Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

I recoil, grinding my teeth. “Sorry to disrupt your ‘game,’” I yell after him. Either he doesn’t hear me or ignores me. “Looks to me like it’s just a bunch of grown men drinking beer and showing off their balls.”

Joan laughs beside me. I have no idea where the hell she came from. “How long have you been there?” I ask.

“Just for the part about the balls. It’s dead on, but kind of cute how much they love their team.”

Cute? I look at Nathan’s back. It’s just a stupid hobby, isn’t it? Or is this where Nathan comes to have fun, flirt, and possibly even forget about me?

“I’m so glad you came,” Joan says. “Donna told me you were funny. It’s nice to have another chick here.”

There isn’t an ounce of malice in Joan’s voice. I don’t know what to believe. If I ask Donna whether she’s heard anything about Nathan, she’ll see the crack that’s begun to form in my marriage, and I don’t ever want people to doubt us. It reminds me of the way I feel about my parents, which is that they’d be better off apart. They hate each other but refuse to divorce. Nathan’s parents, on the other hand, loved each other but couldn’t keep their marriage from crumbling.

Nathan glances back at me. He’s too far to hear, but he can damn well see. I sling an arm around Joan, pleased with the way Nathan lowers his eyebrows. “Let’s get a drink,” I say. “And not those girly beers the guys drink. I want the hard stuff.”

She jumps up and down. “I just knew I’d like you.”

Nathan watches us for as long as I can see him, and then we turn our backs to slide onto two fortuitously open barstools.

I flag down the bartender and order an Old-Fashioned for each of us. I generally try to avoid following in the footsteps of my alcoholic father, but my world is upside down tonight, so I go with it. Joan’s never had one, and she makes a scene with every sip. “It’s so strong,” she cries. Then, “Jesus, woman. You have a pair.” I clink my glass with hers.

The men crowd around a scoring machine and take turns rolling their big dumb balls down the narrow alley. The pins smile at me until Nathan scatters them with a strike. I applaud from my barstool. He glances in our direction. Maybe he’s right, and it was a bad idea to suggest spending this time apart. Does it make me a bad wife? It never occurred to me he’d want me here as much as the women seem to think.

Lasers cut across the darkness. My stool has a bum leg, and it rocks when I sway. The bourbon hits me all at once.

I am a bad wife. I can still feel Finn’s thumb on my bottom lip. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck where his arm was curled around me. I can hear the clunky thud of the record player as it hit the ground. I’ll buy him a new one, a better one, to make up for breaking his small declaration of freedom.

I billow the neckline of my blouse. Finn’s apartment is stifling, and I miss the warmth. His hot breath, his hot body. I shut my eyes and wonder about his mattress on the floor, if he sleeps there naked, sheets shoved aside. My clammy skin sliding against his. I bite my lip.

“We never drink this much.” Alyssa flops over Joan’s lap to get to me. She also had an Old-Fashioned or two. “You’re a bad influence.”

I smile wickedly. “I try.”

“Will you come every Wednesday?” Joan asks. She’s pouting as if I’ve already said no.

“And ruin playtime for Nathan?” I ask. “Hell yeah.”

They don’t seem to understand my insinuation that he’s been flirting with them—Joan, specifically. They laugh and laugh. I join them. I can feel the mascara-black circles under my eyes from a long day. I lick my thumb and scrub them off.

“You’re making it worse,” Joan says. “Let me try.”

She wets her finger. I flinch each time her nail gets too close to my eyeball. “I think it’s permanent.”

“Damn it,” I say too loudly. Her lashes are thick and long. “Your makeup is perfect. How do you do that?”

She launches into a lesson on smudge-proof eyeliner. So she can apply fucking mascara—who cares? I have a communications degree and the attention of two godlike men. Would Finn find Joan attractive? I try to be subjective. The only thing we have in common is our dark hair. She’s curvier than me and wears it well. Neither of us looks anything like blond, petite Kendra. I close my eyes briefly. Bile rises up my throat, and I have to push the image of Kendra and her daughter away.

I get out my phone and call my brother to ask him what his type is these days. “I’m sleeping,” he answers.

“It’s not even midnight,” I exclaim.

“Call me when you have a kid, you drunk.” He hangs up.

I giggle. Andrew doesn’t like to be woken up. I love him because he knows Nathan and I were trying to get pregnant, and he doesn’t treat me like glass because of it.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when Nathan finds me. “We’re leaving.”

“Five more minutes,” Donna pleads with him.

“Fine.” He nods down at me. “I’ll meet you out front.”

I grip the bar to keep steady. “Nate, wait, stop—”

He hasn’t moved an inch. His eyebrows are drawn together. “What?”

“I’m ready. I’ll come with you.” I lean over to get my purse from under the bar. I swipe for the strap, miscalculate, and slide off the stool.

Before I fall over, Nathan catches me by the waist and hoists me back into place. “You’re drunk, Sadie.”

“No, I’m not.”

A chorus of giggles erupts, including my own.

“Come on.” Nathan heaves a chest-expanding sigh. Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through my system, but I think he might be a little amused. “Let’s go home.”

“I just need to say bye.” I turn to Donna and Alyssa and promise, as loudly as I can, “I’ll see you next week. For wivesies night.”

“I need your number,” Donna says.

Alyssa claps her hands. “Me too.”

I look back at Nathan, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be out front.”

“You won’t leave me?” I ask.

“I doubt you’d even make it home.” He leans in a little. “Go straight to the front. Don’t wander off somewhere.”

His breath tickles the outside of my ear. Was alcohol the route back to him all along?

I give Donna and Alyssa my number. I don’t ask for theirs. They can get in touch if they want. “Where’s Joan?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen her for a few minutes.

“Probably fighting with Mike,” Alyssa says.

“Oh.” I put my phone away. “Tell her I’ll see her next week.”

I go looking for Nathan. Connor calls me over. “Glad you made it. Donna’s loving that you’re here.”

I look around distractedly as I say, “Me too.”

Mikey appears and introduces himself. “Joan’s boyfriend,” he tells me in a thick New York accent.

My attention catches on his introduction. “She said you were engaged.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, we are.” He grins. “Keeps slipping my mind, but don’t mention that to her. She gets pissed.”

I can’t remember if Nathan said to meet him in the front of the building or on the sidewalk. Once again, I search the crowd for him, and then for Joan, who is not here fighting with Mikey as Alyssa said she’d be. She’s nowhere to be seen. And neither, for that matter, is Nathan.

ELEVEN

Nat

han definitely told me to meet him out front of Brooklyn Bowl. I think. I squint at the bouncers, who lean against barstools and chat. A group of guys spills out of the building, making enough noise to echo down the street. A stocky man throws his arm around me. “Where we going?” he asks.

“I’m not with you.”

He looks down, and his thick-rimmed glasses fall forward. He pushes them back into place. “You are now, sexy. Come on.”

He leans his weight on me. My world is already off kilter, so we stumble forward a few steps. His friends cheer us on.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “Let me just get my husband.”

“No shit?” He releases me as if I’m contagious, then speed walks away to catch up with his friends. I fix my blouse and wander down to the corner to look for Nathan. The area is deserted. When I turn around and start back, I spot Nathan talking to the bouncers.

“Christ, Sadie,” he says when he notices me. “I told you to wait here for me.”

“I couldn’t find you . . .”

“I was in the bathroom.” He holds out my coat, which I’d forgotten since the alcohol is keeping me warm. His arm sags, as if it weighs a hundred pounds. “You’re drunk, you don’t listen, and you’re out in the freezing-ass dark. What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a bad time to hiccup, but that’s what I do. He rolls his eyes as he walks away. Still, I don’t think he’s as annoyed as he pretends. “What were you doing in the bathroom?” I ask, struggling to get my coat on and keep up with his long strides.

He looks at me, his confused expression almost cartoon-like. “What kind of a question is that?”

So he disappeared at the same time as Joan. It doesn’t mean anything. Or it could mean a million different things.

I trip over uneven sidewalk and drop my purse. I’m one arm in my coat and one out. The world is slightly spinning, so it takes me a minute to pull myself together. “Will you hold my purse while I put on my coat?” I ask, straightening up. He doesn’t answer. He’s halfway down the sidewalk. “Nathan. Hello?”

He stops and sticks his hands in his pockets but doesn’t turn around. When I finally get my coat on and my purse back on my shoulder, I catch up with him. “Sorry if I’m inconveniencing you,” I say dryly.