Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  He doesn’t budge, his expression playful but determined.

  “Fine,” I say and turn to face the counter. “Be gent—”

  He smacks me on the ass, but it barely stings. I break into a fit of giggles.

  “Feel better?” he asks.

  I nod back at him, sincere. “Thank you. You really know how to cheer a girl up.”

  “Anytime. I mean that.” He winks. “Want a tour of the apartment?”

  Despite the fact that we’ve been intimate here, I realize I’ve never seen his bedroom. Just being here with Finn is making a decision, but I’m not sure I’m ready to dive in head first. “Okay . . . but—”

  “Just a tour,” he says, raising his palms. “Promise.”

  I nod, grateful he can read my mind. I stick the ribs in the oven and follow him out of the kitchen. He opens a door in a short hallway. I’m hit with a chalky, pungent smell. The tarped floor is littered with paint cans. One wall has a half-finished mural of horses. “Marissa wanted horses,” he explains.

  “You did that?” I ask. It’s by no means Michelangelo, but that doesn’t matter. It’s a father’s dedication to his daughter.

  “She sketched it with me. Some of her stuff is here. I was going to get the rest after Thanksgiving.”

  I rub my eyebrow. “But not anymore.”

  “The house is sold, so they have to move. But—I mean, obviously, I’ll help Kendra find . . .” He looks around the room a moment. “We haven’t worked out any details yet.”

  “Oh.” My gut smarts. I look into a box by the door. This is real. Frozen-coloring-book, Shopkins, fuzzy-pink-socks real.

  “Don’t,” he says, looking me over.

  “Don’t what?”

  “This would’ve happened eventually, Sadie. It’s not your fault.”

  I tuck some hair behind my ear. I was a little girl once with fucked-up parents. As I got older, I convinced myself it would’ve been better if my dad had just divorced my mom and put each of them out of their misery. “Should you maybe slow it down a little?” I ask. “Give Kendra some time to adjust to the idea?”

  He shakes his head. “She’ll convince herself I’ve changed my mind. That’s just the way she thinks. Would you want to be strung along?”

  If the last few months are any indication, I don’t do well with ambiguity in my relationship. “I guess not.”

  He shuts the door. “Not much to see in there. Or anywhere in this apartment, really.” The next room is just the standard eggshell-white. To the right of a desk, three canvas photographs are propped against a wall. “These are yours?” I ask, walking in.

  “I’m not pretentious enough to hang them,” he says, following, “but I’m not sure where to keep them.”

  The first photo is a sunny landscape shot of the steps in Union Square. A teenage boy is midair and blurry on his skateboard, flying off a railing. Other kids on boards surround him in various states of movement. A woman on a step has a sandwich in one hand and an e-reader in the other. The rest of the people in the photo are using a phone, watching the teens, or having conversations. Off to the right, a man in a folding chair is surrounded by artwork with price tags. Finn has precisely captured in detail a normal day in the park off Fourteenth Street.

  “This is my boss the day I quit,” he says, drawing my attention to the next photo. A gray-haired man has one hand steepled on his desk. He arches an eyebrow at the camera, his mouth set in a tense line, his face a topographic map of pockmarks and wrinkles.

  I glance at Finn. “You just . . . quit? And then took a picture?”

  “I want to remember that day forever,” he says. “I brought the camera into his office and snapped it without his permission. It’s not the best shot technically since I took it fast, but his expression says everything.”

  “He looks pissed. And annoyed.”

  “He was. About my exit and the photo. I thought he was going to break my camera, but instead, he just told me to get the fuck out.”

  “You weren’t scared to quit your job?” His ex-boss’s swanky office is stark white with sharp-cornered furniture and a view of the river. He has an entire shelf of awards.

  “It was more adrenaline than fear.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  He doesn’t answer. I look back at him. “Just needed a change,” he says.

  “You’ve made a lot of changes lately.”

  He shrugs. “Kendra likes to point that out. I’m working on myself. I don’t get why it’s a problem.”

  “I guess when you’re responsible for a young family—”

  “I’ve never let them down,” he says. “Not financially. The kind of money I was making, I was able to save a lot. I didn’t buy into material shit like my colleagues did.” He makes a point of looking around the nearly empty room. There are two boxes labeled equipment and office. “As you can see.”

  Our eyes drift to the last picture of coffee grounds piled and scattered on a familiar-looking tile floor. “Was that here?”

  “Yeah.” He grins. “Evidence of my kitchen klutziness. Kendra usually makes the coffee.”

  “So does Nathan. Even the mornings he isn’t having any, he brews it and puts a mug out for me.” Aside from the fact that each photo makes me feel something, there’s no discernable connection between any of them. There’s a stack of 4x6 prints on the desk. The top is a Terrier leashed to a park bench. The rest stick out the sides—a wrinkled finger, a rusted bike chain, a rose petal.

  I realize Finn’s been quiet for a while. “Sorry,” I say, realizing my last comment about Nathan. “I shouldn’t share so much.”

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “It’s weird.”

  “This is all weird. If we can’t talk about that stuff, it’ll do more harm than good to our relationship.”

  “That’s mature,” I remark.

  “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  It’d be a relief not to edit myself. I nod. “It makes sense.”

  He comes over and wraps me in a sideways hug. “I want you to feel comfortable enough to talk about what you’re feeling. Even if it’s hard at first. I understand love doesn’t vanish overnight.”

  “Do you still love Kendra?”

  “I meant you and Nathan.”

  “I know.” I blink. Even if it makes me a little uncomfortable, I don’t think I want him to stop loving her all of a sudden. It shouldn’t be that way when you’ve been with someone so long. “Do you, though?”

  His gaze shifts away. It takes him a moment to answer, as if he doesn’t know what to say, or hasn’t given it much thought. “Of course I do. She’s the mother of my child. She’s been my wife for almost eight years. But I feel something different for you than I ever did for her. Much different.” He squeezes me.

  The fabric of our short history is shiny, woven with new experiences, romance, lust—most of all, possibility. A fresh start. With Nathan, the threads are stronger but faded. They’ve been holding us together a long time. They’ve endured arguments, tragedies, frustrations—but also adventures and blessings. Like the time I fought him about leaving our bed the morning after a blizzard. I pouted the whole way to Central Park, laden with a scarf, knit cap, and gloves. Nathan had insisted, and I’d grumbled. Somehow he knew what a magical day it would turn out to be. We ice-skated hand in hand, admired shop windows on Fifth Avenue, and had a snowball fight that downed me, more thanks to laughter than anything. Finn and I don’t have that yet. Instead, our magic is what could be, and a fresh start can be as alluring as a good memory. Neither what is nor what could be is better, and I understand what Finn means when he says different.

  Finn releases me. “There’s one last room . . .”

  “The bathroom?” I tease.

  The oven beeps. We laugh. “Divine intervention,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s eat. Smells fucking delicious.”

  On the way to the kitchen, I think about how he used the word relationship a minute ago. I didn’t
notice it at first, which means it didn’t scare me.

  Finn clears off the table and chairs. I get dishes and silverware. I’m familiar with his kitchen since I set it up. It’s more than likely I know it better than Finn’s wife does.

  “What can I do?” he asks as I set the table.

  “Sit,” I say. “Let me serve you.”

  His eyes follow me around the kitchen. I get two beers. I’d rather drink more wine, but he doesn’t have any, and when I think of going back to my apartment, my stomach aches.

  I prepare two plates and set his in front of him. “Sorry there’s no greens,” I say. “I had to dump the salad.”

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap. “Say that again.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him and think back. I know what he’s asking for, but I say, “I had to dump the salad?”

  He shakes his head, waiting, amused.

  “Let me serve you.”

  “Yeah.” He cups his hand between my legs. “Say it again.”

  I squirm as he holds onto me. “Let me serve you.”

  He rubs my clit with the undersides of his fingers. I inhale a sharp breath as he looks from my eyes to my mouth and back. “I can think of a few ways I want to be served.”

  He’s hard under my thigh. I cover his searching hand with mine and move with him. It’s nice. Easy.

  He flips his hand over, laces his fingers through mine, and kisses my knuckles. “You should eat. If we keep this up, I can’t promise we’ll get to dinner.”

  He doesn’t look at me. His self-control is thin, and it shows on his face. I appreciate that he stops to take care of me before himself, so I kiss him on the cheek. I try to get up from his lap, but he keeps me there with an arm around my waist. “You can stay here,” he says. “Just don’t wiggle around too much.”

  I smile and elbow him lightly in the ribs, but move most of my weight onto one of his thighs. “How’s that?”

  “We’ll see.” He picks up a rib and feeds me first.

  I suck barbeque flavor from his fingers. “Yum.”

  He cleans off the rest of the meat, groaning. After swallowing, he says, “That’s so worth not getting a handy.”

  I laugh throatily, his joke unexpected. “Liar,” I say. We take a few more bites that way. My hunger is easily satisfied tonight, so I snuggle against him as he eats, but it’s hard to get comfortable against his muscled chest. “I’m guessing you found a gym,” I say.

  “I’m at Equinox. I didn’t think it’d be smart to sign up where you guys go.”

  I raise my eyebrows, but he can’t see me. Nathan makes fun of that gym because it has the same equipment as ours, the same douchebags, and it costs twice as much. “How often do you go?”

  “Right now, almost every day. I’m making up for lost time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Between work, Kendra, and Marissa, I didn’t exercise as much as I wanted in Connecticut.” He washes down his food with beer. His body heaves as he swallows, bobbing me back and forth. He continues, “I’ve also been running along the East River promenade. Have you done that?”

  “No,” I admit. I don’t add that Nathan has tried to get me to go with him, but I find jogging grueling no matter where it happens.

  “Do it with me tomorrow,” he says. “If you go early enough, not many people are out. It’s beautiful.”

  “Isn’t it cold?”

  “Oh, it’s cold as fuck,” he says with a laugh, “but I’ll keep you warm, baby.”

  With my fingertip, I trace a figure eight on his thigh. For some reason, it doesn’t sound grueling when Finn suggests it. It sounds fun. “Then what?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “Then, we order all the breakfast at the diner. Enough hash browns to make us sick. We’re so cute when we dip them in our sunny-side-up eggs and feed them to each other that the waitress might also be sick.”

  I smile hard, bursting at the seams, on the verge of laughing. “And then?”

  “We’ll probably have to come back here after that,” he says. “We’ll be full and sweaty.”

  “Full and sweaty?” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s how you envision us as a couple?”

  “Stay with me,” he says. He looks toward the living room. “In the doorway, I’ll strip you down to nothing and carry you over my shoulder to the shower. I’ll fuck you in there. I’ll fuck you in here. I’ll fuck you all over the place. By then, it’ll be lunchtime, and we’ll go somewhere fun. You like the Museum of Natural History?”

  “I guess. It’s been a while—”

  “It’s the best one,” he says. “It’s just fun, not pretentious, you know? We’ll get hotdogs out front and then wander around.”

  “Hotdogs?” I ask. “After all that breakfast?”

  “Happy people eat a lot,” he says simply.

  We laugh together until his breathing evens out.

  “What’s next?” I ask, shifting to look at him. “Wait—let me guess. Pizza?”

  He kisses me on the nose. “If that’s what you want.”

  I turn back to the table. He’s almost finished his plate, while mine is nearly full. I nod. “It’s a nice fantasy, Finn. Thank you.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a fantasy. Just say the word.”

  I’m not surprised by his suggestion, but what world is Finn living in that he thinks we could do that tomorrow? I love that he wants to spend the day with me, but what we’re talking about is serious, and it needs a dose of reality.

  “I meant because I have to work tomorrow. You know that, right? It’s Thursday.”

  “And I’m supposed to go to Connecticut.” He shrugs. “I’ll cancel. You take the day off.”

  “All right,” I concede, even though I can’t since I did that today, “but then what? I can’t take every day off.”

  He gets quiet. I wait for him to answer, but it becomes clear he isn’t going to.

  I’ve ruined the mood, but this could be a good thing. We need see what’s behind this closed door. “What are you doing about work?” I ask.

  He shifts underneath me. “If you’re worried about finances, don’t be. I used to manage money for a living. I’ll figure it out. And until I do, I’ve got savings and investments.”

  “I’m not worried. Just curious.” I rub his calf with my foot to show him I’m not nagging. “You want to make a living on your photography, right? Have you made any progress since we last talked about it? What about that job you had?”

  “It’s on the books,” he says, a little lighter. “I’m not sure about it, though.”

  I tilt my head under his chin. “How come?”

  “I want to do it right, but I need to upgrade my equipment if I want to be competitive. I have to turn that office into a studio. It’s been so long since I did this professionally, I feel like a bit of an amateur.”

  I look up at him. I’m both glad and worried to see him pursuing his dream. I don’t know much about the stock market, but I’ve heard it can crash, and if that’s where his money is, I hope he knows what he’s doing. It isn’t easy to walk away from that kind of job stability, and I could never do it. But I remember that long-haired artist from the coffee shop, and it makes my heart swell with happiness. I kiss the underside of his jaw. “You should do it. You were great with me.”

  He smiles. He doesn’t seem that worried, but he must be somewhere inside. His life has been upended. He just quit his job. He’s ending his marriage. And I wonder about the little things too, like taking on an exorbitantly expensive gym membership when he has no income.

  I pull back a little. “Can I ask you something you might not like?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you having a mid-life crisis?”

  He chuckles, pets my hair, and pulls my head to his lips for a kiss. “I love when you surprise me with stuff like that.”

  I wait until his smile eases away. “Are you?” I ask.

  He glances at the ceiling and sighs. “I’m not even close to the
halfway point. At least, I hope not.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Well, if that’s what you want to call it, I guess I am. I don’t see it that way, though. I think I was sleepwalking, and I’ve finally opened my eyes. I don’t owe anyone my happiness, not even Marissa. If she sees me living my life for myself, then she’ll know what it looks like when it’s time for her to do the same.”

  I study his face, smooth but settling with fine lines and creases. The truth is, I’ve seen firsthand the changes he’s going through, but it’s been easy to forget his transformation started before that morning we met in the hallway. “What made you open your eyes?” I ask. “Did something happen?”

  “Sort of.” He snort-laughs. “I could tell you, but it’ll make me sound like a huge hypocrite.”

  “I’m the last person to judge,” I point out.

  He nods a little and rubs my thigh. “So my boss and his partners go out a few times a year and just light up the city. They get plastered, hit the strip clubs, steak and cigars, the whole nine. And they hire these, like, escorts, you know? For the night. These women stroke their egos and their—” He stops. “You get the idea.”

  I swallow down the urge to gag. I can’t imagine Finn and his romantic ideals getting caught up in that. I don’t worry that he’ll say he’s treated women that way. It’s not in his nature.

  He shakes his head. “Anyway, if someone like me gets invited to a night out with them, it’s some kind of privilege. You’re expected to participate, and if you don’t, you look like a pussy. And pussies don’t make it to the top in a place like that. You know who told me that?”

  “Not Kendra?”

  He laughs. “Her dad. He used to be one of those guys at another firm. It was more important to him that I get promoted than stay faithful to his daughter.”

  I frown. “That’s disgusting, Finn.”

  “I know it.” He squeezes my knee reassuringly. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know. But you were invited?”

  He nods. “Turning down a promotion would only delay the inevitable. That culture wasn’t changing anytime soon.” He goes quiet a moment, seemingly lost in a thought. “I had to accept or move to another firm if I wanted to go any higher. I asked around. Want to know what I found out? Everyone at my firm, and at other firms, hated life. They didn’t come out and say it, but I knew it was true for them because it was true for me.” He sniffs. “I hated my situation. Once upon a time, I believed I would create art. I believed I’d find the love of my life and do whatever it took to make her happy. Not once did I think screwing a prostitute was part of the deal. And it’s not like I had to stick my dick in someone—sorry—or I’d never succeed. It was more about what it meant that I worked in that kind of industry . . . and that I was considering how to do it while keeping everyone happy.”