My heart doesn’t beat—it throbs like an open wound no bandage could hold together. Who could possibly have Nathan’s attention? Finn’s wife was beautiful and funny—why would he want to kiss me when he has her?
Even if I could stomach the thought of confronting Nathan tonight, I can’t. It’s his night out, and he’ll be at Brooklyn Bowl. Still, I can’t help hoping, as I make my way home from work, that he’s waiting there for me. That he regrets turning me away this morning.
I’m steps away from my apartment when the door to 6A opens behind me. “Sadie.” Finn’s urgency echoes in the hall. I stop. Nathan hasn’t said my name with that much emotion in a while. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
It may be the wrong man. It may be the wrong apartment. But I got my wish. There is someone waiting for me after all.
NINE
“Let me explain,” Finn says.
I don’t turn around. I can think more clearly if I don’t see him. “You have a family.”
“Yes, but—”
“You lied.”
“No,” he says. “I tried to tell you after our walk to the dry cleaners, but you shut me down. You knew I had something important to say, and you didn’t want to hear it.”
I keep my eyes forward, unsure who’s at fault. A few more steps, and I’d be home. Ginger is most likely waiting in the entryway. Sometimes, I think she hears me coming from the elevator. “You should’ve told me anyway,” I say, but I hear the waver in my own voice.
Finn’s door closes and latches shut. He comes up behind me. “Let’s not do this out here.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“You know why.”
I ball my fists. If I press him, whatever’s between us will no longer be unspoken. Deny it as I might, the fact remains that Finn’s here and Nathan isn’t.
Finn takes my elbow.
I glance back at him, startled by the warmth of his hand, the way it melds with my skin. “Where are they?” I ask.
“Not here.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
I shouldn’t have turned. Now I don’t want to look away. I’m reminded of how nice it is just to be near him. “You locked yourself out,” I say.
His green eyes mellow. He digs into his pocket, opens his fist, and shows me a key. He leads me to his door, keeping his free hand on me as he unlocks it. His hold is authoritative. Strong. I let him pull me into his apartment.
He slides my handbag over my shoulder and puts it on the ground. He goes for my coat, but I stop him.
“You’ll overheat,” he says simply.
After a moment, my shoulders ease. I let him take it off. Entering his apartment is like nearing the equator.
“Can I get you a drink?”
I don’t know why I’m here. I’ve never been very good at denying myself, and I’d rather be here than in my empty apartment right now. I walk farther inside. Sunlight is dying, streaming reddish-orange rays through the open window. A draft flaps the cover of a paperback on the ledge. In the center of the room, propped on a sideways wooden crate, is a record player.
“Kendra never let me get one,” he says from behind me. “If it’s not the latest thing, it’s better left in the past. Everything in New York is old to her.”
The record sleeve has grayed, worn edges. Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits.
I turn and look at him across the room. I think he’s keeping his distance. “So what is it?” I ask.
“What?”
“You’re separated? Getting a divorce?” I cross my arms. “Mid-life crisis?”
“Worse.”
It’s getting darker. A car horn blares in the street.
“None of the above,” he says. “We’re fine.”
Instantly, I understand how that’s worse. Finn and I both have other places we should go and try to be happy. “You’re not separated?”
He shakes his head. “Like anyone else, we have our issues. But once things are wrapped up at the house, she and Marissa move in. I came early to set up the place, and, to be honest,” he pauses, “to get some alone time.”
“When?”
“End of the month. After Thanksgiving.”
My nails bite into my palms. “But you wanted to kiss me.”
“You didn’t want me to?”
Though I’m not always up front, I’ve never been much for lying. “I did,” I admit.
“You’re not separated, either. You’re not having doubts about Nathan.” He pins me with a look. “Are you?”
“No,” I say too emphatically.
“So why am I the bad guy? This isn’t one-way. We’re attracted to each other.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but we both know it’s true. I’ll only sound defensive. Adults should be able to talk about these things. “Fine,” I agree. “But you should’ve told me about them. You weren’t wearing a wedding ring.”
He shows me his hand, where there’s still no evidence of his commitment. “I don’t wear it while I unpack. I’m alone in my apartment. I wasn’t trying to trick you.”
I rake my hands through my hair. “It doesn’t matter. You have a child.”
“Would that have changed how you feel?”
“Yes,” I say. “I wouldn’t have—”
“What?”
I didn’t come over here last night with any intention other than helping a new friend. Would I have told him, days ago, he couldn’t walk me to the dry cleaner because he has a family? No. It was innocent. Now I know the truth, and I’m still here.
Sweat drips down my temple, and I swipe it away. “What now?”
He crosses the room and stands in front of me. His presence is palpable, like a stroke against my arm or a hand around my neck.
He reaches out. I struggle with my protest, but he just picks up the record and slides it out of the sleeve. “It’s been a while since I did this,” he says.
I study his face, but he’s focused on getting the vinyl on the player. The song warbles a little before it plays. He shuts his eyes and moves closer to me, as if it doesn’t count if he can’t see. “Nice, isn’t it? ‘Ball and Chain.’”
He’s referring to the song, but his smug irony isn’t lost on me. I don’t respond. The wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he smiles. His beard is darkening to dirty blond as it grows in. Suddenly, I can’t remember the exact shade of his irises, if they’re pine trees or emeralds.
“Finn.”
He opens his eyes. They’re a rich forest green, but his pupils expand, turning them dark. Looking down his nose at me, he sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s close enough to nudge me with his elbow. “I bought this at a thrift store tonight. After Kendra left.”
“Will she be mad?”
“She’s already mad. Where’s Nathan?”
“None of your business.”
“I answered your questions.”
“I didn’t hold a gun to your head.”
“Is he home?” he asks.
I frown. Not answering isn’t any better than lying, but I can’t peel a yes from my mouth. It’s not true.
“Stay,” he says. “Have a drink.”
“It’s a million degrees in here.”
“You don’t mind.”
My huff comes out a sultry exhale. “I don’t?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
He’s even closer now. Close enough that it really does feel like it might be a hundred or more degrees in here. He presses the tip of his shoe into mine like a kiss. I could easily move away. I have half the living room behind me. “Are they coming back?” I ask.
“Not tonight. They couldn’t take the heat.”
The heat is intense, but not enough to keep a family apart. “That isn’t the reason.”
“Marissa has to go back to school tomorrow. Kendra hates the city. I don’t have space for a second car. Our beds haven’t arrived yet. Take your pick.”
My chest rises and falls. Neither of us even blink. “W
here do you sleep then?”
“Mattress on the floor,” he says. “It’s enough.”
My throat is raw. I realize it has been since I left the bathroom this morning. It’s thick with unshed tears and bottled accusations. With lust, served neat, undiluted and strong. “Do you get hot?”
“Unbearably.”
The record sticks. With his hands still shoved in his pockets, he leans forward and plants his lips on mine. We each go stiff, breathing through our noses. Here’s a man who wants me. I can sense it in his every movement, no matter how restrained. I don’t think there was ever a moment he didn’t want me. And what about me? Haven’t I wondered about those pillowy lips of his? He touches my cheek. Keeping my eyes closed, I lean into his balmy palm.
He pulls away but leaves his hand. Our eyes meet. He slides his thumb firmly over my mouth, so my teeth slice against the inside of my bottom lip.
“Sadie.” He treats my name like it’s some kind of command. He doesn’t care that it doesn’t belong to him. He doesn’t ask my permission.
The music continues to skip. The last light disappears fast, as if turning a blind eye—let the dusk deal with cheaters and liars.
Finn lowers his head. I should stop him. He’s risking even more than I am—and yet, that’s part of why I don’t want to. There’s nothing headier than being wanted that badly. My stomach is all rocks and butterflies. I’m back in ninth grade, in a stranger’s garden, strangling a red plastic cup in my hand as I receive my first kiss. How can it feel the same, when back then, there were no stakes?
He wraps his other arm around my neck and draws me in like he can’t wait another second. His lips on mine are a thousand times better than my first kiss. I’ve had years of practice since then. Finn’s mouth is soft but greedy. I try to keep up.
He tightens his hold on me, and his groan tastes sweet like candy. I can’t resist hugging him back, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt. Hard, alive, he presses against my stomach, and the butterflies go wild.
I haven’t seen another man’s cock in seven years.
Panic smacks me in the chest. My excitement incinerates into a puff of smoke, searing me. I push Finn away, but I’m the one who stumbles. I bump the crate, and the record player clatters to the ground. The music stops.
I cover my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He’s breathing hard, staring at me. “Why?”
“I . . . didn’t mean to . . . your record—”
“No. Why did you stop?”
It should be obvious, but even I can’t get the words out. I’m afraid of going any further. What if I hate it? What if I don’t? “I’m scared.”
He stares blankly at me. I can’t tell if he’s mad or relieved. Finally, he runs both hands over his face. “Thanks for being honest.”
I step back. “I have to leave.”
He pushes some sweat-stuck hair off his forehead. “I don’t want you to.”
“I know.”
“Wait.” He pulls me forward by my bicep, so I’m directly in front of him. He brushes his palm over my hairline and runs his fingers through the strands. I’m damp under my breasts and arms. He thumbs my slick upper lip, but I don’t think it’s helping.
“He’ll think you ran home from work,” he says.
I wrap my hand around his wrist, and he stops. “Bye,” I say.
He lets me go. I gather my coat and handbag and walk out. The hallway, though heated, is refreshing against my sticky skin. I go home.
The entryway lights are on. Ginger doesn’t greet me right away, which can only mean one thing. “Nathan?” I call.
“Yeah.”
I cover my mouth, turn to the nearest wall, and put my forehead to it. He’s not here. He can’t have been this close. Just across the hall as I let Finn put his hands, his mouth, and his claim on me. Feet away as I crossed a line I never thought I’d see, much less step over. But in my heart I know the truth. Even while Nathan is in the next room, he and I have never felt farther apart.
TEN
“Busy tonight?” Nathan asks from the passenger seat as we cross the Williamsburg Bridge in a cab.
The driver shrugs. “Meh.”
The chilly New York night has cooled my sweat, and now I’m bundled into my coat. I wish I’d had time to grab gloves. Or a scarf, I think, as Nathan unwraps his from around his neck.
I look out a window at the black East River. I’m not sure what I was thinking volunteering to come watch Nathan bowl. He was on his way out the door when I returned from Finn’s apartment. I panicked, afraid he’d see the evidence of Finn’s kiss on my face—my rosy lips from his scruff or the guilt in my eyes. He didn’t mention it.
Bowling alleys aren’t my thing. The campy eighties songs in the background and bad fluorescent lighting. The processed food. Stale, yellowing pretzels. Day-old nachos. But in the year he’s been playing, I haven’t come to watch. My reckless moment with Finn had me worried about the growing distance between Nathan and me, so I invited myself along. He was in a hurry, but he didn’t protest.
One thing I hadn’t thought much about until now was the commute to Brooklyn. He’s been spending a lot of time there.
“Don’t you usually take the subway?” When I look away from the window, I catch Nathan glancing over his shoulder at me.
He turns forward again. “Yes, but I’m late.” After a brief hesitation, he passes his scarf back.
I coil it around my neck, already warmer. It smells like him. The gesture wouldn’t have made me think twice months ago, but tonight, his scarf is better than a bouquet of roses. “How much is a taxi?”
“Don’t bust my balls, Sadie.”
I reel back slightly. “I’m not.” The driver narrows his eyes at me in the rearview mirror, quick to team up against a nagging wife. When I shift in my seat, the leather creaks. “You think I’d rather be on the subway? I was just curious.”
“It’s a lot more than a subway pass.”
The driver grunts, “It’s Brooklyn.”
They exchange a look and shrug as if they’re old pals. Great. Nathan is chummier with the cabbie than he is with me.
“How was work?” I ask, inviting a more neutral topic.
“Busy.” He rests his head against the seat with a sigh. “You know how it is around the holidays.”
The Family-kind locations get overcrowded this time of year, especially now that it’s started to snow. He raises money in an upstairs office and doesn’t see half of what goes on in the shelters, but he internalizes their strife anyway. I admire his commitment, even if I don’t always understand it.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, then pause. Whenever I say this, Nathan feels the need to tease me with something like “uh oh” or “God forbid.” Usually, it annoys me to no end. “I’ve been thinking,” I repeat, in case he didn’t hear, “we should skip Thanksgiving this year and serve dinner at the kitchen.”
He lifts his head a little. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
He turns in his seat, and this time, he stays. “I’ve been trying to get you to do that for years.”
“I know. But I’ve decided this year, we’re not dealing with my parents’ manipulative bullshit.”
He’s about to smile, but he stops himself. I don’t know why he won’t, but I can see I’ve made him happy. I’ll take what I can get. After my conversation with my boss earlier, I thought long and hard about doing something special for Nathan. There were no shortage of ideas, but it was harder coming up with one specifically for Nathan that didn’t also directly benefit me, or even us as a couple. Every year, Nathan asks me to serve at Family-kind with him, and every year I say no. My mom gives good guilt-trip, and my brother piles on so he and my niece don’t get stuck alone with our parents. Nathan never tells me no. He just volunteers the night before instead of Thanksgiving Day.
Nathan looks back through the windshield. “We’ll see.”
“I already called my mom.”
He stares forward. He h
as a striking profile, as strong and silent as he is. At first, it’s just another nose, mouth, set of eyes. And then, when you look closer, an art and symmetry so beautiful, it takes my breath away. “You did?” he asks. “You told her no?”
There’s hope in his voice. It’s as if I’ve been sitting in the dark, and a small light has finally turned on. “She tried to talk me out of it, but I held my ground. Andrew and Bell are coming over Wednesday night for an early Thanksgiving dinner, and the next morning, the three of us are going to the Family-kind soup kitchen—with or without you.”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Almost imperceptibly, his shoulders ease back into the seat. “Thanks.”
I allow myself a small smile. His approval feels like finding a small oasis during a long trek across the desert. I wonder how much farther I have to go until I reach the other side.
Brooklyn Bowl is nothing like I expected. From the outside, it looks like a warehouse. But from the moment we step inside, it’s dark and crowded. The music is turned up loud. In an area opposite the entrance, lasered lanes and multi-colored bowling balls create a neon playground. Everything glows black-light blue and hot magenta, and after each clatter, opaque mouths swallow up straight, white, bowling-pin teeth.
“Just another Wednesday night,” Connor Vicks, Nathan’s college buddy, tells me.
This is not the sad, empty bowling alley I’d pictured. The music is fresh and reminds me how out of touch I am with what’s underground-cool. Here, Nathan isn’t one half of a stuffy married couple. He’s the popular, fun, drinks-on-me Nathan I met seven years ago.
I rise onto the balls of my feet, tracking Nathan. Thankfully, since he left me here while my back was turned, his height makes him hard to lose in a crowd.
“Have you said hi to Donna?” Connor asks.
“She’s here?”
“Sure. It’s Wifey Wednesday after all.”
I tear my eyes from Nathan. Connor has the kind of face that becomes attractive over time. He’s best when he smiles. Nathan says he only got Donna’s attention because he plays guitar. “What’s ‘Wifey Wednesday’?”
Slip of the Tongue Page 9
