Slip of the Tongue

by Jessica Hawkins

  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.

  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 before 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.

  “Help you with something?” the clerk asks.

  “No,” we say loudly and in unison.

  Finn stares up at it. Quietly, he says, “I can’t get it out of my head—fucking you. Not last night or this morning or even now. Your perfect tits. An ass I can get a handful of.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” It’s too much. His words make me dizzy, unsure of my self-control.

  “You have the body of an angel,” he continues. “Or a devil. I haven’t decided.”

  I shift my eyes from the painting to his profile. “Is that a compliment?”

  “No,” he says, looking back at me. “It’s trouble.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  On Nineteenth Street, Finn wants to know what the next showing is. The theater clerk barely looks up from her computer, either tweeting or looking up movie times. “There’s one starting in five minutes,” she says.

  “Is it good?” he asks.

  “Of course. It’s great.”

  “Honestly,” he says. “What’s the truth?”

  She checks over her shoulder before she says, “Total crap. It’s a box office bust.”

  “Perfect.” Finn takes out his wallet. “Two adults for the box office bust.”

  Minutes ago, Finn had me hot and bothered in the middle of a vintage shop. I’m not sure I can sit still for the next two hours. “Finn—”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  Warmth surges through me. He’s caught me off guard. I can’t be his sweetheart, but this woman doesn’t know that. Finn looks about as delighted to call me that as I am to hear it. I decide to shut up. “Nothing.”

  He grins. “Good.”

  But as soon as we enter the popcorn-scented lobby, my loose muscles pull as taut as guitar strings. Finn asks me if I want something. I tell him I hate popcorn, and he looks pleased with each piece of information he gets. I don’t hate popcorn. I hate the way it stirs my memory and my guilt, both of which are better off buried.

  We walk side by side into the dark theater. His knuckles brush my wrist, and I get an actual electric shock from the carpet. My hairs stand on end. I realize he’s going to touch me when we sit down. That’s why we’re here. To do more of what we did yesterday.

  Him, flipping me over on the couch—first, onto my stomach to explore me from behind, then onto my back when he was ready to fuck.

  His teeth, grazing the arches of my feet.

  His hands, spreading me apart for his mouth.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  I’m hobbling. “Yes.”

  We stop at the top of the aisle. A trailer for an action movie shakes the theater like an earthquake. My eyes adjust. The empty theater. Finn leads me to the middle of the very back row. He seats me on the inside, closest to the wall. As soon as I’m there, he whips off his jacket and huddles over me. He runs the tip of his nose along the shell of my ear, breathes hotly on my skin. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he says, pushing my coat off my shoulders. I wiggle out of it. “You have no idea.”

  The memory of him inside me stings fresh—hurts, even, but in a good way. I put my hand directly on him and feel how hard he is. “I have some idea.”

  He says my name through gritted teeth, as if the smallest thing will make him explode, then pushes me flush against the back of the seat. He kisses me hard, but I’m in the middle of my own feverish storm. I give it right back to him. I scrape my hand against the bulk in his pants.

  He mirrors my movements and massages the seam of my jeans up against my clit. His fingers work fast from the start. I see stars right away. The stiff fabric and his urgency annihilate my control. I lose my breath, unable to continue kissing him.

  He chuckles. “Already?”

  “You can tell?” I ask.

  “You freeze up before you climax.”
<
br />   My hand is splayed across his crotch. My shoulders are nearly at my ears. My thighs shake from the pressure. I whisper, even though we’re alone, “You’re going to make me come here, in public?”

  “Eventually. We still have a couple hours.” He covers my mouth with his again. We make out like we’re both starving and the other person is food. He pops open my jeans but doesn’t touch me where I want. His hand is under my sweater, skipping up my stomach, yanking at the underwire of my bra.

  I pull him closer by his shirt. He’s nearly in my seat, hungrily exploring every inch of me, when voices startle us apart. I bang my spine against the armrest. An elderly man and woman shuffle into view, and then down the aisle. A group of girls enters behind them and sits a few rows in front of us.

  “What the fuck,” Finn hisses.

  I’m also panting, but somehow I manage a laugh. “Did you honestly think we could be alone in the middle of Manhattan?”

  “I have a hard-on the size of fucking Manhattan.” He throws his head back against the cushion and looks up at the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “Not as sorry as I am. I’ve got to sit through a shitty movie with the goddamn Empire State Building in my pants.”

  I giggle a little harder, but my glee fades quickly. Now I’m thinking of the way he plowed into me last night with his building of a cock, gave me all of it, even though he knew it could hurt. “How big are you?”

  He looks sidelong at me. “I don’t know.”

  “Liar. Every guy knows.”

  “Not me.”

  I don’t believe him. Nathan is equally shy about being well endowed. He’ll joke with me, whispering about his cock in public to make me blush. But when I tease him about his size, he shuts up.

  Finn and I get comfortable. He pulls my leg over his and throughout the movie, absentmindedly rubs his hand on my thigh. I have no idea what’s happening in front of my eyes. I’m turned on and confused, a dangerous combination. I think I could justify anything right now, including getting arrested for indecent exposure.