Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“It might sound selfish, but I did it for us,” I tell him. “If you’d known I was pregnant, you would’ve done the right thing no matter how you felt about me.”

“What would I have done?” he asks, raising his chin.

“We were young. And new. We’d only been together three months, but we had something special. I needed to know you were with me because you loved me, not because you felt obligated to stay by my side. I refused to trap you.”

“But you’re not your mom, Sadie, and I’m not your dad. You can’t just decide these things without me.”

I study him. We’ve worked so hard not to become our parents, and yet, we’ve ended up like them. My parents are miserable together. His stopped talking to each other and grew apart. “If you’d come to me as soon as you’d found out, I would’ve told you what I’m telling you now, and the last few months could’ve been avoided. I don’t regret what I did, and we’re stronger because I made that difficult decision for us.”

He shakes his head, frowning. “You’re not understanding me. I’m not mad that you did it. I’m mad that you cut me out of the decision and did it alone. That you didn’t trust me enough then, or the past seven years, to let me help you. To be a part of this marriage. And once I realized you were capable of that, everything else you did felt personal.”

“Like what?”

“I love making you happy—you know I do. But when I found this out, I started to think of all the ways I’ve put you first only to have it not reciprocated. I turned down a promotion at work to be able to spend more time with you—”

“No,” I interrupt. “You did that to be around for your dad.”

“I did it for you,” he says. “It meant more hours at the office. More workload. But when Amelia offered you a promotion months later, you took it the same day. You never even consulted me.”

I wrinkle my eyebrows. “Are you kidding me? That’s why you’ve made me feel like a stranger in my own home for three months?”

“All that shit piled up. You don’t even know my favorite pastry—Gisele has to tell you. I try for months to get you to come to my bowling games, and then you turn around and accuse me of not inviting you. You only listen when someone else tells you about a new restaurant or bar. I talk about Park Slope all the time, but it isn’t until Donna mentions it that you suddenly consider it the place to be. Then you go and make life-changing decisions without me, and it makes me wonder—would you even fucking notice if I weren’t around?”

My mouth hangs open. “That’s so unfair,” I say. Pastries? Brooklyn? I can’t believe those are the things coming between us. Maybe all of what he says is true, but he had plenty of chances to call me out. Instead, he let it fester, and then, he abandoned me. “Those are stupid reasons to end a marriage over.”

He points at me. “And that is exactly why I haven’t brought them up sooner. Do you know dumb I felt getting upset over a goddamn donut? But it’s what’s underneath it. Is it that you don’t care enough to remember what I like? That’s what’s going on in my mind.”

“But I tried so many times to get you to talk. To figure this out. Any one of those times you could’ve told me all this was bothering you. Instead, you shut me out, and you went too far, Nathan. I might not’ve been as attentive as you wanted, but this is who I was when you married me. You, on the other hand, did a complete one-eighty and left me out in the cold.”

“Because I was confused and hurt.”

“But at least I didn’t hurt you on purpose.” A sudden storm of emotion moves up my chest, and I need to get away from him. I’ve been too vulnerable for too long. He abused that, and he doesn’t deserve it anymore. “You didn’t love me in the dark like you promised.”

His eyes widen, clearly taken aback at having the vow he wrote for me thrown in his face. I will love you the same in the dark as I do in the light. “Love? I never stopped loving you for a second. I hurt because I love you.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” I pick up the vase of calla lilies and hold it out to him. “I got these for you because I love. Because I care. Because I know they’re your favorite. I made you barbeque ribs, and I dressed up how you like. I’m not a stranger. I’m your wife.”

My hands shake, so he takes the vase but says, “These aren’t my favorite.”

“Yes they are.”

“They’re yours,” he says. “And that’s why I love them.”

I frown, unexpectedly flooded by the memory of the first night we met, sitting on the beach under the stars. He asked about all my favorite things—flowers, books, cities. And to this day, he remembers them. Did I ask about his? I can’t remember. “I didn’t know that,” I say. “So I guess it means I don’t love you as much as you love me. You don’t like the kind of wife I am? Then go.”

“That’s not what—”

I turn around and head for the bedroom.

“We’re not finished,” he says.

“I am. I’ve had a long night, and I want to be alone.” I slam our bedroom door behind me, but he opens it, so I go into the bathroom, but he follows me in there too. I spin around, unbuttoning my pants. “You’re no longer welcome in here. Get out.”

“No.” Still holding the vase, he puts it on the counter. Ginger pushes between us as if to mediate, looking from Nathan to me and back. “I made some mistakes, but so have you. I’m willing to overlook the other decisions you’ve made without me, but not this one. This time, I won’t let you be selfish.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s done. There’s no going back.” Cornered, I get into the shower fully clothed and pull the curtain shut.

He whips it back open. “I’m not talking about the abortion.”

I pause to put my hand against the tile. At first, I think I’ve misheard him. A decision I made for us that isn’t the abortion? What else could it be? But then, I remember our pact. We’re supposed to come to each other if we’re ever tempted to cheat.

He knows about Finn. But how?

Finn and I were careless. New York isn’t as big as people think. It could’ve been anywhere. The laundry room. Times Square. Jill might’ve said something to him on the phone last night.

But what makes me sick to my stomach isn’t that he knows. It’s that I can’t tell if he’s upset that I did it, or that I didn’t honor our pact by telling him first. Because the least painful part of an affair is the tumble and tangle of body parts. The agony is in the guts. In the reasons behind it. When I let Finn close, I didn’t choose him over Nathan—I chose myself.

I look up into his eyes. They’re unguarded, even after all this. “How long have you known?”

“About what?”

“Finn.”

He tilts his head and draws his eyebrows together. “Finn? Our neighbor?” In the same second that he straightens his back, I understand. Nathan doesn’t know about the affair. But he isn’t stupid, and by just hearing Finn’s name, he figures it out. He retreats a few steps from me, shaking his head. “No.”

My heart pounds as I watch the realization dawn on his face. “Nathan—”

His mouth eases apart, then cracks open as his chocolate-brown eyes dart over my face. “Finn?” he asks, as if he’s never heard the word.

This is one of the first times in my life I can’t guess his reaction. I see the tension cording his arms, but his expression is cycling through confusion, anger, despair.

“You’ve been . . . with . . . how long has this been going on?” he asks, gulping. “Wait. Don’t tell me.” He looks at the toilet paper roll, the wastebasket, the sea spray-scented hand wash. “When he took your photograph.”

I wring my hands together. “Yes.” I inhale. “We didn’t plan—”

“When was that? Two weeks after he got here?” He flares his nostrils like a dragon about to spew fire. “I guess it could be worse. You could’ve done it on move-in day.” As he stares at me, silent, a flush rises from under the collar of his t-shirt, up his neck and

cheeks. “Is that where you were last night?”

Guilt I thought I couldn’t feel creeps in. I can’t find the right words. I don’t think they exist. Even though I chose Finn last night, Nathan’s obvious agony feels like a knife between my ribs. I would’ve had to tell him about Finn—and soon. But this isn’t how I wanted him to find out. All I can do is nod.

“So you were with him. And then you came back here.”

“Nothing happened last night,” I say as if it’s any kind of defense. “We didn’t . . .”

His chest heaves with each breath. “I don’t understand. If you didn’t sleep with him, are you having an affair or not?”

“Yes, but—last night, it didn’t feel right while . . .” I cover my face. “I can’t explain it. You wouldn’t understand. It’s not just about the sex—”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “No. Don’t fucking tell me that.”

“I was lost, Nathan. Confused. Lonely. You weren’t here, and he was.” I lower my hands. “I turned to him. I cried on his shoulder—over you, and he let me. So now . . .”

He grits his teeth, his jaw tensing, as though he’s containing an explosion. “Now? Now what?”