Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

It’s difficult to get the words out. My decision to be with Finn is still so new. But I have to say it. I owe Nathan the truth if I expect it in return. “You know this is over,” I say, tears finally flooding my eyes. My love for him isn’t supposed to hurt this much. It feels like it’s killing me from the inside, and it’s starting with my heart in a blender. I never wanted anything or anyone other than him, but he withdrew his love to hurt me, and for what? For me, his reasons are valid, but they don’t excuse his behavior. This is where we are, and it doesn’t have to be this way. I have someone else now. “It’s too hard.”

“Marriage is hard.”

“Don’t tell me what marriage is,” I say, raising my voice, disgusted. Ginger whines, nudging Nathan’s leg. “You abandoned me.”

“And you fucked someone else.”

I reel back. “No. I care about him.”

“So you’re going to, what, walk away? For him? Someone you’ve known less than a month?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I was going to tell you later. But when you said you were mad about something other than the abortion, I thought you were talking about Finn.”

“Finn?” he asks, the name slicing from his mouth. His nostrils flare, his face beet red. “You thought you could sit me down, tell me you’re having an affair, and I’d just accept it?”

“No,” I admit. “I figured you’d be—”

“What?” he asks. “Angry? Furious?” He grabs the vase. “You didn’t think maybe it’d go something more like this?” He launches the lilies across the bathroom. The glass shatters against the wall like a crystal firework, my eardrums bursting, my hand flying over my mouth.

I’m stunned completely still, as if he threw it right at me, but Ginger panics. She takes off, skidding around the tile floor, startled.

I jump out of the shower. “Nathan—”

He’s already after her, but she bolts for the door and slides right through glass. Shards fly from under her paws. Nathan curses, chasing her out of the bathroom. I follow, hopscotching through the mess, driven forward by her howling.

In the bedroom, Nathan has his arms around her as he tries to wrestle her onto her back.

Blood is smeared everywhere. It’s so striking against the white carpet that I start to cry. I pull it together and catch one of her flailing legs for a better look, but she wriggles harder.

“Get back,” Nathan says to me. “I’ve got it.”

“No, you don’t. There might be glass in there. She’s bleeding a lot—”

“I can fucking see that,” he snaps. “I have it. Just back off.”

I straighten up and touch my trembling hands to my mouth. The fear in her eyes racks me with guilt.

“Shh, Ginge,” he says, coaxing her onto her side. Her eyes dart all around the room, as if she can’t see us. “Get out of the room,” he says without turning to me. “She can’t focus. You’re making it worse.”

I take a step back, more from shock than anything. To be shoved out like this when Ginger needs me breaks my heart. Nate buries his nose in Ginger’s furry neck, and after a few seconds, her whines soften.

When they’re both calmer, I say, “Nate—”

“Shh. It’s okay,” he says softly. “I just need to see your paw. Be a good girl.”

She’s shaking, and I just want to take her in my arms. We can help her better together, me holding her while he checks for glass. “Nathan,” I try again, “Let me—”

Ginger’s head shoots up, and she starts to writhe out of Nathan’s grip.

“God damn it, Sadie,” he says. “I need her calm enough to get her to the vet.”

“How?”

“I’ll carry her if I have to. It’s not far.”

“It’s ten blocks,” I say incredulously. “You need—”

“I don’t need. Not anything. The vet won’t be open yet, so call the emergency line, tell him we’re coming, and stay out of the way. We don’t need you.”

The rock in my throat is so big, it hurts when I swallow. In a daze, I leave the bedroom, but I don’t know where I’m going. Call the vet. I go to my purse. My phone isn’t there, and I can’t remember where I left it. I get Nathan’s from the coffee table. From a list we keep stored in the desk, I find the phone number and let them know we’re on the way.

Nathan comes out of the bedroom with Ginger in his arms. “Get the door.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. I can’t deal with both of you right now.”

“Nathan—”

“Christ, Sadie. I have to get a sixty-pound dog downstairs and into a cab. Can we argue later?”

Fuming, but more worried about Ginger than anything else, I walk over and open the door for him.

“Phone? Keys?” he asks on his way out.

I slide his cell into his jeans, which he somehow managed to get on while subduing her, and then his keys and wallet. “Will you call me when you know?” I ask.

He’s already halfway down the hall, and I have to fight the urge to go after them. My heart aches for Ginger. For Nathan. I know he’s hurt, and though my instinct is to make it better, I’m not sure if I should. Or, at this point, if I even can.

I get to work early, but Howie’s already in his seat next to mine, half hidden by his noise-canceling headphones. “Good look,” he says sardonically and with hardly a glance.

Any other day, I’d laugh. He’s right to call me out. After Nathan left with Ginger, I cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, showered, and packed a bag. My mind spun as I dressed blindly and slicked my wet hair into a bun. I don’t have any meetings today, so I find it hard to care.

Opening Outlook, I start mindlessly e-mailing clients their blog features from the week before. I copy, paste, copy, paste, copy, paste until there’s enough to prove I did my job—last week, at least. I should be excited that an Instagram celebrity posted a picture using IncrediBlast mascara over the weekend. Instead, I catch myself wondering whom she’s getting ready for. Is she married, and if so, does she flaunt her husband like her lashes? Or did she go out with friends, teasing boys, sipping martinis? Ten minutes of scrolling through her Instagram feed, and I’m more caught up on her life than I want to be.

At a quarter to eleven, Amelia arrives from a breakfast meeting. I’m the only one unfocused enough to notice her breeze in. We’re all on our second and third cups of coffee. With a once-over, Amelia nods me into her office.

Without needing to be told, I close the door to give us privacy. I’ve done something wrong—I just don’t know what. Maybe it was simply being the first person to make eye contact with her.

“What’s this?” She drapes her red, check-plaid cape and cashmere scarf over a brass coat rack.

I shift feet. “What’s what?”

“Outfit. Hair.” She sits on the edge of her desk. “Are you even wearing makeup? Not acceptable for this office, Sadie.”

I could argue that I don’t work any harder in cosmetics than I do out of them, but this is the job I signed up for. This morning, I wrote a blurb for US Weekly about a pop star who stays camera-ready by carrying lip-pumping gloss in her cleavage. “I’ll visit the closet,” I say, referring to a small room with emergency designer apparel and sample beauty products.

“Please do,” she says. “I’d have almost preferred you’d called in sick again. Will this thing with your husband affect your work today like it has your appearance?”

I hesitate, which is a mistake.

“I recognize this. I was this,” she says, wiggling a finger up and down my outfit. “The day his affair finally hit me over the head, I fell apart too, but I did it in private. Image is everything in this industry.”

“I understand. I’ll go change. It won’t affect my work.” I go for the door.

“Wait.”

I turn back. “Yes?”

She looks closely at me. Despite her bluntness, I know she cares. “I hope you did the right thing and kicked him to the curb.”

I let my eyes fall. Why, when I was planning to leave Nathan, does it feel like I was kicked to the curb?

“Don’t look at the floor, Sadie. Be strong. Excuse his behavior, and he’ll do it again, believe me. Cheaters are selfish. Egoists. You give him another chance, and he’ll walk all over you the rest of the marriage.”

I should stop her, but I’m not sure I don’t deserve to hear the truth about Finn and me.

And Amelia is more than happy to be the messenger. “Do yourselves both a favor and pack your bags. Trust me. He’ll beg—it didn’t mean anything. He loves you, not her. Well, the son-of-a-bitch should’ve considered that when he had her on her back in my bed.”

“It was only a couple times,” I say defensively.

“So what if it was one time or a hundred? So what if they were strangers or if they shared their deepest, darkest secrets with each other? He made a fool of you. He betrayed you on the most basic level.”

It’s hard to swallow her words. She’s never held much back, but I think finding a common enemy has made her more candid. How could she know I’m the one she’s railing against?