I look back just as Finn leans in to, what? Hug me? Kiss me? I flinch, and he ducks left at the last second to get the door. “See you Saturday morning.”
I step back. “See you then.”
In my apartment, I move Nathan’s bedding and sit on the couch. I turn on the TV and change channel after channel, but I’m not paying attention. I replay my conversation with Finn. He’s a hearts-and-flowers guy. So is Nathan. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nathan had his own version of cheering a girl up in high school. They’re just a couple of starry-eyed, doting Yankees fans. I’m not sure what to make of the fact that they’re alike in some ways.
I switch to a sitcom rerun and hug Nathan’s pillow to my chest. After a minute, I write him a text.
I miss our romance.
I erase it.
FOURTEEN
Nathan walks into our bathroom as I apply my third coat of mascara. In the reflection, I catch him scan my outfit, lingering on my backside. “Client meeting on a Saturday?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Really?” He reaches past me for his toothbrush. “That’s the dress you wear to close deals.”
I check my lipstick for the fourth, fifth time? I’ve lost count. “Yep.”
He loads up on toothpaste, sticks the brush in his mouth, and leaves the bathroom. It’s the abrupt end of another conversation. But then, he stomps back in and pulls the toothbrush from his mouth. “Where are you going?”
For the last week and a half, we’ve been sidestepping each other, averting our gazes. He’s still sleeping on the couch. Neither of us has made a move to change that. There’s been no invitation on my end, no request to come back from him. Progress is at a halt. Why not give him a taste of his own medicine? A giddy current travels up my insides as I ask, “Since when do you care?”
He looms behind me. “Come on.”
“‘Come on’ what?” I lean closer to the mirror and pretend to focus on my eyeliner. The deep indigo of my dress turns my irises almost purple. “I won’t bother you with my plans.”
He spits in the sink, tosses the brush on the counter, and walks out. He isn’t the only one who can keep a secret. Not that it’s anything exciting—seeing Finn today is a work obligation. Nathan doesn’t know that, though.
I select nude YSL patent leather pumps. I don’t normally waste them on work, but they lengthen my legs, and I have a feeling the camera will love them. My dress, fitted with a scoop neck, doesn’t offer much coverage. I select a wool coat and scarf and head for the front door.
Nathan looks up from the couch while he laces his tennis shoes. Judging by his Adidas athletic pants and long-sleeve t-shirt, he’s got another pick-up game in Brooklyn. It’s his second this month. “I’m your husband,” he says. “I have a right to know where you’re going.”
I stop in my tracks. It’s oddly intuitive of him to choose this moment, when I’m off to spend the day with another man, to remember I exist. It’s also infuriating of him. He’s given me nothing since the night I sucked him off five feet from where I’m standing. “I see,” I say, turning to him. “Now you’re my husband. I didn’t realize we got to pick and choose when our vows apply.”
He pulls back. “Our vows always apply—period. Don’t question that because of a few rough weeks.”
“Try months,” I say.
“When have I ever left you in the dark?” he asks.
If nothing else, Nathan has been better about keeping me in the loop this week. A text or scribbled note lets me know where he is or where he’s been. The question is whether or not I can believe him. “Where are you going?” I challenge.
He points to his sneakers. “Basketball game.”
“Where?” The game is in Brooklyn. I know it, but I watch his face closely as he answers.
“Same as usual.” He says it as if he goes there every weekend. “Park Slope. There’s a court between Michael and Connor’s apartments.”
We stare at each other, him on the sofa, me across the room near the door. He’s always spent time with his friends in Brooklyn. I swear it’s been happening more lately, though. “I’m getting headshots taken for work.”
“Oh.” He goes back to tying his shoes.
“By Finn,” I add.
He stops. “Finn. Across the hall?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He’s a photographer.”
“You told me he was an investment banker.”
“He was.” I wrap my scarf around my neck. “Now, he’s a photographer.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Yes,” I agree. “It is.”
Nathan leans his elbows on his knees and gives me another once over. This time, he narrows his eyes on my dress. “It’s a little sexy.”
I shrug. “It’s for the website. I want to look good.”
“You’ll freeze.”
“Oh, well. What’s that saying? Beauty hurts.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” He stands. “Beauty is pain. Or the other way around.”
He makes no move to leave. My neck begins to sweat. The scarf quivers when my heart beats. “Why doesn’t his wife live here?” Nathan asks. “What’s her name again?”
“Kendra. They’re moving.” I swallow. “She will . . . live here.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
He flaps the hem of his shirt as if he’s hot. We still haven’t switched on the heater, though. “Are you doing this in his apartment?”
“No. We’ll be outside.” I lean back against the wall. “Do you want to come? You’re better at this creative stuff than me.”
He looks past me into the entryway. “I have the game. I’m sure Finn’s plenty creative.” He snorts. “Finn. What kind of a name is that? Is he an appendage?”
I cross my arms, unimpressed with his attempt at an insult. But at least he’s taking an interest. It could mean giving up alone time with Finn, which I’ve come to enjoy, but it’d be worth it. “I’d like for you to come, Nathan. Can you reschedule the game?”
“Can you reschedule the shoot?”
My question annoys him. I see it in his eyes. As if it took him two hours to get ready for some stupid basketball game. I brace myself against the wall and keep my voice mellow. “It’s just that my hair and makeup are done. And Finn’s already set his day aside.”
“I was making a point.”
“What point?” I ask.
“Never mind.”
“No, what?”
I can tell he’s about to brush me off again, but he stops. He blinks to the side, gnawing his bottom lip. “I don’t ask you for a lot,” he says. “Do I?”
I don’t really need to think about it. It’s no secret Nathan goes out of his way for me time and time again. My girlfriends tease me about it—with envy. “No, you don’t ask me for much,” I agree.
“It would be nice to . . . get a little bit more back. I wish you knew what was important to me the way I know what’s important to you. I’d never really expect you to give up your photo shoot to spend the day with me. But why should I always have to skip my plans?”
I feel a pang in my heart, equal parts guilt and sadness, over the implication that I don’t care as much as he does. But I can’t quite swallow his words down without pointing out the obvious. “Because you made me this way,” I say. “If I’m selfish, it’s because you nurtured that in me. You practically forced me to be adored all these years.”
He frowns, and I see the struggle on his face. I think he wants to let go of what’s bothering him, but he won’t allow himself to—maybe out of principle. Maybe there’s still a point he has to prove. “I want you to feel adored,” he says. “I guess I just want to feel the same.”
He doesn’t know how much I adore him? Does that mean I’ve failed as a partner? I don’t think so, because I don’t show my love the way he does. I give myself over to him in the kitchen and the bedroom. Those are my most intimate places, and that’s where he’s my king. I’ll make wh
atever food he wants, and I’ll fuck however he wants. Every time. I glance over my shoulder at the front door and back. Finn and I didn’t set a time, so maybe we can push the headshots back. “I’ll come with you to Brooklyn,” I say. “Would that help?”
“I’m not trying to guilt you into it,” he says. “You were right. It doesn’t make sense to cancel for a basketball game you won’t even enjoy.”
I slouch my shoulders. “I don’t get it. If you didn’t think I’d enjoy it, why’d you make a point to bring it up?”
We look at each other a few moments, and I think we’re both trying to understand the other person. The problem is, Nathan’s held my hand through a lot of this marriage. I’ve never been good at expressing my innermost thoughts to him, but he is good at that, and he shows me how to be better. Now, I feel lost without his guidance, as if I’m being tested but haven’t learned as much as I should’ve. When he sighs, I feel like I could do the same.
“I’m not doing a good job of explaining.” He checks his watch. “And I should head out, or they’ll cut me from the game.”
“What about Ginge?”
“I’ll take her quick.” He whistles, and Ginger gets up.
“All right. If you’re sure.” I take the door handle and look over at him as if there should be more to say. He concentrates on getting Ginger in her leash. “Have fun. Bye.”
I walk out. Finn’s place seems farther than usual, the hallway narrower, as if I’m moving in slow motion. I knock. Finn opens right away with an eager smile, and I’m inside before Nathan even leaves our apartment.
I accidentally kick over a large camera bag near the door. When I put it upright again, Finn steals a glance at my bare legs.
“We should go now,” he says. “There’s a chance of rain later.”
I think I hear footsteps in the hallway, the jingle of Ginger’s tags. “I might need a drink first. To loosen up.”
“No time. I don’t want to lose the light.”
I’d rather lose the light than run into Nathan with Finn. “Yes,” I tease him, “that would be a shame.”
He half-smiles at me. “I got that from the Photography 101 Manual. It’s under the chapter titled ‘Douche-y Things Photographers Say.’ Forgive me?”
“Sure.” I stall, in case Nathan is waiting for the elevator. Finn has his camera bag over his shoulder and his hand on the doorknob, but I’m peering into the living room. A box labeled Equipment is open on the floor. “Is this an old camera?”
“From college. I have a newer one, but I’m more comfortable with this one. Don’t worry, it still takes great photos.”
“I’m not worried.” He could tell me he’s using his cell phone. I wouldn’t know any better. “Did you study photography, or was it something you just kind of picked up?”
“I majored in it at NYU.”
I turn back to him. “Really?”
“I was serious about it. But like I told you, life got in the way.” Finn’s cheerful disposition is beginning to dim. “We should go,” he says, opening the door.
“Where to?” I ask when we’re getting on the elevator.
“Williamsburg.”
“Brooklyn,” I mutter under my breath. Another convert. “Great.”
“You look nice, by the way,” he says. “Stunning, really.”
The doors open. I shield my eyes against the light spilling into the small lobby. “Thank you.” My lipstick feels as thick as my wool coat. “I know you’re supposed to overdo it for the camera.”
“They’ll turn out nicely.” He holds the door open. “After you.”
We exit onto the sidewalk. Nathan and Ginger are on a small patch of grass in front of the building. Ginger whines when she sees me, pulling on her leash until Nathan introduces her to a tree trunk. She forgets all about me. I can’t think of anything new to say to him. I’d invite him again because I want him there, but he might think I’m expecting him to drop everything for me.
“We’ll get a cab to save time,” Finn says from the curb. I can’t tell if he’s pretending not to notice Nathan.
Nathan squints at me, at Finn, and a chill runs up my shins to my shoulders. He sticks his hand in his coat pocket. The collar is pulled up around his neck and makes his hair look almost black. If anyone’s going to speak up, it should be him. I already went out on a limb by inviting him and offering to change my plans. He made me promise to back off, to let him come to me.
“Sadie?” Finn asks, holding a taxi door open for me. “Coming?”
Nathan turns away. He might as well be a stranger.
I tighten the sash of my coat and get in the car.
FIFTEEN
The cab’s backseat TV blares a weather update. Finn was right—they’re predicting rain. I turn it off, and we ride to Brooklyn in silence. I insist on paying for the trip, but he won’t let me.
“I’ll add it to the bill,” he finally says the third time I shove cash at him. The taxi leaves us on a corner between two industrial buildings.
Finn slumps his camera bag on the sidewalk and unpacks it.
“We’re doing it here?” I ask. There’s a street sign, an overflowing garbage can, and a lot of chain-link fence.
“Around the corner,” he says. “This block is pretty quiet on the weekend, at least by New York standards. Not bad for a city with over eight million people.”
I wander down the sidewalk a little. There aren’t many people here for a reason. It’s ugly, gray slabs and bare trees. “I thought maybe we were going to a park or something,” I say.
“Maybe if this were an engagement shoot.” He’s right behind me, and I jump. “AVEC is edgy. Modern. A park would be too traditional.”
I sidestep a rotted Styrofoam container. “This is modern?”
He aims the camera at me but doesn’t take a picture. “Let me do my job. If you don’t like the pictures, we’ll go to a park.”
I sigh. “Deal.”
“Come.” He walks over to a pitted concrete wall tagged with graffiti. I edge toward him, making no secret of my hesitation. He takes my shoulders and positions me in front of it, facing the street. With a knuckle under my chin, he lifts my head, angling it an inch right, a millimeter left. His eyebrows are drawn with concentration. There’s nothing romantic about his touch, but no matter where my head goes, I can’t take my eyes off his face.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
“We haven’t done anything yet.”
He steps back. “Take off your coat.”
I slip it off, but there’s nowhere to put it. “I—”
“Ground. Toss it. Come on.”
Reluctantly, trying not to move my head, I heave it a few feet away so it’s out of the shot. I send my scarf along with it. That’s what dry cleaners are for, I suppose.
He’s already shooting, and I’m not even positioned yet. “Wait. Stop. What do you want me to do?”
“Just stand there. Don’t smile.”
Not smiling for a photo is harder than I realize. My face muscles twitch the more I try to keep still. I don’t know what the hell to do with my hands.
He lowers the camera. “Forget about the photo. Just look at me.”
I do. The sun is on top of us, and his eyes are stunningly green. “Good,” he says. “Just keep looking at me like that. Think about me.”
“Just a second.” I close my eyes and picture Finn the first time I saw him in the hallway, his white shirt, his sweat-dampened hair. I open my eyes again. Instead of modeling, I pretend I’m there to study him. To watch Finn in his element. He takes a picture and adjusts a few dials. I’m lost. I went years without a camera until I got a smartphone. Nathan’d cocked his head when I’d mentioned that on our third date, perplexed. Or was it our fourth? We’d been at a Mexican restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, two margaritas deep.
“Freeze,” Nathan said out of nowhere from across the small, intimate table.
“What—”
“Un-uh. Don’t move an inch. Just stay a
s you are.” He took my picture. “I want one to show my dad. He doesn’t believe you’re the most beautiful girl in Manhattan.”
“Nathan.” I rolled my eyes, secretly hoping he believed all the compliments he gave me. I would learn, over time, that he did. Every one.
I didn’t find out until months later I had a guacamole smear on my cheek. When I’m being snobby about something like thread counts or coffee beans, Nathan whips out that picture, and we double over with laughter.
“What were you just thinking about?” Finn asks.
“What?” I blink and beat my eyelids like a strobe. Reality creeps back in. “I don’t know,” I lie. “Nothing in particular. Why?”
“Try to go back to that place. You weren’t smiling, but you looked . . . happy. It was perfect.”
It’s too late. The moment has passed. Perfect. Is there such a thing? I never believed there was until I met Nathan. My childhood was definitely flawed. My parents missed my fifteenth birthday because they lost track of time at a casino. As I blew out the candle on the cupcake my brother brought over, I wished for new parents. Perfect ones. It wasn’t the only time I made that wish.
“I’m just following your direction,” I tell Finn.
“Then you’re a natural.” He comes up and hands me the camera. On the playback screen, my eyes are slightly narrowed, my lips slack. I’m rosy-cheeked from the cold. He picks up my coat and pulls it around my shoulders. “Let’s move. This shade of gray is washing you out a little.”
I follow him, carefully cradling his machinery. I’m not sure if I like the photo. There’s too much emotion for it to be professional. I decide not to point that out just yet.
He stops in front of a red-brick wall. “This’ll work,” he says. “How do you feel?”
My breath fogs, but I’m not shivering. “Good.”
He rubs his hands up and down my biceps before kneading my shoulders. The strength in his long fingers is undeniable, even through the wool of my coat. Again, there’s nothing sexual about it, but my body warms, and not just from his hands. It’s nice to be worried about. Taken care of, even if it only lasts a couple seconds.
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