Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I don’t sit down, but I lean over and open his browser. His inbox is his homepage, and his account loads. I read the first couple subject lines. Despite being organized, he’s not good about separating his work and personal life. I close the window. The truth is, I have no desire to snoop through his things. If Nathan is hiding something from me, it’s killing him. He’d struggle lying to his worst enemy. I don’t need, and I don’t want, to see it in an e-mail or on a receipt.

Being in this apartment is like putting a plastic bag over my face. I go through the motions of cleaning up. I am, by nature, a messy person. Aside from washing dishes after a homemade meal, I don’t like housework, not laundry, not cleaning. I do my best to pick up after myself. Maybe it’s not enough, though. I throw out my half-drunk coffee cup and return our comforter to the bed. Nathan must’ve been in a hurry, since he normally folds his blanket and puts it with his pillows to one side of the couch. It’s been a while, so I bleach the kitchen sink, the bathroom and toilet. In the shower, I scrub myself—my hair, under my arms, between my thighs. I shave my legs. Erasing Finn from my body means ridding myself of Nathan’s momentary affections too.

Nathan needs time to sort out his thoughts. What does that mean? Based on his tirade, I wonder if he feels our marriage is one-sided. That I don’t give as good as I get. How can I prove him wrong if he has several years’ worth of small details against me?

I unscrew the caps off the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash to clean out gunk and switch out the blade of my razor for a fresh one. I could go to Family-kind and show him I meant what I said—I am trying. Even if he doesn’t want me there, at least my effort would be noted.

I get out of the shower, towel off, and start with my hair. He loves it sleek and my makeup natural. I choose ass-hugging jeans that drive him crazy and a pink angora sweater that makes my boobs look a size bigger than they are. Not that Nathan’s ever complained about them. From a dusty bin, I pick out a pair of boots with stacked, four-inch heels. They hurt my feet, but sometimes it’s worth it. Sometimes it’s welcome.

I go out to the elevator. Passing 6A is like walking through a ray of sunshine on a cold day. And it’s not because Finn’s heater is strong enough to warm the hallway. My body just knows what it’s like in there. Softly lit, inviting, safe. His apartment set up is similar to ours. It’s not hard for me to envision his home as my own. Sleeping in an empty bed doesn’t exactly help. I’m the one who told Nathan to go, but I wouldn’t have expected him to stay away.

I’ve been standing at the elevator for minutes when I realize the call button isn’t lit up. I never hit it. I can’t go to Family-kind. Nathan doesn’t have the heart to turn me away in front of all those people. He’d grit his teeth and tolerate me. I don’t want to get rejected, hurt, shocked yet again today.

I walk back toward my apartment feeling as clean and shiny as a new penny—on the outside. I have to pass Finn’s door again, but this time I stop. I shouldn’t feed into his lofty notions, but I shouldn’t do a lot of things, like knock on his door. He doesn’t open it at first. Eventually, though, I can sense him on the other side, debating. It’s not the enthusiastic welcome I expected.

He unlocks the door. His lips are thinned into a line. “Every time you knock, I have to get dressed. Soon, I’m not going to bother.”

My cheeks warm like he’s the sun, and he’s only looking down on me. Despite being back in his revealing sweats, his hair and skin are damp. He’s no longer musky, but as fresh and soapy as I am. “Sorry,” I say and mean it. I don’t know what I want, but it isn’t to jerk him around. “I just thought . . . I—”

He sighs, overpowered by something I can’t see, and opens the door wider. “You don’t have to explain. I’m glad you’re here.” Black Sabbath plays in the background. There’s a new shoe rack and umbrella holder near the entrance. I nod to a pile of broken-down boxes. “You’re making progress.”

“Yeah. I need somewhere to channel all this . . . you know,” he pauses on a shrug, “nervous energy.”

I bite the inside of my bottom lip. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Nervous? No. That’s not what you make me.”

I put my hands in my back pockets. “What then?”

He idly looks me over. “Pink’s a good color on you. That sweater looks . . .” His lazy gaze stops at my breasts. “Soft.”

I try not to show my amusement. I didn’t pick this for him, but I’m glad he likes it. “Thanks.”

He lifts his chin, his eyes back on mine. “So? You coming in?”

Minutes ago, if someone’d bumped into me, I’d have cracked down the middle. Now, my insides jiggle like jelly at the thought of being near him again. I have a greater urge, though, and it’s to get out of this stuffy apartment building. “I want to be alone,” I say.

“Okay . . .” He shifts from one bare foot to the other. Another sigh, this one deeper but shorter. “Then why’d you knock on my door?”

“Will you come with me?”

“You want to be alone—with me?”

I look down. He needs a welcome mat. The carpet here is noticeably wearing. “Yes.”

“Give me a sec to change,” he says. “Come in.”

I might not come out until nightfall if I do. “I’ll wait out here.”

Finn looks both ways down the hall. “All right. Don’t disappear on me.”

“I won’t.” Nothing can move me from this spot now that I’ve decided I want to be with Finn today. I’m lighter just being in his presence. Nathan’s harsh words melt off my shoulders.

He comes back in jeans, a button-down and boots within moments of leaving me there. In the hallway, he shrugs his jacket on. “Ready,” he says.

He runs a fine-tooth comb through his hair while we ride the elevator down.

“I told you I’d wait,” I say with a half-smile.

“I wasn’t taking any chances.” He winks at me. “Everything okay?”

I nod. “Better now.”

We exit the building and stop on the sidewalk. I look toward Lexington Avenue and then in the opposite direction. Finn is expecting me to take him somewhere, but I hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Finn’s big, paw-like hand scoops up mine. “Come,” he says, and we go right, deeper into the city. Our tree-lined street is an explosion of peaking, reddish-brown foliage and a smattering of summer green.

Finn squeezes my hand before he releases it. I’m grateful he doesn’t make me say it aloud—we can’t touch outside of four walls. “Why’d you change your mind about seeing me today?”

I tunnel into my coat, a futile attempt to recreate the warmth he just took away. “I don’t want to get into it.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.” He scratches his beard. “Not right now. Eventually, though.”

“Eventually what?” I ask, gawking up at him. “I have to get into it?”

“Yeah.” He sniffs, shooting me a sidelong glance. “I’m not going to come running every time you get into a fight with him. I want to be there for you, but not like that.”

“What makes you think we got into a fight?”

“Am I wrong?”

I stop abruptly. This is the opposite of what I had in mind for us. I need my brain bleached like my bathroom tile, not another argument. “If you’re just going to yell at me, then we can part ways now.”

“Yell at you? Have I raised my voice?” he asks. “I’m just saying, I don’t want to be here with you just because he can’t be.”

“I don’t know why I want you here,” I say. “Accept that or go. I’ll understand.”

He looks at the ground a second. “Just tell me I’m not a substitution for him.”

I think Finn means more to me than that, but it’s hard to know when my heart doesn’t know what or who to beat for. I’m only sure that I’m not sure of anything. “My feelings are complicated,” I say.

“We can make this work, Sadie. But I don’t

want to be second place.”

“Finn, he’s my husband. There is no place behind his.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe it feels that way now, but it won’t always.” He engulfs both my hands, cupping them in his. “Jesus. Did you bring gloves?”

I shake my head, but I’m warmer already. Despite any reservations either of us might have, there’s real hope in his eyes. It’s infectious.

He brings our hands to his mouth and breathes hot air on them. “I’m not pushing you. I just need to know when you’re with me, you’re with me. You aren’t wishing you were—somewhere else.”

That isn’t a promise I can make, but I don’t want to hurt Finn, and I definitely don’t want him to leave. The need to have him here runs deep after this morning’s game of back-and-forth. “I want to be here,” I say, “with you.”

He kisses my knuckles, the pads of my palms. “I can see you’re sad. You don’t have to be sad. If you let me, I’ll take your pain away, sew you up, heal you. It has to get worse before it gets better, but I can do it.”

I watch him with awe. He truly is happy to be with me in this moment. “How can you be so sure about me after so little time?”

He gets lover-close and sticks my hands into their respective pockets. For a few private seconds, he laces his fingers between mine. “Honestly . . . I’ve probably lost it.”