“You have a dog?” I ask.
It’s his turn to look uncomfortable. He takes his hand out of mine and wipes it on his jeans. “If she got pregnant, I’d just feel more hopeless than I do now. I think it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
As much as what he’s saying puts me off, because as a woman, I can relate better to Kendra, I also admire him. It isn’t always easy to tell your partner what you don’t want. “It’d be easier for you to just give in to her.”
“You have no idea. We have to have the discussion every few months, and it’s never pretty.”
“So you don’t have sex?” My tongue gets looser the more time I spend with Finn. I think that means I’m comfortable, but I’m not sure. I’m not this way with many people. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Why not? Don’t you think you have a right to know?”
“I don’t know that I have any rights . . .”
“You and I are sleeping together, so, yes, you do.”
“And Kendra and Nathan don’t have a right to know?”
He frowns. “I can’t exactly just tell Kendra about you. I’d have to divorce her first.”
He says divorce casually, as if it’d take no more than a phone call. I wonder how long he’s been thinking about leaving her. It might not have as much to do with me as I think, and that gives me some comfort. “Is that what you want?” I ask.
“I . . .” When he moves, the gummy bench grunts like some kind of sea mammal. “We’ve talked about a lot today. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Overwhelm me.”
We’re both surprised by my challenge. We’ve been circling this topic all afternoon, though. I don’t think it’ll help anything to go home tonight with more questions than answers.
“All right,” he accepts. “If you told me you were ready, I’d have the first of many difficult conversations with Kendra. My ideal situation would be to end things with her, share custody of Marissa, and be with you.”
He moves back a little. I’m grateful for the space. I asked to be overwhelmed, and I think I might be. I can’t tell if I’m feeling butterflies or barbed wire in my stomach. He’s serious about me. Is that a surprise, though? This has never been a fling. We aren’t take-it-or-leave-it fucking. I might, on some level, use Finn to escape my situation with Nathan, but when Finn’s inside me, I’m not thinking of anything else.
“You want me to love you,” I state.
“I do. I don’t expect it now, and maybe I shouldn’t expect it at all. I want it, though.”
This must be what it feels like to free-fall without a net. We’re moving fast, but it might be up or down, left or right, right or wrong. I don’t know. I can see myself with Finn. I’m not sure I can see myself without Nathan.
Finn blows out a breath. “Heavy, huh?”
“A little.”
“I think you get it, though. What we could be. I see it in your eyes.”
What do I really know about Finn? I take stock. First, the green couch would have to go. The record player could stay. I don’t have any vinyl, but I like music. I can make him dinner with his cast iron skillet. Marissa would have her own bedroom that I could help decorate. Ginger has claimed nooks and crannies in our apartment, but Finn has the same ones. They’re just on the other side of the hall. What becomes of Ginger, though? What becomes of Nathan?
“I just need some time to adjust to the idea,” I say. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I feel I need to be explicit. “More time than this.”
“Believe me, Sadie, I get it.” He looks earnest, almost happy. Not like I expected. “We’re not seriously talking about this. You know that, right?” He covers my hand again. “I just have a hard time keeping my feelings inside. And I can’t stand to see you living like a zombie, doing your best not to set him off.”
I raise my eyebrows. My marriage has been a drain lately, but my heart still beats strongly. For Nathan, and now, for Finn too. “Do I seem like a zombie to you?”
“Not right now,” he teases, smiling warmly. “Right now, you’re alive. You’re radiant.” He chuckles. “And now, you’re blushing. You don’t know what that does to me, seeing you get shy.” He kisses my cheek, my temple. “See? I know you so much better, just from one simple, not-so-simple question.”
I can barely remember what the question was, especially with Finn’s lips on me. It wouldn’t be such a bad life, fucking in movie theaters, warming each other up with hot chocolate, kisses, and dreams. What girl wouldn’t want to be told she’s radiant, to have a handsome photographer make her feel undeniably sexy, to have had a romantic moment in her past so powerful, it remapped her life? It wouldn’t be such a bad life.
But, I can’t help feeling it would never move above second place.
Finn pays the bill, and I realize he never answered my question about sex. From what he’s told me about Kendra, I don’t think of them as intimate. They must be, though, after so many years together. Even if it’s occasional. And what if it’s not? What if the next time he goes to Connecticut, he does to her what he did to me?
The thought makes me uneasy. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy, or something else, but my timing is off. It doesn’t feel right to bring it up now that we’re leaving. I put my coat on, pick up my purse, and follow him out.
Ashley is chipper as ever. “Enjoy your stay!” she calls after us. I wonder just how new she is to the city.
When we’re on the sidewalk, Finn says without looking at me, “I want to get you that Burberry coat.”
I balk. “No, Finn. Absolutely not.”
“I insist. Let’s just pretend it really is my fault your coat was ruined. I like to think it played a part in our love story.”
“Finn, really. I can afford my own coat.”
“I know. But I’m offering. How can you say no?”
Admittedly, it’s hard to turn down Burberry. Since I got a raise and Nate turned his down, I haven’t wanted to spend too much on myself. We’re in a better place financially than we’ve ever been, but it still feels a little like rubbing it in his face. “I can’t just show up at home with Burberry,” I point out.
“Would he notice?”
His question physically pierces, like a little knife. Nathan knows the contents of our closet. He would notice if he cared enough to look. All my pulse points throb at once for what seems to be slipping through my hands more every day.
“I’m sorry,” Finn says. “That was insensitive. Please don’t frown.”
“It’s okay.”
“Why don’t you keep it at my place?” he suggests. “At least for a little bit.” Without waiting for my answer, he takes my hand. We cross the street. When we’re on the other side, he ducks into a cramped doorway of an apartment building. He pulls my front flush against his, drapes me back over his forearm, and ghosts his mouth over mine. His whiskers tickle my upper lip. “By the way, it’s blue,” he says. “My favorite color.”
I try unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. “So what does the color blue say about you?”
He studies all the parts of my face—mouth, nose, ears, chin—as if he’s memorizing it for an exam. Then his eyes return to mine. “It says I never had a favorite color until I met this girl in a coffee shop with eyes so blue, they’re almost purple, like the absolute final moments before sunrise. This girl stayed on my mind. When I saw things like a cluster of irises or a peacock at the zoo, I would think of her and say to myself, that is my favorite color.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Amelia pays the cab fare and meets me on the busy curb outside of Chelsea Market. Without even a glance, she swipes away the one wrinkle in her loud DVF wrap dress. “As I was saying,” she continues our conversation from the car, “Misty Burroughs is not a woman we want to disappoint.”
“Who do we want to disappoint?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Watch it. As much as I like you, I’m still your boss.”
“Oh,” my tone and moveme
nts are flowery as I pull on the marketplace’s heavy door, “let me get that for you, Miss Van Ecken.”
She grins smugly. “That’s more like it, minion.”
Once indoors, I pluck my gloves off by the fingers and stick them in my pocket. Amelia unfurls her scarf. I automatically fix the static flyaways that stick to her collar.
“The coat was a good choice,” Amelia says, eyeing me. “Misty can probably pick out Burberry blindfolded.”
I unbutton the collar. It’s funny how quickly a person can go from freezing cold to burning up in this city. When Amelia called me this morning to say we had an impromptu lunch meeting with the on-fire online entrepreneur, I’d waited until Nathan had left for work to knock on Finn’s door.
“You wore me out Sunday,” he teased, still half asleep. Two days later, my body was also still stiff. He passed me my brand new, navy Burberry coat, then kissed me. “Sorry for my morning breath,” he said, and I sighed, “I wish I cared.”
“That’s why I picked you for this meeting,” Amelia is saying. “I don’t know when or where you got that coat, I’ve never seen it before, but you’re good at pulling things out of your ass right when we need them.”
“I assure you, this did not come from my ass,” I say. We cross the indoor, warehouse-style food hall packed with gourmet eateries, curated gift shops, and bookstores. “Where are we meeting her?”
“Friedman’s.”
The rustic restaurant is small, with glass windows and a door that opens to the market. “There’s not a lot of space,” I say.
“I know, but she insisted. She swears by their Reuben.”
I’m quite sure Amelia hasn’t looked at bread in years, but I’m a regular consumer. “I’m surprised I haven’t been here,” I say. “I’m always on the lookout for good sandwich spots.”
“I would’ve taken her to Cipriani, but word on the street is that she’s leaving her current firm because they’re too stuffy. So, this is me, going with the flow.” She looks around. We avoid the community tables and pick a four-top near the front. “Let’s set up. We have about ten minutes before she arrives.”
We clear off empty cartons and balled up napkins. Thanks to the lunch crowd, it’s noisy and warm. Amelia pulls out a file. I’m about to sit when I do a double take at the counter. Nathan is in line waiting to order. He throws his head back and laughs. Bumping into my own husband is strange enough, so it takes me a moment to notice he isn’t alone.
I shift my eyes to the woman next to him and recognize her immediately, even without her Quench Coffee apron and nametag. There’s no mistaking Gisele’s petite frame and long, black curls. Her youthful glow.
Heat races from my chest to my neck and ears. The din of the crowd becomes excruciatingly loud, the overhead lights searing.
“Sadie?” Amelia asks. “What’s wrong?”
My hand is clenched around the back of the chair. Nathan is hard to miss. He’s tall, lean, with a full head of beautiful, brown hair. But this can’t be him. He hasn’t laughed like that in weeks.
I tried to make him lunch this morning—I used to do it a few times a week before I was promoted—but his distracted “no thanks” felt like a slap in the face. Now, I understand. Why would he want his wife’s boring lunch when he could have the city’s best Reuben with adorable, perky Gisele?
I’d convinced myself I was paranoid. But am I really one of those wives who chose denial over reality? It hits me that I never truly believed Nathan could cheat on me. It’s too out of character, even with his recent distance. But here’s my proof, right in front of my eyes. And I can’t ignore it anymore.
“Excuse me a second,” I tell Amelia as I walk away from the table.
“I thought we’d wait for Misty to order—” The ringing in my ears drowns her out. My eyes are lasered on Nathan’s back. He sticks his hands in his pockets like a smug bastard.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I approach.
Nathan pauses a second, then looks back. His face brightens, but he shuts it down immediately. “Sadie.”
Gisele turns around too. “Hey, Sadie. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I asked what you’re doing here,” I say to Nathan.
He thins his lips, gesturing toward the register. “Getting lunch. What are you doing here?”
“Meeting a client.” I wait. For what, I don’t know. A bumbling excuse? A confession? An outburst? This is new to me, but I know one thing—Nathan is a shit liar. It won’t be long before he breaks down. “You just randomly walked all the way here from work?” I accuse.
“It’s only a few avenues. I come here all the time.”
“That’s news to me,” I say.
“I’ve told you about this place lots of times, Sadie,” he says. “I’ve tried to lure you to meet me here with sandwiches, remember?”
“Bullshit.” The word sandwiches jumps out at me, but whether he’s actually mentioned this place before isn’t important. I turn on Gisele. “What about you?”
She shifts her doe-brown eyes up to Nathan. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“No—”
“Wrong?” I ask. I’ve known her almost a year. That’s almost a year she’s looked me in the eye each morning and smiled as if we were friends. “Answer my question. Why are you here?”
“Sadie,” Nathan scolds, shocked.
“Well, I’m not really supposed to tell,” Gisele says, hedging. As if she recognizes I’m about to explode, she talks faster. “They’re trying to keep it a secret until we know more, but we’re looking to open a second location here in Chelsea Market. You wouldn’t believe the foot traffic this place gets.”
I purse my lips. Convenient. She’s made that up on the spot and has the audacity to stare up at Nate as if he’s going to come to her rescue. As if he has all the answers. My blood boils at the way she innocently draws her eyebrows. I should win a medal for not wringing her neck. “How opportune. So you just happen to be here, walking around?”
“Kind of.” By her hesitation, she’s choosing her words carefully. “I mean, the owner and I just met with the property manager about a space a few doors down. I decided to stay for lunch and ran into Nathan. He let me cut in line.”
“That’s true,” gruffs an old man behind them. “She cut.”
I return my glare to Nathan, who’s looking at me like I’m a science project he can’t figure out, and shake my head. “Liar.”
The area immediately around us gets quiet. Slowly, he narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”
We stare each other down. Neither of us speaks. My heart beats everywhere—in my ears, my throat, my stomach. “You heard me,” I say, “you fucking liar. I’ve been tiptoeing around, trying to play nice for you, giving you the benefit of the doubt. But all this time—months—” My throat locks up, strangling my words. I can barely get them out. “I was right.”
“Right about what?” he asks.
“You’re having an affair—”
“Oh, no!” Gisele gasps as her chin wobbles. “No, no, no. Sadie, you have it all wrong. I swear.”
Nathan’s mouth is as wide open as his brown eyes. He doesn’t even blink.
“You must think I’m an idiot,” I say, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice. “That I had no clue what was going on. Well, I’ve been onto you for weeks, Nate. At first, I thought it was Joan—”
Nathan takes my arm roughly. I go immediately silent, surprised by his grip. “Excuse us, Gisele,” he says. “And I have to apologize for my wife. I am so sorry about this.” He pulls me out of the line, over to a corner that’s marginally more private, and loosens his hand but continues to hold me. “What is the matter with you?” he asks. “Joan?”
“I thought she was the one,” I say, shaking my head. “Maybe she is. Is she? Is there more than one woman?”
He barks out a short, surprised laugh. “You need to calm down. You’re making a scene for no reason.”
“No reason?” I try to
wiggle loose, but he won’t let me. Gisele rushes by us in a flurry of black ringlets, her head down. “This explains so much about the past few months,” I say loudly enough for her to hear. “Why even put me through this? Why not just cut me loose?”
Nathan’s eyes go round, and he turns sheet-white—as, likely, do I, because blood drains from my face. This is it. I can see his realization that he’s been caught. This is really happening. “Wait,” he says. “You seriously think I’m having an affair? Like seriously?”
“How many?” I ask quietly.
“How many . . .?” He closes his mouth and swallows hard. “There’s only you, Sadie. How could you possibly think I would . . . that I could even touch another . . .?”
I close my eyes. Even if he deserves it, I don’t like the pain in his face. “I know about the lipstick on your tie.”
He releases me, and I look at him again. “What lipstick?” he asks, pinching his eyebrows together.
“After bowling practice a couple weeks ago.” I can’t help picturing the deep red smear, and it spurs me forward. “I was going through the laundry, and I saw it.”
“Saw what? Lipstick? On my tie?”
I’m growing tired of this back-and-forth, of feeling like I have to watch where I step and plan my maneuvers. Finn was right. Nathan is playing games, and it has to end here. If he doesn’t stop, he’ll push me right into Finn’s arms. “This isn’t a game, Nate,” I say, steadying my voice. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Game? You think all this has been a game?”
“Whose lipstick was it?”
He slow-blinks. “I don’t know—it was probably ketchup. I eat a lot of fries when we play. Nine times out of ten, I spill on myself.”
“Ketchup,” I repeat without inflection. Red and sticky, it’s a handy excuse, but I’m not buying it. “What about the other night when you came back from the hospital smelling like a bar?”
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 24
