Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

When he swallows, his throat ripples. “No. I want you to be honest.”

“We’ve done it in public, but not with other people in the room.”

“You liked that, though?” he asks hesitantly. “It seemed like you did.”

“Yes. You have rough edges. Nathan doesn’t take things to that level very often.”

He strokes my hair away from my face. “It’s just because you make me crazy.”

I smile so Finn doesn’t see the hurt on my face. Does he think I don’t make Nathan crazy? Is that why Nathan needs a slut? Is Nathan going to someone else looking for what I can’t give him? There are, after all, things I might be incapable of giving. Things he deserves. Things that sleep deep inside me, a black, empty pit in my stomach. Nobody can fill that void, probably not even Nathan at this point. If he isn’t planning on leaving me, if he still cares at all, he still couldn’t fix this feeling that I’ve failed him as a wife.

“There you go, looking sad again,” Finn says. “You’re thinking about him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. We’re going through so much, and I can’t even pinpoint what’s wrong. I’m lost.”

“If he isn’t talking to you, he’s talking to someone else. I hate to say that, but more than likely it’s true. Look at us.”

Yes, look at us, where we aren’t supposed to be. Or do I have that all wrong? Am I finally where I belong? I don’t know anymore. “Do you think Kendra’s talking to someone else?”

“No. She doesn’t want anyone else. Normally, we’re pretty candid.”

“But, you haven’t mentioned—”

“Of course not. I might, if I weren’t worried about her family trying to keep me from Marissa.”

I take his hand. Of course, I’ve considered Marissa. She’s nearly old enough to understand our affair. I haven’t thought about her in terms of divorce and custody, though. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

“It just means we have to be a little more careful. And if we decide to—”

Our waitress whistles and sings, “Yoohoo, love birds. Hope you’re hungry.” Ashley wears an enormous grin as she delivers spinach-and-artichoke dip, fries, and a basket of chicken tenders. “First time in New York? It’s romantic, isn’t it?” She clucks her tongue. We’re both looking up at her. “Just wait ’til it snows. Hope you get a chance to see it during your visit. Your hot chocolate’ll be right up.”

Finn turns back to me and laughs. “When people think we’re together, I swear, it turns me into a teenage girl. I love it.”

He kisses the tip of my nose when I wrinkle it. “It is fun,” I say. “Like acting.”

“Yeah.” He feeds me a fry and then eats one himself. “As I was saying, an affair wouldn’t look good in a custody battle. If it were anyone else, I’d stay away, but it’s not. It’s you, my coffee girl.”

His coffee girl. I’d smile, but my mouth is full.

“If it were to come to that, though,” he continues, “I mean, let’s be frank. We’re adults here. How do you feel about kids? Why don’t you and Nathan have any?”

My angora sweater is already itchy, but the neckline starts to burn against my skin. I scratch my throat. His question is simple, but I don’t even know where to begin. I swallow my food. “Kids?” I repeat.

“Yeah. How do you feel about being a stepmom? Hypothetically. Or not. I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you off, but I can’t not ask.”

The restaurant is suddenly bright. I pull on my neckline. Maybe Marissa is a blessing I hadn’t considered. An answer to the lonely part of me not even Nathan can touch. “I don’t know if I can talk about this.”

“Why not?”

I scrunch my eyebrows. Kids? How do I feel about them? It’s complicated. I don’t even understand my feelings, and I’m sure any way I try to express them will come out wrong. It’s been months since Nathan and I talked about having a baby, and since then, so much has changed. “I just can’t.”

He stops chewing and tips his head to one side. “Sadie. Babe. You’re in pain.”

“Aren’t we all?”

He sighs. “I guess. I know I am. Kendra is.”

“Nathan is,” I say.

“You make me happy, though,” he says. His smile is forced, but I really do appreciate the effort. “If he’s cheating on you, I’ll kill him. I will.”

“Finn. That’s not really fair.”

“Maybe not. But if I were a fair man, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I frown. Whatever Finn says about himself is also true of me. There’s no getting around that. I’ve let Nathan down, and it isn’t the first time. I used to make him happy, though. Now, I don’t even have that to fall back on.

The truth is, cheating on Nathan isn’t even the worst thing I’ve ever done to him.

Finn puts down a chip he’s already dipped. His eyebrows are drawn. “What is it?” he asks.

I just say it. “I had an abortion when I was younger.”

The skin at the base of Finn’s neck pulses with his quickening heartbeat. “I see,” he says. “And you regret it.”

I look up at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“Oh. No—I’m not saying you should, I just thought—” Finn looks as uncomfortable he sounds. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to assume.”

“I get it, though. A normal person would regret it. I, on the other hand, was relieved.”

He taps a finger on the laminate table. “I don’t think there’s any ‘normal’ in that kind of situation,” he says slowly, as if his thoughts are forming at the pace of his words. “Whatever you felt, someone else has felt that too.”

I shrug one shoulder. “I guess. It was the right decision at the time.” I swallow. “Except that, well,” my heart rate picks up, “now, Nathan and I can’t get pregnant.”

A look of fear flashes over his face before he schools it. “You’re trying?”

“We were,” I slice my way through the thicket of words in my way, “for seven months. It was awful, so we stopped. I went back on birth control. He thinks we still have a chance, but I think I fucked that chance up.” Once they’re out there, words I haven’t even said to my husband, a realization hits me. All this time, I’ve been waiting for Nathan to recognize the significance of my profound flaw. And then what? Leave?

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“I had my chance to be a mother,” I say, “and I passed it up. I made the best choice I could at that time.”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it,” he says, almost incredulously. “You, who doesn’t even believe in fate, think you have an allotted number of tries to conceive?”

“Maybe it’s crazy, but I can’t get pregnant. There’s the proof.” My hands are curled in my lap, all bloodless white knuckles and engorged red fingertips. I try not to want it. Most days, it works, but Finn has forced open a door I usually keep closed.

“Is there evidence linking abortions to future pregnancy problems?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“So? There you go.”

“We were so excited when we started trying. But then it didn’t happen, and I felt responsible. The more we talked about it, the further away it felt. I don’t want to put him through the disappointment anymore.”

Finn isn’t as close as he was a minute ago, but we’re still huddled in a corner. When he breathes hard, I feel it on my face.

I scoot toward him. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Sadie—”

“I’m fine.” I nearly force him out of the booth, feeling light-headed. “Really. I’ll just be a minute.”

I feel Finn’s eyes on me as I hurry away, and all I can wonder is what exactly he sees.