Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  My heart begins to race. Coffee, I can handle. Antidepressants too. But alcohol? I don’t know. I’ve been down that path once and have no interest in ever returning. When Halston showed up drunk at my place that night, I figured it was a one-time thing. “Do you still drink?”

  “Occasionally, but not like that. We upped my dosage, but for whatever reason, my patterns, as Rich calls them, stuck.”

  “Patterns?”

  “I weaned myself off wine with cigarettes, which is when I lost weight. But I hated the stink of smoke, so I started running and when I got bored with that, I went shopping. A lot. I had this incredible new body to show off, after all. My dad put an end to that when he saw my credit card bills, so I moved on to coffee.”

  “That explains why the first few times I saw you, you were never without your cup.”

  “For a while, I was drinking it all day—black coffee, lattes, cold brew, however I could get it.”

  My mind reels to catch up. I’d suspected something with the coffee, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. What does it mean that she’s nearly stopped drinking it since we met? Could something else have replaced it? Me, even? “Huh,” is all I can think to say.

  “Yeah.” She swallows audibly. “The writing too. I’ve kept a journal compulsively since I left the psych ward. My counselor there got me to start it. It’s just the past few weeks I haven’t been doing it. I’m sorry.”

  She tacks the apology on so quickly, I almost miss it. “Sorry? For what?”

  “I’m not what you thought. I didn’t know about your mom. If I had, I might’ve told you all this sooner. Or not. I would’ve been afraid to freak you out.”

  “Ah,” I say. “Tell me, what would’ve happened if I’d freaked out?”

  “You’d have left,” she says. “I wouldn’t have blamed you. But now that you love me, well . . .” She looks over at me. “Maybe you’re more open to accepting my weird behaviors.”

  I bring her back into my chest. “None of it sounds weird to me.”

  “How does it sound?”

  “Like you went through something traumatic, and nobody really took care of you after.” Any concern I just felt vanishes. At her core, she’s still the fifteen-year-old girl who blames herself for her mom’s death. I doubt anyone tried to convince her otherwise. She’s not obsessed with the photos or me or sex—not that I’d mind since I can’t get enough of her, either. She just stopped drinking coffee because I’m here now, and she doesn’t need it. I satisfy her in ways nobody else has been able. Like she said—she chooses me.

  “I’m going to take care of you now,” I say. “I promise.”

  “You already have. With you, I’m . . . I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Even when I was taking drugs specifically to be happy.”

  We both laugh softly, and I kiss the top of her head. I’m even more confident now that yesterday’s chat with Rich was necessary. Maybe he’s not bad for her, but he’s not right for her. She needs a man strong enough to carry some of her burden, committed enough not to drop it when it’s too heavy. He isn’t that. He couldn’t keep the patterns at bay like I do. He didn’t protect her. “Speaking of happy stuff,” I say, “we haven’t talked about Sunday.”

  “I know. I’ve been afraid to bring it up.”

  “Me too.” As if on cue, we both sit up. She gets my t-shirt from the end of the bed. I can’t stand that she still isn’t comfortable enough to be naked with me when we aren’t in the heat of the moment, but I’ll keep working on that. She crosses her legs, and I get a peek under the shirt right before she pulls it over her crotch. We just made love, but my cock stirs. When she tries to hide herself, I’m even more tempted by her.

  “Christmas,” she says seriously.

  “Yeah. I want to spend it with you.”

  She brightens. “I want to spend it with you too.”

  I take her hand. “But I can’t. I’ve thought about it from every angle, and I just can’t make it work.”

  “Oh.” Her posture droops. “I figured.”

  “Kendra’s boyfriend talked her into giving me three days at her parents’, which is why I haven’t had Marissa since earlier this month. It’s the only way I’ll get to watch Marissa open her presents. I didn’t get to spend last Christmas with her, so . . .”

  “Then you have to go.” Halston nods. “My dad’s expecting me anyway. I wasn’t sure of your plans, so I didn’t tell him otherwise.”

  “If I could bring you, I would.” I can’t. Kendra will never let me forget how I admonished her for introducing her five-week-long boyfriend to Marissa. I’ve known Halston less time than that. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s okay.” She smiles. “I should be with my dad. It’s a difficult time of year for him because of the accident.”

  I squeeze her hand. “It’s difficult for both of you. Last year was hard for me too. Kendra had just learned about the affair.”

  “You’re lucky she came around.”

  “Yeah. Her boyfriend’s going to be good for her, I think.” This is as good an opening as I’m going to get. “So it’ll just be the two of you?”

  She opens her mouth but just looks at me.

  “Let me put it this way,” I say. “If I didn’t have Marissa to see, would you be bringing me home to meet the dad?”

  “No.” She plays with the hem of the shirt. “It wouldn’t be a good time. What with my mom’s stuff and all.”

  A movement outside catches my eye. The people in the apartment across the street have their curtains open and lights on. So do we. I wonder if they saw what we just did, if they notice us verging on an argument. “So that’s the only reason?” I ask, returning my attention to her.

  “No.”

  My throat gets dry. She’s obviously circumventing the truth, hiding something. “You promised me honesty, Halston.”

  She sucks in a breath and spits it out. “Rich will be at the house. His parents too.”

  I press my lips into a line. Rich was right, and I must’ve looked like a complete ass yesterday, peacocking around like I knew what was what. “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  She frowns. “When I was ready. You don’t corner the market on complicated.”

  “I know, so I’m asking you to explain.”

  She rubs the tip of her nose. A light goes off in the apartment across the street. “He still thinks Rich and I are a couple,” she says. “Everyone does. His parents, our colleagues. Except Benny. She knows.”

  My face warms. A couple. With Rich. I flex my hands in and out of fists. “Why?”

  “It’s a hard time of year for Dad. He’s under a lot of pressure with it being the end of the last quarter, and dealing with the anniversary of Mom’s death—”

  “How is that different from every other year?”

  “It’s not, but . . .” She crosses her legs more tightly. “I mean it is, because it’s ten years now. That’s big.”

  “I get that, I do. But there’ll always be something. At some point, you have to stop giving your dad the excuse to run your life.”

  “I tried. I told him I was ending it with Rich and stopping the meds, but it’s too much right now. I could see how stressed he was. It could only be one or the other, and I knew I could lie to him about Rich, but not about my treatment.”

  She’s not hearing me. I have to wonder if she’s making excuses so she doesn’t have to cut off her dad’s power over her. Either she’s afraid of him, or she’s gotten so used to it, she doesn’t really want the freedom she says she does. “It’s not healthy, Hals. You’ve got to come clean with him. You don’t owe him your life because of a mistake you made years ago.”

  “I’m not going to kick him when he’s down. When I’m medicated and being looked after, he doesn’t worry about me as much. I couldn’t take both those things out of the equation and expect him to be okay with that.”

  “He doesn’t have to be okay with it. You’
re a grown woman.”

  “He’s my dad.” She frowns. “I’m only talking about a few weeks. I’ll tell him after December. Why does it have to be now?”

  “Because I get the feeling you’ve been making excuses for him for a while. Is that why you never broke up with Rich?”

  Her posture slumps a little. “It’s not that black and white.”

  That answer’s as good as yes. It is the reason. She was willing to stay with Rich to make her dad happy. Would she go back to him for that reason? Her dad introduced them after all. “Is that why you got together with him in the first place? For your dad?”

  “Would it make you feel better if I did?”

  People stay in relationships for all kinds of reasons that have nothing to do with love—including not believing they deserve better. “It makes me think if push comes to shove, you’d put your dad before yourself. And that could be bad for us.”

  Her expression softens. “You still think I might go back to Rich.”

  “If your dad’s been controlling you this long, what happens if he doesn’t accept your breakup?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know how else to tell you it’s over.”

  “Does Rich know that?”

  “God, Finn, you have to understand—it means absolutely nothing. It’s just a show for my dad. Rich wants me back, but that’s his issue.”

  I lean my back against the headboard. “I’m asking you to tell your dad now. Before Rich’s family comes over.”

  “I can’t. It’s Christmas. It’ll ruin everyone’s holiday.” She looks at her hands. “I’m sorry. We’ll all spend a polite weekend together, and then I’ll come home to you.”

  “Weekend?”

  “I’m going to take the train to Westchester tomorrow after work. My mom baked on the twenty-fourth, and I think my dad would really like if I started that tradition again.”

  I look out the window. Dinner with the ex and his family isn’t how I want my girlfriend spending her holiday weekend, but I’m doing the exact same thing. I’m not sure how else to tell her what I want. “Let’s forget about it for now,” I say. “We’ll spend a few days apart, make our families happy, and before we know it, we’ll be back in bed, fucking in the new year.”

  She launches herself at me. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  I catch her and lie us back on the mattress. “But what’ll we do until then?”

  She straddles me. “I can think of a few things.”

  “You know people can see us?”

  She looks sidelong out the window. “Does it bother you?”

  I lift her t-shirt to steal a peek at her breasts, appreciating their round fullness, the pretty pink peaks. My pretty pink peaks. “A little.”

  “Aw.” She reaches between to touch me. She’s not as timid as she was when we started sleeping together. I liked her timid sometimes, but I also like her bold if it’s because I’ve made her comfortable. She sinks down on me. “You’re jealous?”

  “You would be too if—” I groan as she swivels her hips. “If you had someone others could only dream of having.”

  She drops her forehead to mine, looks me in the eye, and says, “I do.”

  I try to focus on how her warmth envelops me.

  I try not to wonder what Christmas at the Fox’s is like.

  Or if I mistakenly worried about Rich when it’s becoming clear Halston’s dad is the one pulling the strings.

  20

  I wake up early to pack for Westchester so I can spend the morning with Finn. It occurs to me as I bag up tampons that I’ve hardly been to my apartment the last few weeks. I’m not bringing much, most of what I’d need is already at my dad’s, but it’s still strange to pack here rather than at home.

  I put my overnight bag by the front door and take my phone into the kitchen. I check inside the refrigerator. I haven’t ever made Finn breakfast, but that’s usually because he’s up before me. I get out some eggs and find bacon in the freezer. While I wait for it to defrost in the microwave, I check our latest post. Only thirty-two photos in and we’re nearing three thousand followers. It’s incredible. I have friends who’ve been using the app for years and can’t crack a thousand. I’ve started tracking the number of followers we get a day. If the photos are good, we can double our numbers by posting twice in twenty-four hours. We can quadruple them or more if a bigger account shares our work.

  Not every photo works. I’ve inspected the ones that don’t—the angle, my pose, my words—to see what’s missing. I don’t have enough data to identify any patterns yet, but the sexier the photo, the more attention it gets. The peek at the tops of my stockings has been one of the most successful ones, but one of just my hair and bra strap fell flat.

  I put the phone away to search for a frying pan and bump the coffee maker with my hand.

  I forgot.

  About coffee.

  It’s not the first time this has happened. One day last week, I didn’t think about it until three in the afternoon, and that point, I didn’t feel like making any. Even before I drank it like water, I still had a cup a day.

  This must be what it feels like to be satisfied. Happy. I stopped the antidepressants on the seventeenth—the anniversary of my mom’s death—and I can’t help but think it was the right choice. Aside from some headaches, mood swings, and minor anxiety, I’ve handled the transition well.

  I get a pot going. I’m scrambling eggs when Finn zombie-walks into the kitchen wearing only boxer-briefs. His burnt-butter hair sticks up on one side, and his eyes are heavy with sleep. He yawns. “Eight solid hours, and I still feel like I was knocked out with a two-by-four.”

  “That’s the power of good pussy.”

  “The power of your pussy.” He grins. “What’s all this?”

  “What’s it look like?”

  His smile falters a little as he takes in the open cupboards, pan, orange juice on the counter. The energy in the room changes as his eyes land on the eggs. “Breakfast.”

  “Is that okay?” I asked. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

  He blinks a few times and looks back at me. “Yes. God, yes. Thank you. I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned how much I love breakfast food.”

  I laugh. “Good to know you can still surprise me after all this time.”

  “Yes, all—what’s it been, twenty days?”

  “Twenty-three. We met on the first.”

  “You met me on the first. I like to think I knew you those few days I had your journal.”

  I fluff the eggs with my spatula as Finn’s words fluff my heart. He’s more of a man than anyone I’ve been with, and yet so sweetly sensitive. When I look back, he’s leaning against the doorframe. “Sadie helped me unpack the kitchen,” he says. “And we had an inside joke about breakfast.”

  “Oh.” I turn back to the pan before he can see the disappointment on my face. Finn’s never made me feel unwelcome here, but now I know—the kitchen belongs to them. I guess she woke up early enough to surprise him. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m not upset,” he says. “I’m really fucking happy.”

  I glance over my shoulder. “Happy . . .?”

  “I just realized when I walked in here—I haven’t thought about Sadie in days. Not that I’d been thinking about her with you, but little things over the past year have reminded me of her each day, whether I like it or not. So to go without that . . .” He crosses his arms. “It’s a relief.”

  I’m not sure if I should feel as excited about that as he does, but I do. It isn’t easy to get over someone. I can’t fault him for being hung up on her after the way she hurt him. “I love you,” I tell him. I’m still testing out the words. They’re a little foreign.

  He also looks a bit startled. “I have a Christmas present for you.”

  My heart falls. It’s not the response a girl wants to hear to a declaration like that. I try not to deflate, though. Last night’s argument was foreign territory for us, and I don’t want t
o return there. I didn’t like having to stand up to Finn, but there are some things I can’t budge on. This time of year, I owe my dad my compassion.

  “A present?” I ask with a smile, trying for optimistic. “What is it?”

  He goes into the hall closet and returns with a small rectangular box wrapped in gold and green paper. The shape gives it away, and I wonder what kind of jewelry it is—bracelet or necklace. I don’t care. Either would be nice, although jewelry is the kind of thing Rich always bought because he didn’t know what else to get me.

  Finn hands me the present. “Open it.”

  “Now?”

  He nods, so I untie the metallic ribbon and carefully unfold the paper so I don’t look as eager as I feel. The box is smooth black leather, somewhat untraditional for jewelry, but then I see Mont Blanc printed across the top. The top creaks open to reveal a slim, rose gold ballpoint pen. “Wow.”

  “I thought that pink color would match the leather nicely. Of your journals.”

  “It’s beautiful. I love it.” I look up at him. This wasn’t picked out by a sales associate. Finn really thought about what I’d like. But my dad has a couple of these pens—they aren’t cheap. “You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

  “I want to.” He cups my face, brushing his index finger over the tattoo behind my ear. “I love you too, by the way.”

  The gesture warms my skin—and my soul. Acknowledging my tattoo when he says he loves me is accepting that my pain is part of me, and it doesn’t scare him. “I also have something for you.”

  “I don’t need anything more than this,” he says and kisses me.

  “Be that as it may, I already paid for it, and it’s non-refundable.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “It doesn’t come in a box, and it can’t be wrapped, but it’ll be delivered next week. Aren’t you curious?”

  He narrows his eyes playfully. “All right. What is it?”

  I grin. “A new website.”

  “A what?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “No way. Can’t be.”