Slip of the Tongue

by Jessica Hawkins

  “You know. When the wives come out. Sometimes they even get their own lane. To be honest, I’ve probably seen Donna roll one ball. Of course, she got a strike. I think they mostly just drink wine and gossip.”

  I can only imagine the look on my face, but to Connor’s credit, he’s unruffled. He doesn’t let his slip show. In the year Nathan’s been part of the team, he’s never mentioned wives’ nights.

  Connor’s wife, Donna, waves at us. She beckons me over to a two-top bar table. Donna looks the same, even though I can’t remember when I last saw her—black hair, straightened within an inch of its life, and heavy eye makeup. She always has something animal print on. Of all Nathan’s college friends, Donna and I are the least alike. She’s also the friendliest.

  “Oh my God—you came!” She hugs me tightly when I’m close enough. “I’ve been bugging Nathan for months to get you here.”

  I’m too embarrassed to tell her the truth—Nathan didn’t want me here then, and he doesn’t want me here now. “I’ve been busy,” I say.

  “I know, but it’s been almost a year since the alumni dinner.”

  I think back to the night we’d seen Donna and Connor at an NYU-sponsored dinner. Nathan and I had drunk too much, and he’d put his hand up my dress during the dean’s plea for money. Donna had busted us. After a giggling fit, Nathan overspent on a hotel room, and we slept in the next day.

  “This is Nathan’s wife Sadie,” Donna tells two other women at the table.

  They both groan. “Nathan is such a sweetheart,” says a blond woman in a black halter-top. “He talks about you all the time.” I wouldn’t normally be surprised to hear that, but now, it catches me off guard. I’m sure he’s spoken fondly of me—in the past. We shake hands. “I’m Alyssa,” the woman says, “and this is Joan.”

  Joan could be Donna’s sister, with the same dark features and tan skin. She has a warm smile. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, looking around the three of them. They’re my age, maybe a little younger. “I didn’t realize this was a thing. Nathan didn’t really give me all the details.”

  “Don’t worry.” Joan waves her colorful acrylic nails. “Nathan says you do this on purpose.”

  I lean in to hear her better over the music. “Do what?”

  “Spend a couple nights apart. Keep the marriage fresh. He says you love your alone time.”

  “I do, but if I’d realized—”

  “You’re lucky he agrees to it,” Alyssa chimes in. “Tried that once with Bob—‘alone time.’ He threw a fit. We drive each other crazy, but I guess he likes that.” She lowers her voice. “Wives only come Wednesdays. Monday night, Bob thinks I’m at home pouting. Really, I’m sprawled in front of the TV, pigging out the way I can only do when he’s not around. It’s my special night.”

  The women laugh. That’s more or less what I do when Nathan’s gone, so I smile along with them.

  “If I didn’t live in Brooklyn, I probably wouldn’t come half as much as I do,” Joan says, checking her cleavage is on full display. I’m in the same blouse that stuck to my back in Finn’s apartment as he pressed his mouth to mine. Joan’s pink lips spread into a sugary smile. I wonder if she wears red lipstick too.

  “Which one’s your husband?” I ask her.

  “Fiancé, actually.” She points to one of the men with Nathan. “That’s my Mikey.”

  Mikey, balding with a beer belly, stands next to Nathan, who’s easily the most handsome man of the group. And at the precise moment Nate throws back his head and laughs, I wonder if I should’ve been more worried about that over the years.

  “You said you live in Brooklyn?” I ask.

  Joan nods. “Park Slope.”

  “We’re all there,” Donna says. I must look confused, because she continues, “You knew that. We moved from Hoboken recently.”

  I vaguely recall Nathan mentioning it. Except for my brother in New Jersey, my attention wanes when people mention anything outside of Manhattan. “Of course.”

  “Park Slope is where it’s at, especially if you’re, you know—thinking ahead.” Donna winks, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the laser lights. I try not to look scared by her unsubtle suggestion. “You should come over sometime. I’ll make sangria.”

  “All right,” I say with some excitement, as if sangria is a good reason to go anywhere. In reality, suggesting that we have dinner with his friends seems like a good way to get Nathan’s attention. “I’ll talk to Nate.”

  Joan sips something red and fizzy through a tiny black straw. “I told Mikey, if our marriage is half as good as Nathan and Sadie’s, we’ll be so lucky. So, so lucky.”

  Her words sound almost mocking, but her tone isn’t. I’m confused, and a little mad that Nathan abandoned me with these women. Does Joan, with her sweet drink and sweet smile, know something I don’t?

  “Thanks,” I say. “But it’s all him. He’s a great husband.” Two months ago, I would’ve accepted her compliment easily—maybe even a little smugly. Does it make me a fraud, playing into the image they have of us? Nathan and I have held our place as an enviable couple so long, I’m not ready to give it up.

  I touch my unfaithful lips, as if they might give me away somehow. “Excuse me.”

  I fight the crowd to get back to Nathan, who’s involved in a conversation with Mikey, Connor and some men I don’t recognize.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He looks down at me. “What’s up?” His tone is light, but his smile falters.

  “I just met Joan.” I look for a spark in his eyes—fear, excitement, anger—anything.

  He just stands there, then glances at his friends, who are ignoring us. “Okay?”

  “She seems nice.”

  “I don’t really interact with them too much.”

  “Oh.” I study his face. He’s a bad liar. At least, I think he is. He hasn’t done much of it to my knowledge. “She made it sound like you’re all best friends.”

  “She’s exaggerating.” He turns away.

  “Why didn’t you ever invite me to Wifey Wednesday?”

  Nathan sets his jaw without looking at me. He says something right as the music crescendos.

  “What?” I ask.

  He turns and shouts, “I invited you lots of times.” The music cuts out, and a few people look over at us. He lowers his voice. “You insisted on spending time apart.”

  “I insisted?” I reel back at the accusation. “We agreed it was good for us to have separate interests.”

  Connor leans over. “Anyone need a drink?”

  Nathan gives Connor an easy smile. “I’ll take another IPA.”

  When Connor’s gone, Nathan speaks to me from the side of his mouth. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “I want to talk about it now.”

  He takes my arm firmly, steps out of the circle, and walks us a few feet from the men. His forearm between us is like a bridge I want to cross, but he removes his hand from me too fast. “I’ve invited you,” he says calmly. “The first time, you said no. The second time, you said no. The third, fourth, and fifth time—no. Eventually, I stopped asking.”

  “Because when we come out together, you’re always checking to make sure I’m having a good time. And I wanted this to be your time to relax.”

  “You wanted that time for yourself,” he says.

  “That’s not fair,” I say. He makes it sound as though I kicked him out two nights a week, but I only thought it would be good for us to try something new. “Time alone is nice for both of us. We came up with that plan together.”

  “No, we didn’t. You brought it up at dinner one night. Said you heard it’s good for couples to miss each other. What was I supposed to say to that? You want to spend time away from me, I’m not going to force myself on you.”

  I gape at him. He’d grumbled over the idea, I remember that, but he didn’t refuse it. I thought he enjoyed coming here. “Is this what you’ve been mad about?”
<
br />   “Don’t come here, to my night out, and pick a fight. I won’t do this here.”

  “Nathan, answer the question. Is this why you’re pissed at me?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. “I’ve been stressed about my dad. Work’s crazy this time of year. I’m here to chill, Sadie. Why are you trying to put more on my plate?”

  My heart beats in my throat. I can’t tell if this conversation is making things better or worse. I touch his forearm. “Babe.”

  “I need to get my shoes on. The game’s starting.” He walks back to his friends.

  I recoil, grinding my teeth. “Sorry to disrupt your ‘game,’” I yell after him. Either he doesn’t hear me or ignores me. “Looks to me like it’s just a bunch of grown men drinking beer and showing off their balls.”

  Joan laughs beside me. I have no idea where the hell she came from. “How long have you been there?” I ask.

  “Just for the part about the balls. It’s dead on, but kind of cute how much they love their team.”

  Cute? I look at Nathan’s back. It’s just a stupid hobby, isn’t it? Or is this where Nathan comes to have fun, flirt, and possibly even forget about me?

  “I’m so glad you came,” Joan says. “Donna told me you were funny. It’s nice to have another chick here.”

  There isn’t an ounce of malice in Joan’s voice. I don’t know what to believe. If I ask Donna whether she’s heard anything about Nathan, she’ll see the crack that’s begun to form in my marriage, and I don’t ever want people to doubt us. It reminds me of the way I feel about my parents, which is that they’d be better off apart. They hate each other but refuse to divorce. Nathan’s parents, on the other hand, loved each other but couldn’t keep their marriage from crumbling.

  Nathan glances back at me. He’s too far to hear, but he can damn well see. I sling an arm around Joan, pleased with the way Nathan lowers his eyebrows. “Let’s get a drink,” I say. “And not those girly beers the guys drink. I want the hard stuff.”

  She jumps up and down. “I just knew I’d like you.”

  Nathan watches us for as long as I can see him, and then we turn our backs to slide onto two fortuitously open barstools.

  I flag down the bartender and order an Old-Fashioned for each of us. I generally try to avoid following in the footsteps of my alcoholic father, but my world is upside down tonight, so I go with it. Joan’s never had one, and she makes a scene with every sip. “It’s so strong,” she cries. Then, “Jesus, woman. You have a pair.” I clink my glass with hers.

  The men crowd around a scoring machine and take turns rolling their big dumb balls down the narrow alley. The pins smile at me until Nathan scatters them with a strike. I applaud from my barstool. He glances in our direction. Maybe he’s right, and it was a bad idea to suggest spending this time apart. Does it make me a bad wife? It never occurred to me he’d want me here as much as the women seem to think.

  Lasers cut across the darkness. My stool has a bum leg, and it rocks when I sway. The bourbon hits me all at once.

  I am a bad wife. I can still feel Finn’s thumb on my bottom lip. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck where his arm was curled around me. I can hear the clunky thud of the record player as it hit the ground. I’ll buy him a new one, a better one, to make up for breaking his small declaration of freedom.

  I billow the neckline of my blouse. Finn’s apartment is stifling, and I miss the warmth. His hot breath, his hot body. I shut my eyes and wonder about his mattress on the floor, if he sleeps there naked, sheets shoved aside. My clammy skin sliding against his. I bite my lip.

  “We never drink this much.” Alyssa flops over Joan’s lap to get to me. She also had an Old-Fashioned or two. “You’re a bad influence.”

  I smile wickedly. “I try.”

  “Will you come every Wednesday?” Joan asks. She’s pouting as if I’ve already said no.

  “And ruin playtime for Nathan?” I ask. “Hell yeah.”

  They don’t seem to understand my insinuation that he’s been flirting with them—Joan, specifically. They laugh and laugh. I join them. I can feel the mascara-black circles under my eyes from a long day. I lick my thumb and scrub them off.

  “You’re making it worse,” Joan says. “Let me try.”

  She wets her finger. I flinch each time her nail gets too close to my eyeball. “I think it’s permanent.”

  “Damn it,” I say too loudly. Her lashes are thick and long. “Your makeup is perfect. How do you do that?”

  She launches into a lesson on smudge-proof eyeliner. So she can apply fucking mascara—who cares? I have a communications degree and the attention of two godlike men. Would Finn find Joan attractive? I try to be subjective. The only thing we have in common is our dark hair. She’s curvier than me and wears it well. Neither of us looks anything like blond, petite Kendra. I close my eyes briefly. Bile rises up my throat, and I have to push the image of Kendra and her daughter away.

  I get out my phone and call my brother to ask him what his type is these days. “I’m sleeping,” he answers.

  “It’s not even midnight,” I exclaim.

  “Call me when you have a kid, you drunk.” He hangs up.

  I giggle. Andrew doesn’t like to be woken up. I love him because he knows Nathan and I were trying to get pregnant, and he doesn’t treat me like glass because of it.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed when Nathan finds me. “We’re leaving.”

  “Five more minutes,” Donna pleads with him.

  “Fine.” He nods down at me. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  I grip the bar to keep steady. “Nate, wait, stop—”

  He hasn’t moved an inch. His eyebrows are drawn together. “What?”

  “I’m ready. I’ll come with you.” I lean over to get my purse from under the bar. I swipe for the strap, miscalculate, and slide off the stool.

  Before I fall over, Nathan catches me by the waist and hoists me back into place. “You’re drunk, Sadie.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  A chorus of giggles erupts, including my own.

  “Come on.” Nathan heaves a chest-expanding sigh. Maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through my system, but I think he might be a little amused. “Let’s go home.”

  “I just need to say bye.” I turn to Donna and Alyssa and promise, as loudly as I can, “I’ll see you next week. For wivesies night.”

  “I need your number,” Donna says.

  Alyssa claps her hands. “Me too.”

  I look back at Nathan, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be out front.”

  “You won’t leave me?” I ask.

  “I doubt you’d even make it home.” He leans in a little. “Go straight to the front. Don’t wander off somewhere.”

  His breath tickles the outside of my ear. Was alcohol the route back to him all along?

  I give Donna and Alyssa my number. I don’t ask for theirs. They can get in touch if they want. “Where’s Joan?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen her for a few minutes.

  “Probably fighting with Mike,” Alyssa says.

  “Oh.” I put my phone away. “Tell her I’ll see her next week.”

  I go looking for Nathan. Connor calls me over. “Glad you made it. Donna’s loving that you’re here.”

  I look around distractedly as I say, “Me too.”

  Mikey appears and introduces himself. “Joan’s boyfriend,” he tells me in a thick New York accent.

  My attention catches on his introduction. “She said you were engaged.”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah, we are.” He grins. “Keeps slipping my mind, but don’t mention that to her. She gets pissed.”

  I can’t remember if Nathan said to meet him in the front of the building or on the sidewalk. Once again, I search the crowd for him, and then for Joan, who is not here fighting with Mikey as Alyssa said she’d be. She’s nowhere to be seen. And neither, for that matter, is Nathan.

  ELEVEN

  Nat
han definitely told me to meet him out front of Brooklyn Bowl. I think. I squint at the bouncers, who lean against barstools and chat. A group of guys spills out of the building, making enough noise to echo down the street. A stocky man throws his arm around me. “Where we going?” he asks.

  “I’m not with you.”

  He looks down, and his thick-rimmed glasses fall forward. He pushes them back into place. “You are now, sexy. Come on.”

  He leans his weight on me. My world is already off kilter, so we stumble forward a few steps. His friends cheer us on.

  “Okay, fine,” I say. “Let me just get my husband.”

  “No shit?” He releases me as if I’m contagious, then speed walks away to catch up with his friends. I fix my blouse and wander down to the corner to look for Nathan. The area is deserted. When I turn around and start back, I spot Nathan talking to the bouncers.

  “Christ, Sadie,” he says when he notices me. “I told you to wait here for me.”

  “I couldn’t find you . . .”

  “I was in the bathroom.” He holds out my coat, which I’d forgotten since the alcohol is keeping me warm. His arm sags, as if it weighs a hundred pounds. “You’re drunk, you don’t listen, and you’re out in the freezing-ass dark. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t know.” It’s a bad time to hiccup, but that’s what I do. He rolls his eyes as he walks away. Still, I don’t think he’s as annoyed as he pretends. “What were you doing in the bathroom?” I ask, struggling to get my coat on and keep up with his long strides.

  He looks at me, his confused expression almost cartoon-like. “What kind of a question is that?”

  So he disappeared at the same time as Joan. It doesn’t mean anything. Or it could mean a million different things.

  I trip over uneven sidewalk and drop my purse. I’m one arm in my coat and one out. The world is slightly spinning, so it takes me a minute to pull myself together. “Will you hold my purse while I put on my coat?” I ask, straightening up. He doesn’t answer. He’s halfway down the sidewalk. “Nathan. Hello?”

  He stops and sticks his hands in his pockets but doesn’t turn around. When I finally get my coat on and my purse back on my shoulder, I catch up with him. “Sorry if I’m inconveniencing you,” I say dryly.