“So you’ve said,” he says. “You don’t care where he is?”
I look down at my hands. Finn continues to press an issue I don’t want to think about. I came here to distract myself, not confront demons. I could try and guess where Nathan is, but the point isn’t that he’s not here. It’s why. What’s keeping him away lately? Another woman? Or, worse—me? Except for bowling nights, it takes a lot for him to miss dinner.
“Of course I care,” I say. “But I trust him.”
“I didn’t realize we were talking about trust.”
Neither did I.
“Something wrong?” Finn asks.
I keep my back to him. “No.” I take out another dish in a floral pattern. Where the hell did he get this—a flea market? Men.
Finn wipes his hands on a rag, takes the plate from me, and sets it aside. “I know we don’t know each other very well—”
“We don’t know each other at all.” I turn to face him. “We’re half a step up from strangers.”
He winces, almost imperceptibly. “Okay . . . well, then, think of me as a stranger. Sometimes it’s easier to confide in someone you don’t know.”
My chest is tight. Actually, Finn doesn’t feel like a stranger, but more like we’ve known each other a long time. Longer than Nathan and I, even, which makes no sense. Meeting Nathan felt fresh, like a beginning, as if he’d just been born and walked right into my life. Finn could be an old friend, though, a t-shirt I’ve worn a thousand times.
“I found something.” The words tumble out.
“What did you find?”
“It’s stupid. And cliché. It’s dumb to even mention it.” I roll my eyes and lean my back against the counter. “I found a lipstick stain.”
“When?” His expression closes. “Where?”
“Last night, on his tie.”
“Jesus, Sadie.” Finn runs both hands through his hair as if I’ve just told him something about his own spouse. He makes a face. “I’m sorry.”
“You are?” My heart skips. “Why? You think it means something?”
“Oh. I—” He scratches under his collar. “Probably not.”
“You’re lying.”
He exhales a nervous laugh. “I just—I mean, how would I know? I’ve never met the guy. But every time I see you, you’re alone.”
“I told you, last night he was bowling.”
He raises both palms. “I’m not saying anything. Are there women at the bowling alley?”
“I don’t know.” I haven’t been to a game. Maybe I should, though.
Finn reaches out and hesitantly rubs my bare shoulder. There’s a sheen of sweat at the base of his neck, and my scalp grows hot. I move my hair over one shoulder as he slides his hand a little higher and presses his thumb along my collarbone.
I part my lips, and when he does it again, I close my eyes. “That’s nice.”
He isn’t gentle. I can feel the strength of his hands as he massages my shoulder, then my neck.
“The thing is,” I say in the dark, “I haven’t always been the best wife, but he’s been a flawless husband. That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“No. It seems ridiculous to even bring it up. Anyone who knows us . . .” I pause, unable to think of how to explain it. “He wouldn’t.”
We stand quietly for a minute. Finn slips his fingers under the strap of my tank top. It slides down my shoulder. “Sorry,” he mutters.
I don’t fix it.
He continues to work the tension out of my neck. “When you say you haven’t been the best wife . . .”
“That’s not what I mean.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been unfaithful. It’s just, when one half of the relationship is perfect, the other half is bound to be a let down, any way you cut it. I don’t always say and do the right thing.”
“And he does?”
“Always,” I whisper. “Until these last two months.”
“What happened two months ago?”
I bite my bottom lip hard. It’s what I’ve been asking myself over and over. One day, he was himself. The next day . . . off. “He found out his father is dying.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He turned down a promotion at work so he could stay available for his dad. But a few months ago, I took a promotion, and now I’m making a tiny bit more money than him.”
“Would that upset him enough to ice you out?”
“I don’t think so. The difference is negligible, really.” The Nathan I know wouldn’t be so petty, but lately, I’ve been learning quite a bit about the man I married. “He seemed happy for me.”
“So, you think maybe . . .?”
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not stupid,” he says. “I’m not going to say it first.”
“That he met someone? No. I don’t think so. There must be another explanation.” I open my eyes, and Finn seems closer than he was a few seconds ago.
“Hi,” he says, “again.”
“Hi.” My voice is creaky. “What’s the diagnosis?”
He slides a finger up the back of my neck. Goose bumps light up my skin. “Some tightness, but relatively knot-free.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes, it is.” He inhales deeply and stares at me. “I have to tell you something.”
My hairline prickles. I can sense it’ll be heavy, and I’m not sure I want to hear it. I force a crooked smile that probably looks as awkward as I feel. “I smell like dog food?”
“I want to kiss you,” he says without missing a beat. “I won’t, but I just thought you should know.”
My stomach drops as if I’m in free fall. I bite my lip involuntarily, then release it, afraid it’ll look like an invitation. Can he really come out and say that? Without prompting, without wavering? You can want to kiss someone and not say it. Should I be angry he confessed that? I’m not. I’m curious. Stirred, even. Since we’re being honest, I ask what I want to ask. “Why?”
“Why do I want to kiss you? Or why did I tell you?”
My heart rate picks up. I lose my nerve. “The second one. That’s not the kind of thing you just come out and say to a stranger. A married stranger.”
“Because I like you.” He absentmindedly caresses the nape of my neck with his fingertip. “So I want to be honest.”
I put my hand over his wrist, and he stops. Now, and for the last hour, it’s as if we’re the only two people on the planet. The Bad Wife and the Stranger. If I let him kiss me, nobody would ever know. He doesn’t wear lipstick. Neither do I.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he asks.
I nod. I don’t have to pull his hand away. He takes it back willingly.
“It’s probably best.” He hands me my sweater and the speaker. We forgot to turn the music on. “I can finish up here.”
Already, before I can get a word out, he’s walking me through the apartment.
I say the only thing left to say. “Goodnight.”
“See you around.” He pulls the door open, then shuts it again. He sighs. “Talk to him. If you want to know what’s wrong, just ask him.”
I pull my sweater around me, even though hair sticks to the back of my neck. My feet sweat in my boots. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He lets me out.
I walk across the hall, unlock the door to my apartment, and find the lights on. I set my keys down as Ginger comes in, wagging her tail. “Nate?”
“In here,” he calls from the living room.
I remove my shoes and socks, put them on the rack in the entryway, and find him on the couch in his sweats. “Why didn’t you come get me?” I ask.
He pauses whatever sports channel he’s watching. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“I left you a note.”
“You did?” He hits play on the remote and returns his attention to the TV.
I go into the kitchen. The Post-It is still on the fridge, but it’s been moved a few inch
es to the left. He just lied to me. I pull it off and go back to the living room. “You didn’t see this?” I ask.
He shuts off the TV, stands, and stretches. He’s so tall, his fingertips graze the ceiling. “I figured you were out shopping or something.”
“You should’ve called me. What about dinner?”
“I made a grilled cheese.”
I don’t know what to say. If he’s home, I make him dinner. Period. I want to tell him that. To tell him I know he moved the Post-It. I’m fairly positive he did. Though, I could be mistaken. Do I really remember where I stuck it? I’d sound hysterical if I were wrong.
“Where were you tonight?” I ask.
“I went to see my dad.”
“Without me?” I ask. “I would’ve met you at the hospital.”
“I wasn’t planning to. I just decided to stop by on my way home from work.”
I crumple the Post-It in one hand. Nathan’s dad’s health has declined quickly since they discovered his lung cancer. When we found out he’d been sick a while, Nathan blamed himself for not making his stubborn dad see a doctor sooner.
“He’s better, by the way.” He sniffs. “Radiation just hit him a little harder than usual. They’re keeping him there.”
“Did you call your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s sending ‘healing energy from California.’” He tosses the remote on the couch. “I’m done with the TV if you want it.”
“Maybe we can watch something together?”
There are shows Nathan and I watch together, and there are ones we watch when we’re apart. I can’t stand medical primetime drama. He’ll leave the room if he sees Tim Gunn. But when we find a show we both love, we always watch it the same way—gasping simultaneously. Laughing at the same things, even those that aren’t meant to be funny. Yelling at idiot characters.
“I’m going to read,” he says. “I’m finally starting that Erik Larson book I ordered forever ago.”
Historical nonfiction. Not my thing. I know he’s been looking forward to it, though. “All right.”
He turns to walk away.
“I was at the neighbor’s,” I say. “That’s what the Post-It said. He asked me to help him unpack the kitchen.”
“That was nice of you,” he says. “Moving on your own is a bitch.”
“I think you’d like him.” I hesitate. Maybe if they knew each other, the temptation of Finn would disappear. The funny thing is, I think they’d get along. “You should go over and say hello sometime. I don’t think he has a lot of friends.”
Nathan turns his head halfway over his shoulder. “His heater still busted?”
“Yes.” I run my hand over the back of my clammy neck and remember Finn’s fingers there. “I’m sweating like a pig.”
Nathan takes a long look at me and opens his mouth like he’s going to speak. After a brief pause, he asks, “What’s his name?”
“Finn.” I wait. “He worked in banking or something.”
Nathan shifts on his feet, watching me. “I’ll try to get over there to take a look, but no promises.”
He goes into the bedroom. I make myself something to eat and watch TV, but I’m not paying attention. Nothing has really happened today, and yet, my mind is spinning—from Nathan’s lipstick stain and his dismissal just now. From Finn’s strong hands and his confession. What is a kiss, really? Two body parts touching, like one hand to another. The thought of Finn’s unsolicited, forbidden kiss shouldn’t stir something deep inside me.
I’m still sticky, so I leave the dishes for the morning and decide to take a shower. Nathan doesn’t look up from his book. I undress in the closet and slip on my robe. As I’m taking my birth control, I notice the dry cleaning bag has new things in it. I drop to my knees and rifle through until I find his tie. I pull it out quickly, straightening and smoothing it over the carpet. It’s crumpled, but clean. I sigh, a mix of relief and embarrassment, as I hunch over the bag. Then, I smell it. Cigarette smoke.
I set my jaw. Nathan quit years ago and hasn’t slipped up once. This isn’t his stink stuck to his suit. It’s someone else’s. Or it’s from a bar. Either way, it is not from a hospital. How desperate must he be to lie about seeing his sick father?
My cheeks warm. I can barely form a thought that doesn’t involve me hurling curse words. I leave the pile where it is and charge to the foot of the bed. “Where were you tonight?”
He turns a page. “I told you. The hospital.”
The smell is trapped in my nostrils. I swipe my nose hard. “Where else?”
He glances up. “I went there from work, then I came home. I was watching TV for a while before you got here.” He cocks his head. “Why?”
I try to calm my breathing by inhaling deeply. He’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize—a suspicious wife. My friends and co-workers have their husbands on short leashes, and I’ve never understood why. Is this what happens if you don’t watch them closely? “I’ve had a weird day,” I say.
This is the part where he puts down his book and asks why. Then takes me in his arms and assures me I’m the only girl for him—now, and always.
“Well . . .” His eyes drift to the floor at my feet while he furrows his brows, as if he’s thinking much too hard about his next move. He hesitates so long, the silence between us becomes awkward. “This is a weird city,” he finally says and looks back at the page.
It must be an interesting book. I’m tempted to ask what it’s about that it’s worth more of his attention than his own wife. Or just skip the whole passive-aggressive route and accuse him of fucking around behind my back. What would he say to that?
This paranoia is new to me, just like his attitude. I don’t like it. I want things to go back to the way they were. “I already took the dry cleaning,” I say evenly.
“I know.”
“Your clothes from last night were pretty dirty. And now there’s more.”
“I get a few passes, don’t I? I’m always picking up your stuff.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s only half true. He likes things tidy. It’s not as though I leave a mess everywhere I go, though. I’d rather leave messes for the morning, but by morning, the messes are already gone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say.
Somehow, he still seems to be reading.
“Nathan.”
He looks up again and makes a move like he’s going to put his book down. But he doesn’t. I see a flash of indecision, and then his expression clears. “What?”
My stomach fills with butterflies. We promised each other, I want to say. If you were tempted to act on something, you were supposed to tell me. And now, I’m the one who’s tempted. If Finn had just kissed me and not said it aloud—would I have stopped him? I don’t know. Which means I need to tell Nathan about it. That was our deal. It’s not so easy, though. How do I tell the person I love most in the world that he’s failing me? And that another man is making it better? Maybe Nathan tried to come to me and couldn’t. We’d made it sound so easy.
“What is it?” he asks. “There’s a ton of detail in this book. I need to concentrate.”
“Never mind.” I turn away and slam the bathroom door shut behind me. In the shower, my body shakes. Not because of what Nathan said, but because he said it at all. He doesn’t shut me out, snap at me, or leave the room when I enter.
I’m scared.
I wait for him to come in and apologize, but he doesn’t. When I get out, he’s already asleep, an hour earlier than usual. I climb into bed, but I might as well be somewhere else for all he notices.
Maybe even in the next apartment.
SEVEN
I’m calmer when I wake. Having gone to bed so early, Nathan left before I was even out of bed, which is uncommon. I take Ginger downstairs and find myself in a winter wonderland. Everything is freshly powdered. It’s the season’s first snowfall, and the air is alive. It used to excite me, but a couple years ago, I slipped and twisted my ankle on an ice patch. Now I wear rain boots
to and from work. Carrying an extra pair of shoes annoys me. The snow only stays white for a day anyway. Then it turns putrid and asphalt-gray.
Ginger sniffs a shrub with extraordinary fascination. She stops, looks around the street, and then returns to investigating. I should hire her out to the police department. Or have her trail Nathan, I think, pulling my coat closer around me. It’s only the third time that morning I’ve thought of the lipstick stain and the smoky suit.
“Come on, girl,” I say. “Hurry up.”
She marks the bush, but that’s all. Nathan must’ve taken her out already.
I pull her back toward the building, where I spot a woman and young girl at the entrance. They both wear matching pink caps and have long, blond curls. The woman punches a number on the entry keypad over and over. “What the hell is wrong with this thing?”
“Hello?” I ask.
She turns around. Her smile is so big, I could count all of her teeth. “Hi,” she says. “Do you live here?”
The girl, in a huge puffy coat, looks at me. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Ginger.” Ginger, waiting patiently, hears her name and begins to wag her tail. “You can pet her.”
Her hand looks white and small in Ginger’s red fur.
“Would you mind letting us in?” the woman asks. “We live here, but the keypad doesn’t seem to work.”
“It probably froze last night.” I pull out my key and let them in. Warmth welcomes us like a hug. “At least the common spaces are heated.”
“It’s a beautiful building.”
“Thank you.” I don’t know why I said that. It’s not like I have any more claim over the place than she does. I pull Ginger to the elevator and when it arrives, I select the sixth floor. They get on a second after.
“Can I push the button?” the girl asks, and then frowns at the panel. “Never mind. She already did.”
“Just pick another one above six,” the woman says, winking at me. “Live outside the law, baby.”
“You live on six?” I ask. I’m not on a first-name basis with all my neighbors, but I don’t recognize them.
“Just moved in. I told my husband, if we’re moving to the city, you damn well better believe we’re getting a nice place. I could do the starving artist thing in my twenties, but I’m a thirty-two year old mother now. I refuse to wrestle rats for food.”
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