He scoffs. His unfamiliar disdain makes me feel even further from him. “You’re accusing me of lying about visiting my sick dad?”
When he says it out loud, it sounds so unlike something Nathan would do, I have to pause. I put the brakes on my rage and think. Nathan would never lie where his dad’s health is concerned, and I should know that. But it can’t all boil down to something as stupid as ketchup. “Well, I’m right,” I say, lowering my voice, “aren’t I?”
Nathan gets very still and quiet. There’s depth in his eyes I haven’t seen since he broke the news to me his dad was dying. With just a glance, he has the power to inspire a wave of doubt in me. My legs, and my resolution, waver. “Aren’t I?” I repeat.
“You mean to tell me,” he says softly, “for the last few weeks, you thought I was having an affair—and you said and did nothing? You waited, hoping to catch me in a lie?”
I open my mouth and pause. “Well, no,” I say. Unlike my palms, which have begun to feel sticky, my throat dries up. “I didn’t have actual proof or anything. And I didn’t ‘do nothing.’ I tried talking to you so many times—”
He shakes his head hard. “Not about this you didn’t. I wouldn’t have ignored an accusation this serious.”
“How was I supposed to know you’d listen?” I ask. “Every time I’ve tried, you shut down.”
“It shouldn’t even be a question,” he says cuttingly. “You should know I would never do that. Ever.”
I take a breath and step back. The truth is, if I’d really believed Nathan had betrayed me, I would’ve said something sooner. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from finding out the truth, because until recently, we’ve always had honesty. “I hoped I was wrong—”
“You are wrong.” I feel people’s eyes on us, but I can’t look away from him. “Jesus Christ, Sadie,” he says, running a hand through his hair and messing it up. “I had no idea our marriage was this weak. So this is where we end up when things get tough?”
“Things haven’t just gotten tough—you disappeared on me,” I shoot back, but my resolve falters. Nathan’s no actor. I can tell by his reaction that I’m wrong. Dead wrong. By a thousand miles, ketchup makes more sense to me than Joan. We’ve been together in Gisele’s presence more times than I can count, and never once did I suspect anything. Because it wasn’t there. “It’s been two-and-a-half months of this. Is it so unreasonable I would jump to this conclusion?”
He frowns. “To me, it is. After seven years, I’d hope you know my character better. What have I not given you during this marriage?” he asks. “I live where you want. I do what you say. It’s exhausting, but I do it because I love you more than myself. I’m not saying things haven’t been difficult these past few months, but that love doesn’t just go away. My character doesn’t change.”
I look up at him and try to see myself through his eyes. He’s always bent over backward for me, and maybe I don’t always thank him or return the favor as I should, but I thought it made him happy to treat me that way. I thought I made him happy. But if I was self-centered over the years, it was because Nathan’s world revolved around me like I was the sun. I didn’t ask for that. “I’ve never made you do anything against your will. I’ve always told you, if you’re unhappy—”
“I’m free to go,” he finishes wryly. “Right? I just need to say the word?”
His words resonate with a physical pang in my chest. He thinks I don’t care enough to fight for us. And based on my short history with Finn, maybe Nathan’s right.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have to get back to the office.”
“What about lunch?”
He gives me a look that conveys his lack of appetite and turns away. “I’ll see you at home.”
Amelia comes to my side. “Sadie. What the hell was that?”
I stick my hands under my armpits to stop their trembling, but instead, it spreads to my shoulders, my torso, my legs. I’ve made a serious and wrong accusation about something I’m guilty of. I hope Nathan understands I was driven to this conclusion by the depth of hurt his distance has caused.
Amelia squeezes my bicep. “That was brutal, but right now, you need to get it together or excuse yourself.”
My vision clears. Misty Burroughs is standing at our table with her arms crossed, and her lips thinned into a line.
I swallow down the last few minutes and walk directly to Misty, who’s an embarrassingly short distance from me. “Miss Burroughs. I am so, so . . . sorry—and mortified.”
“What was that?” she asks.
I bite my bottom lip with a belated and unexpected wave of tears. That was my marriage bottoming out. I expect a complete reaming out from Amelia later, even though she stands quietly by my side now.
“It was personal business she should’ve taken somewhere else, right?” Amelia answers for me.
I inhale through my nose and nod, afraid I’ll cry if I try to speak. I’m a second from wiping my eye with my sleeve when Misty jumps to catch my wrist. “Honey, no man is worth mascara stains on Burberry.”
I pause. The three of us laugh stiffly and awkwardly, but it breaks the tension a little.
“So your husband’s cheating,” Misty says with a shrug. “Fuck him.”
Amelia smiles, relief clear on her face. “He blindsided her just now.”
My instinct is to defend Nathan, but I don’t. It won’t help the situation. “This is very unprofessional,” I say and apologize again. “I assure you, this is a first for me—and it shouldn’t reflect on the firm.”
Misty pulls out a chair and sits. “Look. I’m not married, but my sister’s husband did a number on her. When I call and tell her about this, because you bet your ass I will, she’ll cheer for the way you confronted him. So, why don’t you go compose yourself, and we’ll get on with this meeting.”
“Of course,” I say. “Thank you, Miss Burr—”
“Nope.” She stops me with a hand in the air. “It’s just Misty.”
“Thanks, Misty.” I excuse myself and find public bathrooms in the middle of the market. Of course, there’s a line. I skip it and go inside to check my mascara, which is really an excuse to stop and take some deep breaths. I can’t cry a single tear in this meeting. Misty seems patient, but she’s also a businesswoman. She won’t put up with this.
In Nathan’s face just now, I saw real pain from my accusations. I should’ve trusted my gut. He wouldn’t betray me, but he isn’t innocent in all this. He tested my limits, and this is where it’s gotten us. The last few weeks, I’ve lost sight of us—myself, our relationship, and him, the man he really is. I could lock him in a room with Cindy Crawford and give him free rein. He wouldn’t touch her. But me—not me. In my blind rage, I put my own sins on Nathan’s head. Would Nathan ever understand how desperate I must’ve been to react that way?
I inhale a few more times and return to the table. Amelia and Misty have ordered food. They’re all business, except when Misty turns to me and asks, “Is this the best fucking pastrami you’ve ever had?” followed by, “And if you think I’m holding an event within a mile of Trump Tower, you’ve lost your damn minds.”
We laugh, talk business, and bullshit back and forth. Misty agrees to give AVEC a try. Once we’ve shaken hands and Misty shows us her red-bottomed shoes on her way out the door, Amelia and I melt into our seats.
“Fuck,” she says.
I nod slowly. “Yeah.”
“We pulled it off, though.”
“No thanks to me.”
“True.” We exchange a smile. “I’m kidding,” she says. “You did great all things considered. Misty is a known theater buff, and that shit was better than Broadway.”
I laugh a little despite myself.
“So what the hell happened?” she asks.
“Remember my friend? The one with the cheating husband?”
“Right. The friend.”
“Turns out, her husband wasn’t cheating. Turns out, my friend was complete
ly wrong and made an ass of herself in front of a bunch of people.”
“Sadie . . .” Amelia studies me. “When I confronted Reggie, same thing happened. He denied it. Made me feel like a complete loon. Turns out, not only was I right, but I didn’t even know half of what was going on. Men who cheat are master manipulators. Are you sure he isn’t lying? Who was that girl?”
“Oh. My. God.” I sink in my chair and put my face in my hands. “Gisele. We’ve known her a long time. My outburst was totally unwarranted. I’ll have to send flowers.”
“Or the whole flower shop,” Amelia suggests.
I grimace. “It was bad.”
“Do you need to be excused for the day?”
I give her a pleading look. “Please don’t make me. I’ll just sit and stew until Nathan gets home.”
“Your call,” she says, and we stand.
As we head back to the office, I pray for a boatload of work to keep myself occupied. Because each time my mind drifts, I replay my conversation with Nathan. I don’t believe in my gut that he’s been unfaithful, but in a way, I wish he were. Because the alternative leaves me with a sinking feeling. If he isn’t neglecting our relationship because he’s found someone else, then it means to him, the only problem is me.
TWENTY-SIX
On the way home, I stop for takeout. Nathan and I may have a long night ahead of us, and I don’t know that I’ll want to make food once we get started. It’s bright as day underground on the subway and dark when I come up the stairs. New York can be stark—a peaceful cluster of trees sandwiched between concrete slabs. A passing stranger’s hello on a bad day that can feel like a raft in deep waters. Sometimes the sinking sun streaks the sky red, purple, and orange, reflecting off mirrored skyscrapers and blanketing the city. It forces you to stop—walking, driving, hailing, talking—and look, but only for a second, because there’s somewhere to be.
I spot Finn outside of a market on our corner. He waves with a plastic bag in his hand. “Hi, beautiful.”
I slow down. Finn’s the most shameful part of this—the affair is bad, but the hypocrisy worse—and still, I stop for him. He doesn’t feel anything other than warm and golden. “Hello again.”
“And again and again.”
He leans in to kiss my cheek, but I pull away and mumble, “Sorry.”
He straightens up. “Can I walk back with you?”
In my pocket, my fingernails bite into my palm. I shouldn’t, but I can’t tell him no. I want to spend a few minutes numbing myself with him.
“Or should I stay a few feet behind?” He pretends to check out my ass. “I really wouldn’t mind.”
I crack a smile. “Come on.”
It’s almost a block to our building, less than five minutes. He doesn’t waste any time. “When can I see you again?”
I look at the ground as we walk over brittle leaves and pockmarked concrete. Nighttime in the city is filled with light. I don’t even know where it comes from half the time. “You’re seeing me now,” I say.
“It’s not good enough. Hours away from you are beginning to feel too long.”
I rub my brow. Between Nathan and work, I’ve only thought of Finn abstractly today, as one half of the affair. Yet, being around him now, this afternoon already weighs a little lighter on my shoulders. Finn has a calming effect on me. He’s adoration, passion, and promise. There are no wounds between us too easy to open. No words flung that would’ve been better left unsaid. “I had a rough day.”
“Did you? Tell me about it.”
“No time,” I say, looking ahead.
“Then come over.” He bumps me with his shoulder. “I have wine. Once you’re loose, I’ll massage the day right out of you.”
“That sounds nice,” I admit, but I don’t even have to think about it. Nathan will be home by now. As much as I’d like to avoid the aftermath of today’s argument, I hold on to the hope that I’ll come out of it with a clearer understanding of where his head is. “I can’t, though.”
“Are you all right?” he asks. “Did something happen with—him?”
“No.” For whatever reason, I’m suddenly protective. I’ve said enough about Nathan to Finn the last couple weeks, and I’ve had enough spectators for one day. This, whatever’s happening, is between Nathan and me. “It’s just work stuff.”
“Let me guess. Boss problems?”
“A little,” I say, because there’s some truth to it. She rode me a little harder than usual once we got back from lunch. “She can be tough.”
“Amelia, right?”
I glance over at him. Her name out of his mouth surprises me, like it’s a word I’ve never heard before. “How’d you know that?”
He shrugs. “Researching the company for our photo shoot. Work’s a big part of your life. I’m interested.”
I bite my lip against the urge to warn him he’s coming on too strong again. I’m not in the mood to be pried open tonight. But just the thought of an argument tires me. “Oh.”
At the entrance to our building, Finn lets us in with his key. When we’re alone in the elevator, he touches my chin and lifts my head. “Hey. Sorry for your bad day.”
I take a lungful of elevator air and Finn. He smells like a lumberjack tonight, nature-fresh and a bit musky. Soothing. I rise up to kiss him because we’re almost at our floor, and I want to, and I think he’s trying to be respectful. His lips are more pliant than usual as he lets me take the lead.
We’re separated by the ding of the elevator. When I go to leave, he pulls me back by my wrist. He hesitates.
“What?” I ask.
“Remember that I’m just across the hall. Thinking about you. Wishing you were sleeping by my side. If you need me, knock.”
I hear him and the sincerity in his words. Being cared for, even for a few moments, is a relief from what I’ve been going through. I reach up and trace his mouth with my fingertips. “They’re the first thing I noticed about you back then,” I say. “Your lips make me weak in the knees, always.”
“Prove it.”
We kiss once more, two unfaithful mouths pressed together, and then walk to our respective apartments without another word.
The apartment is dark when I get home, and I wonder if Nathan is waiting in the bedroom. I’m unpacking the takeout bag onto the kitchen table when I get a text from him.
Stopped downstairs for a beer.
My heart drops. He should be here. There are too many words hanging between us, both said and unsaid. Why doesn’t he want to fix this? Does he think it’s too late?
He’s at a bar that’s next to the corner market where I stopped to talk to Finn. We would’ve walked by it together. Normally, when Nathan goes there alone, he sits at the window to people watch or read a book. There’s a chance he saw us walk by. The Nathan I know isn’t the jealous type, but he has his limits. He makes his presence known when I encounter overly friendly men—at restaurants, on the train, trolling farmer’s markets. An ex-coworker made an inappropriate comment about my skirt once, so Nathan came over on my lunch break and set him straight. He wanted me all to himself then. But does he still?
A tear slides down my cheek. I sniff, wiping my face. I’m more exhausted than sad, tired from an emotional day. I wish I’d never made eye contact with Finn in the hallway while simultaneously craving more of our last kiss. I remember how deep inside me he was this weekend. I’ve never thought seriously about other men before Finn. Nathan could satisfy me blindfolded with his hands behind his back. He knows my body. He’s had me on my stomach, on my back. He’s had me half-asleep, outdoors, in my childhood bedroom. In silence, and in chaos. He has not, though, had me recently.
I take Ginger out, but I don’t walk her. It’s especially cold tonight, and I don’t want to run into Nathan on the street like a couple of strangers. Back upstairs, I change out of my work clothes, shuddering as I pull on my flannel pajamas. Even though it’s still several days to the twenty-first, I break our tradition and switch on the heater
. I’ve had as much cold as I can take.
I take my soup to the couch and turn on a documentary about Scientology. My mind wanders, though. When he comes home, what will I say? What will he? After the past few months, he doesn’t have as much right to be angry as he thinks he does. How do I explain that to him without feeling like a hypocrite? This afternoon’s adrenaline from seeing him with another woman has worn off, and the threat of confrontation makes my stomach churn. Growing up, the smallest things turned into the rowdiest fights. My dad tripping over a vacuum cord would end in my mom throwing dishes. Andrew fought that way with Shana, Bell’s unpredictable mom, before she left him. Why shouldn’t my story be the same? Nathan doesn’t raise his voice at me or take his anger out on inanimate objects. Would he, if we really fought? I don’t even have to wonder. He’s miles from my father.
I hear his key in the door and then his voice. “There’s my girl,” he coos to Ginger. “Did mama take you out already?”
I change the channel to a sitcom and ignore him. At the heart of it, I’m sad Nathan would rather be alone than here, fixing our marriage. But on the surface, I’m angry. About this afternoon. About tonight. I feel as though I’ve been chasing him down for weeks. I want him to come to me, but I’m tired of the charade. Since nothing else seems to work on him, I decide to try forcing his hand by acting like a five-year-old.
“Well, unless you were wading in the tub, I guess you’ve been outside.” Ginger’s tags clink as he scratches her neck. “Soggy paws,” he says to me. “Dead giveaway.”
As if on cue, a laugh track sounds on the TV. Everybody Loves Raymond. When the grass outside is wet, Ginger tracks mud through the foyer. Nathan’s mentioned it before, and he usually gets the mop out. It only seems to happen after I’ve walked her. It’s not like Ginger understands wet grass means a dirty floor, so I guess it’s my fault. “Sorry.”
He stands there another second petting Ginger. “For what?”
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