“Nathan,” I say to his profile when he doesn’t respond.
“What.”
“We need to talk.”
He runs a hand through his damp hair and scratches his scalp. “I know.”
I chew the inside of my lip. I can’t feel him here, and it scares me. I want to touch him, but if he recoils, I don’t know what it would do to the fight building inside me. And I can’t lose that now that I’m starting to find it. “I’m ready. Now.”
“Not now.”
“Why not? Work can wait.”
“I need time to gather my thoughts.”
“What thoughts?” My stomach aches. This is real. Whatever’s happening, we can’t ignore it anymore. “I’m afraid.”
He closes his eyes. His jawline is sharp, not with anger, but as if he’s holding in tears. He doesn’t cry, though. Not ever. I know my Nathan—he shows his love by hiding his pain from me, and sometimes I forget it’s even there. “I don’t think I know what I want yet,” he says, “and I’m afraid if we talk now, I’ll get even more confused.” He swallows. “I need to come in with a clear head.”
I almost don’t speak, because just the threat of his tears stuns me. He really is hurting, and that means he still cares on some level. It’s not enough for me, though. I need him to care enough to turn to me. “I can’t keep going like this, Nathan. You won’t even look at me.”
He meets my eyes. “Helping others always puts things into perspective for me. So I’m going to go do that. When I’m ready, I’ll come to you.”
“This isn’t fair. You can’t shut me out indefinitely. We fix this by talking, not by each trying to do it on our own.”
“You don’t think I know that?” he asks. “Who’s the one that concedes in every argument we have? Who goes the extra mile to fix problems in our marriage before they even reach you? Me. I do.” He stabs a finger in my direction. His face is red now, and any pain has cleared. “And you just float along, never paying attention to anything other than yourself. I’ve held your hand through this entire marriage. Maybe, for once, one goddamn time, you could be the one who—” His face falls when he realizes he’s yelling.
My heart pounds as my face heats. I can’t remember Nathan ever raising his voice at me. How long must this have been bottling up for him to explode? Does he mean what he says, or is he just trying to hurt me? I can’t decide if I want to scream back at him or burst into tears, but the look on his face stops me. Finally, I see the awareness and compassion that disappeared two and a half months ago. I think he might even close the distance between us, wrap me in his arms, tell me everything is fine. Everything will be okay. It’s all I’ve wanted for months—for him to lower his shield and show me the path back to him.
“What?” I ask. “Keep going. I can take it if it means we end this horrible silence.”
He picks his keys up from the bureau. “I’m too amped right now, and outbursts like that’re exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I already told you, I’m not trying to hurt you, and—just . . . I’ll see you later.”
“Think you’ll be sleeping here tonight?” I ask, letting the sarcasm drip. At some point, I curled my hands into fists. If I thought I could get it out without my heart stopping on the spot, I’d throw Gisele and Joan in his face. Even though an affair is unlikely, at least it would shake him up. “Or will you find somewhere better? Maybe Family-kind has an extra bed.”
He says nothing and sticks his feet in his tennis shoes, not bothering with the laces.
I don’t want nothing. I’d rather he told me to fuck off than remain mute. I’d take the worst thing he could think of over nothing. “I’m sick of this asshole bit, Nathan,” I warn. “I want my husband back.”
He opens the door.
“I’m going to check on you. I’ll call all the soup kitchens in the city.” I know he wouldn’t lie about volunteering, but at this point, I’ll say anything to get a reaction. “You better be there. If you’re not, I won’t even give you a chance to explain.”
He glances back at me, a look of pure confusion on his face. Then, his furrowed eyebrows draw inward. His expression sours. He shakes his head at me like I’m begging for a second chance I won’t get. I’m not begging, though, so why does it make me feel pathetic?
I wait through the few seconds it takes him to decide how to proceed. I wait for him to tell me I’m insane. I want him to. I want him to lose control and call me names if it means we’ll finally have it out.
When he leaves, he doesn’t even care enough to slam the door.
TWENTY
Each step beyond the entryway where Nathan left me feels like a great distance. The mysterious gulf in our relationship is murky and flooding over. Will the gap get even bigger? I don’t know if I’d be able to build a bridge over an ocean. Or if Nathan even wants to.
His silence echoes louder in our apartment than his words. Ginger is sprawled on the floor as if it’s just another day. On the TV console, Nathan’s watch, hastily left behind, ticks loudly from under some discarded receipts. Movies line the shelf beneath it. I’ve never purchased a DVD in my life, but all my favorites are there.
A few winters ago, Nate brought home groceries and a movie. While I made popcorn in the microwave, he came up behind me, wrapped me in a blanket, and kissed my cheek. I never wondered how he knew when I was cold. I didn’t remember mentioning The Princess Bride. Nathan just knew these things. I thought it was normal. I was happy without realizing it was because of those small details. I thought they made him as happy as they made me.
I inhale a deep breath. Why does that small, insignificant memory hurt this much? There are so many to choose from. Our wedding day. The first time Nathan kissed me. The night, early in our relationship, when he let me stain his dress shirt with mascara and never made me tell him why. But no, it’s a random night in front of a microwave.
I pick up a receipt for fifty-seven dollars worth of Subway sandwiches. Once a month, he treats his office, even though I’ve asked him not to. It’s not his job to be a hero. I crumple it up, my small act of rebellion.
His open laptop stares at me from our desk in the corner. I go over and tap the space bar until the screen flickers alive. There isn’t a single thing on his desktop. Mine is cluttered with folders, photos, files.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I don’t sit down, but I lean over and open his browser. His inbox is his homepage, and his account loads. I read the first couple subject lines. Despite being organized, he’s not good about separating his work and personal life. I close the window. The truth is, I have no desire to snoop through his things. If Nathan is hiding something from me, it’s killing him. He’d struggle lying to his worst enemy. I don’t need, and I don’t want, to see it in an e-mail or on a receipt.
Being in this apartment is like putting a plastic bag over my face. I go through the motions of cleaning up. I am, by nature, a messy person. Aside from washing dishes after a homemade meal, I don’t like housework, not laundry, not cleaning. I do my best to pick up after myself. Maybe it’s not enough, though. I throw out my half-drunk coffee cup and return our comforter to the bed. Nathan must’ve been in a hurry, since he normally folds his blanket and puts it with his pillows to one side of the couch. It’s been a while, so I bleach the kitchen sink, the bathroom and toilet. In the shower, I scrub myself—my hair, under my arms, between my thighs. I shave my legs. Erasing Finn from my body means ridding myself of Nathan’s momentary affections too.
Nathan needs time to sort out his thoughts. What does that mean? Based on his tirade, I wonder if he feels our marriage is one-sided. That I don’t give as good as I get. How can I prove him wrong if he has several years’ worth of small details against me?
I unscrew the caps off the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash to clean out gunk and switch out the blade of my razor for a fresh one. I could go to Family-kind and show him I meant what I said—I am trying. Even if he doesn’t want me there, at least my effort would be noted.
<
br /> I get out of the shower, towel off, and start with my hair. He loves it sleek and my makeup natural. I choose ass-hugging jeans that drive him crazy and a pink angora sweater that makes my boobs look a size bigger than they are. Not that Nathan’s ever complained about them. From a dusty bin, I pick out a pair of boots with stacked, four-inch heels. They hurt my feet, but sometimes it’s worth it. Sometimes it’s welcome.
I go out to the elevator. Passing 6A is like walking through a ray of sunshine on a cold day. And it’s not because Finn’s heater is strong enough to warm the hallway. My body just knows what it’s like in there. Softly lit, inviting, safe. His apartment set up is similar to ours. It’s not hard for me to envision his home as my own. Sleeping in an empty bed doesn’t exactly help. I’m the one who told Nathan to go, but I wouldn’t have expected him to stay away.
I’ve been standing at the elevator for minutes when I realize the call button isn’t lit up. I never hit it. I can’t go to Family-kind. Nathan doesn’t have the heart to turn me away in front of all those people. He’d grit his teeth and tolerate me. I don’t want to get rejected, hurt, shocked yet again today.
I walk back toward my apartment feeling as clean and shiny as a new penny—on the outside. I have to pass Finn’s door again, but this time I stop. I shouldn’t feed into his lofty notions, but I shouldn’t do a lot of things, like knock on his door. He doesn’t open it at first. Eventually, though, I can sense him on the other side, debating. It’s not the enthusiastic welcome I expected.
He unlocks the door. His lips are thinned into a line. “Every time you knock, I have to get dressed. Soon, I’m not going to bother.”
My cheeks warm like he’s the sun, and he’s only looking down on me. Despite being back in his revealing sweats, his hair and skin are damp. He’s no longer musky, but as fresh and soapy as I am. “Sorry,” I say and mean it. I don’t know what I want, but it isn’t to jerk him around. “I just thought . . . I—”
He sighs, overpowered by something I can’t see, and opens the door wider. “You don’t have to explain. I’m glad you’re here.” Black Sabbath plays in the background. There’s a new shoe rack and umbrella holder near the entrance. I nod to a pile of broken-down boxes. “You’re making progress.”
“Yeah. I need somewhere to channel all this . . . you know,” he pauses on a shrug, “nervous energy.”
I bite the inside of my bottom lip. “Do I make you nervous?”
“Nervous? No. That’s not what you make me.”
I put my hands in my back pockets. “What then?”
He idly looks me over. “Pink’s a good color on you. That sweater looks . . .” His lazy gaze stops at my breasts. “Soft.”
I try not to show my amusement. I didn’t pick this for him, but I’m glad he likes it. “Thanks.”
He lifts his chin, his eyes back on mine. “So? You coming in?”
Minutes ago, if someone’d bumped into me, I’d have cracked down the middle. Now, my insides jiggle like jelly at the thought of being near him again. I have a greater urge, though, and it’s to get out of this stuffy apartment building. “I want to be alone,” I say.
“Okay . . .” He shifts from one bare foot to the other. Another sigh, this one deeper but shorter. “Then why’d you knock on my door?”
“Will you come with me?”
“You want to be alone—with me?”
I look down. He needs a welcome mat. The carpet here is noticeably wearing. “Yes.”
“Give me a sec to change,” he says. “Come in.”
I might not come out until nightfall if I do. “I’ll wait out here.”
Finn looks both ways down the hall. “All right. Don’t disappear on me.”
“I won’t.” Nothing can move me from this spot now that I’ve decided I want to be with Finn today. I’m lighter just being in his presence. Nathan’s harsh words melt off my shoulders.
He comes back in jeans, a button-down and boots within moments of leaving me there. In the hallway, he shrugs his jacket on. “Ready,” he says.
He runs a fine-tooth comb through his hair while we ride the elevator down.
“I told you I’d wait,” I say with a half-smile.
“I wasn’t taking any chances.” He winks at me. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Better now.”
We exit the building and stop on the sidewalk. I look toward Lexington Avenue and then in the opposite direction. Finn is expecting me to take him somewhere, but I hadn’t thought this far ahead.
Finn’s big, paw-like hand scoops up mine. “Come,” he says, and we go right, deeper into the city. Our tree-lined street is an explosion of peaking, reddish-brown foliage and a smattering of summer green.
Finn squeezes my hand before he releases it. I’m grateful he doesn’t make me say it aloud—we can’t touch outside of four walls. “Why’d you change your mind about seeing me today?”
I tunnel into my coat, a futile attempt to recreate the warmth he just took away. “I don’t want to get into it.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to.” He scratches his beard. “Not right now. Eventually, though.”
“Eventually what?” I ask, gawking up at him. “I have to get into it?”
“Yeah.” He sniffs, shooting me a sidelong glance. “I’m not going to come running every time you get into a fight with him. I want to be there for you, but not like that.”
“What makes you think we got into a fight?”
“Am I wrong?”
I stop abruptly. This is the opposite of what I had in mind for us. I need my brain bleached like my bathroom tile, not another argument. “If you’re just going to yell at me, then we can part ways now.”
“Yell at you? Have I raised my voice?” he asks. “I’m just saying, I don’t want to be here with you just because he can’t be.”
“I don’t know why I want you here,” I say. “Accept that or go. I’ll understand.”
He looks at the ground a second. “Just tell me I’m not a substitution for him.”
I think Finn means more to me than that, but it’s hard to know when my heart doesn’t know what or who to beat for. I’m only sure that I’m not sure of anything. “My feelings are complicated,” I say.
“We can make this work, Sadie. But I don’t want to be second place.”
“Finn, he’s my husband. There is no place behind his.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe it feels that way now, but it won’t always.” He engulfs both my hands, cupping them in his. “Jesus. Did you bring gloves?”
I shake my head, but I’m warmer already. Despite any reservations either of us might have, there’s real hope in his eyes. It’s infectious.
He brings our hands to his mouth and breathes hot air on them. “I’m not pushing you. I just need to know when you’re with me, you’re with me. You aren’t wishing you were—somewhere else.”
That isn’t a promise I can make, but I don’t want to hurt Finn, and I definitely don’t want him to leave. The need to have him here runs deep after this morning’s game of back-and-forth. “I want to be here,” I say, “with you.”
He kisses my knuckles, the pads of my palms. “I can see you’re sad. You don’t have to be sad. If you let me, I’ll take your pain away, sew you up, heal you. It has to get worse before it gets better, but I can do it.”
I watch him with awe. He truly is happy to be with me in this moment. “How can you be so sure about me after so little time?”
He gets lover-close and sticks my hands into their respective pockets. For a few private seconds, he laces his fingers between mine. “Honestly . . . I’ve probably lost it.”
It feels good to break into genuine laughter, and to have him join in. I realize I’ve come to expect his intense responses, so poking fun at ourselves is welcome. “Please tell me you understand we can’t leave our spouses of years for each other. You’ve known me two weeks.”
“In my mind, I’ve known you much longer.” He smiles down at me be
fore we start walking again. “And, we can do whatever we damn well want.”
“We can . . . but should we? It isn’t fair to them.”
“No, it isn’t. It also isn’t fair that he’s had you for so long when it should’ve been me.” Without missing a beat, he adds, “Should we go to Quench? Finish the conversation we started ten years ago?”
“Definitely not,” I say. “They know me and Nathan there—” Gisele’s sweet, unassuming smile comes to mind, and my mood darkens. Her young teeth are too white for a coffee shop. “They know us as a couple.”
Finn grunts. I sense his irritation when he says, “I’ve always thought of that as our spot, Sadie.”
“What about Marissa?” I ask, steering the conversation back on topic.
His back goes straight. “Marissa?”
“If there’s any reason to stop this, it’s her.”
“Marissa will always be my priority,” he says. “That doesn’t mean I have to be unhappy, does it?”
“No.” I can’t help but think of my brother. Andrew is stubbornly unhappy. He’d rather that than risk getting hurt again, even if he won’t admit it. I worry about the message he’s sending his daughter. “I guess not.”
“I’m a good dad. Falling for someone else doesn’t mean I have to lose my little girl.”
His matter-of-factness stubs out any argument I could come up with. The man knows what he wants. He wants Marissa. He wants me. I, on the other hand, can’t possibly think that far ahead yet. “I don’t know, Finn.”
He shrugs. His shoes scuff the concrete. Even in my highest heels, I only come up to his chin. “I don’t expect you to. It’s not exactly something we can work out overnight. But it’s important to me that you know everything I’m thinking.”
It’s a refreshing change, someone letting me in, even if it isn’t Nathan. But my true relief is that Finn doesn’t need anything from me at this moment.
We wind through the streets, going nowhere until we come to a natural stop in front of a vintage clothing shop with artwork in the window and heavy metal on the speakers. Finn seems drawn by the music. Inside, we gravitate to the same watercolor nude hanging over a rack of clothing. The woman is hunched forward on the floor, her legs spread under her. She’s shades of pink with reddish nipples and an opaquely black bellybutton. Even though she covers her crotch with a hand, her fingers are cracked, as if we’re being spied on. The same black hair on her head sprouts around her slender fingers.
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 20