Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it? The lies? The sneaking around?” I ask, and I genuinely want to know. I want to try and understand Nathan. Why he feels I don’t need him. How my excluding him from decisions made him feel left out of our marriage.

She flaps her lips with a pfft. “People always say that. The worst part is that he put his dick in another person.”

Amelia paints a vivid picture. If the tables were turned, and Nathan had been inside someone else, I think I’d tear my hair out trying to get the image out of my mind. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I can tell,” Amelia says, happy to get in a jab whenever she can. “Now’s the time to lean on your girlfriends. Shit, lean on me if you need. I don’t do ice cream, but I’ll kill a bottle of Glenlivet with you.” She crosses her arms. “Whatever it takes, do it. Staying together never turns out well.”

Because it’s cold outside, the heater is turned up too high. I play with the collar of my sweater. I think of Finn, who’s made the decision to leave Kendra. Then, of my brother, who’s a single dad. Lastly, I remember all the times my parents brought the house down with their bickering, and how I wished they’d do whatever it took to make it stop, including divorce.

But is that Nathan and me? I thought we were the opposite of all that. I thought we were perfect. If Nathan hadn’t forced me to the edge without anywhere to turn, if I didn’t have Finn waiting in the wings, I don’t think our marriage ever would’ve ended. “I don’t know if I believe that. There must be some couples who make it through infidelity.”

She doesn’t look surprised. “You think?” she asks, checking her nails.

“Maybe something like this can make a relationship stronger. I’m not saying it can ever be considered a good thing, but years down the line, if we’re better off . . .”

She waits for me to continue. “What? You’ll be grateful?”

“More like it’ll bind us in an unbreakable way.”

“I guess that could happen,” she says. “Or—the next time life gets rough, he cheats again. And then what?”

“Well,” I rub my palms over my hips, “it wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do it again.”

She laughs, but there’s nothing about the noise she makes that sounds happy. “That makes sense. You ride off into the sunset, never again to nag him about an unemptied dishwasher or spending too much time with his friends. Beautiful women never deign to tempt him again.” Amelia waves a dismissive hand, her eyes glinting with delight. “Let his mistress deal with him. She’ll be sorry soon enough.”

“Is Reggie dating the woman he cheated with?”

“Of course not!” Amelia throws back her head and howls. “Two weeks in, the bastard was back on my doorstep. She probably refused to clean his shit-stained underwear. Why should she? She didn’t love him. I’m better off.”

She’s better off. Is Reggie? Nathan won’t have any problem meeting another woman, and I’ll have Finn. We’ll all be better off—won’t we? I don’t know if it’s fair that picturing Nathan with someone else, with a whole new family, makes me physically ill.

“Sadie, if you hear nothing else, hear this. A man like that will never love you more than he loves himself. If he does—if he truly loves you—he’ll understand that, and he’ll let you go.”

Her words lay heavy on my heart. Nathan has used the word selfish more than once over the past few weeks. Up until recently, I soaked up his adoration without apology. He liked it that way, though. Wherever we were in life, he always made me feel special, and to have him turn around and call me selfish for that hurts. But if that’s what he wants—my selflessness—maybe walking away is the way to give that to him. I’m not going to change anytime soon, and Nathan is unhappy with me. Amelia might be right. My decision to leave Nathan may just be best for all of us.

THIRTY-FOUR

When the door to Andrew’s house opens, I have to drop my gaze about three feet, because it isn’t my brother behind it. My niece, Bell, is undoubtedly a Beckwith, with purple-blue eyes and dark hair like Andrew and me.

“Aunt Sadie,” she screeches at a pitch that sends Andrew sprinting from the kitchen.

“What’d I tell you about answering the front door at night?” Andrew asks her, hitching up his sagging sweatpants.

Bell shrugs up at me. “That if I didn’t recognize the person, I should kick their—”

“All right,” he cuts her off, palming her small head like it’s a basketball. He raises his eyebrows at me. “What’re you doing here?”

I drop my duffel bag at my feet. “I needed a place to stay for the night.”

“You know Nate’s looking for you?”

I sigh. I haven’t spoken to him since he walked out the door with Ginger, although I did call the vet before I left work. Apparently Ginger is sedated at home. “No, I didn’t. I couldn’t find my phone this morning. It’s somewhere in the apartment.”

“Let me get that for you, aunt Sadie,” Bell says, grabbing my bag by its strap. It’s half her size, so she drags it over the doorway.

“Did your daddy teach you such good manners?” I ask, suppressing a smile.

“No. He says you aren’t a guest—you’re just family. I disagree, though.”

“I see.” I purse my lips at Andrew. “Just family?”

“Sellout,” he mutters.

I saw Andrew over Halloween when I took Bell trick-or-treating. So much has happened since then, though. We’re not a hugging family, but I go right to him.

He opens his arms automatically. “What’s wrong, Satan?”

I laugh into his chest. Andrew has always had my back, even as kids, but sometimes, he just didn’t like me. Like when I spied on him and his friends. Or when I warned his high school girlfriend he was going to dump her. Instead of Sadie, those times I became Satan, his evil sister.

I pull back and look up at him. With his high cheekbones, and slicked black hair, he’s a spitting image of our grandfather. He died when I was young, but since our dad wasn’t much of a role model, Andrew idolized Grandpa Beckwith.

Bell sings a string of la-las as she drags my duffel into the guest room. “We’ll talk later,” I say, nodding in her direction.

He shuts the door behind me. “You hungry? I just finished dinner. Spicy kale omelets.”

I unbutton my coat and follow him through the house. Against the odds, my brother has done well for himself. He skipped college to work for minimum wage at White Castle and was soon managing multiple locations in the northeast. He spent his nights learning to fix cars and restore classics from our grandfather’s friend, who then retired and sold Andrew his garage.

Bell skids in behind us, scrambling onto a barstool that looks too high for her. According to Andrew, she’s number one in her gymnastics class—even though I’m pretty sure the children aren’t ranked. “On Thursdays, we have breakfast for dinner,” she explains. “Because there are no rules.”

“There are some rules,” I say, shooting a warning glance at Andrew, “aren’t there?”

Andrew shrugs. He isn’t a typical father by any means, but he’s the best one I know. When Bell’s mom up and left them a few years ago, Nathan and I came for a weekend. Nathan took Bell everywhere he could think of to distract a three-year-old. Andrew and I stayed at the house, where I locked him inside and taught him how to cook, launder, make a bed, and clean. He was a fast learner, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

I eat the eggs and groan. “You’ve come a long way, grasshopper. What’s in this?”

He grins his signature, lady-killer smile. “And the teacher becomes the student.”

I toss a crispy breakfast potato at him. He pops it in his mouth. “I’m still light years ahead of you,” I say defensively. I take another bite. “I think.”

“Aunt Sadie,” Bell says. “I know all the words to the Rolling Stones.”

I raise my eyebrows at Andrew. “Seriously? That’s what you make her listen to?”

“She loves it.

Don’t you, Bluebell?”

She looks stressed. “I try to listen to what my friends like,” she says seriously, “but when I do, I can’t get no satisfaction.”

Andrew and I laugh. She fights a giggle, but one corner of her mouth tugs. Andrew probably told her it wasn’t cool to laugh at her own jokes. Sounds like something he’d say.

After dinner, I help Bell with her homework while Andrew washes dishes. “I’m going to call Nathan,” he says, drying his hands. “I know he’s worried. You want to talk to him?”

I scratch my temple. I’m not sure what there is to say over the phone. Nathan must be even more tired than I am considering he didn’t sleep last night. And there’ll be plenty of time to fight when I get back. “No. Just ask him how Ginger’s doing.”

Bell’s head shoots up, but before she can ask, Andrew does. “What happened to Ginge?”

I pet Bell’s silky hair and look at Andrew over her head. “Nothing. She’s fine.”