn’t there when he learned the truth. I understand why it would upset him, but couldn’t he have come to me sooner? “You should’ve told me you knew.”

“And you should’ve told me it happened.”

I glance at the ground. He has a point. I kept this from him much longer than he shut me out. “I was scared of how you’d react.”

“You’ve made huge decisions—and not just this one—without me. You don’t get to pick and choose what I know. That’s not a partnership.”

“How’d you find out?”

“By accident. I was using your computer to research abortion clinics for one of the girls at the shelter. Around the time we went back on birth control,

you’d done some searches about abortions—like whether or not having one could affect future pregnancy.”

I nod. That night, I’d read probably ten articles on the subject. “I was worried that was the reason we couldn’t get pregnant.”

“There’s no link between the two,” he says. “I read the research.”

I curl my toes into the carpet. Maybe not, unless that’s just how life works. “But what made you think it was yours?”

“I remembered a conversation I’d overheard a couple years ago at Bell’s birthday party,” he says. “You and Andrew were watching Bell play in the backyard with some other kids. I was bringing you a slice of cake when you said to Andrew, ‘Isn’t it weird? They would’ve been the same age. Imagine them here together today.’”

I close my eyes, remembering the moment exactly. Nathan had come up behind me, and I’d worried he’d heard something. It was so long ago, though, and he never mentioned it.

“Andrew told you not to think like that,” Nathan continues. “I didn’t understand, but I never forgot that. When I saw that search, I put the pieces together. Bell was born over a year after our first date. Then there was that week, after we’d only been together a few months, when you shut me out completely. You disappeared off the face of the planet. I thought it was over. I beat myself up trying to figure out what I’d done. I was scared you’d met someone else. And then one day, you came back to me in tears and wouldn’t tell me what you’d been through. I was too happy to push you to talk, afraid you’d disappear again.” He scrubs his hands over his face, through his hair. “That’s why you left, isn’t it? You had an abortion. By yourself.”

I wasn’t by myself, though. My brother had taken me. We’d sat in the freezing-cold waiting room, looking at magazines without turning the pages. That’s the kind of family we are—Andrew being there was enough. I didn’t need him to hold my hand or assure me I was doing the right thing.