Slip of the Tongue

by Jessica Hawkins

  When he swallows, his throat ripples. “No. I want you to be honest.”

  “We’ve done it in public, but not with other people in the room.”

  “You liked that, though?” he asks hesitantly. “It seemed like you did.”

  “Yes. You have rough edges. Nathan doesn’t take things to that level very often.”

  He strokes my hair away from my face. “It’s just because you make me crazy.”

  I smile so Finn doesn’t see the hurt on my face. Does he think I don’t make Nathan crazy? Is that why Nathan needs a slut? Is Nathan going to someone else looking for what I can’t give him? There are, after all, things I might be incapable of giving. Things he deserves. Things that sleep deep inside me, a black, empty pit in my stomach. Nobody can fill that void, probably not even Nathan at this point. If he isn’t planning on leaving me, if he still cares at all, he still couldn’t fix this feeling that I’ve failed him as a wife.

  “There you go, looking sad again,” Finn says. “You’re thinking about him.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. We’re going through so much, and I can’t even pinpoint what’s wrong. I’m lost.”

  “If he isn’t talking to you, he’s talking to someone else. I hate to say that, but more than likely it’s true. Look at us.”

  Yes, look at us, where we aren’t supposed to be. Or do I have that all wrong? Am I finally where I belong? I don’t know anymore. “Do you think Kendra’s talking to someone else?”

  “No. She doesn’t want anyone else. Normally, we’re pretty candid.”

  “But, you haven’t mentioned—”

  “Of course not. I might, if I weren’t worried about her family trying to keep me from Marissa.”

  I take his hand. Of course, I’ve considered Marissa. She’s nearly old enough to understand our affair. I haven’t thought about her in terms of divorce and custody, though. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

  “It just means we have to be a little more careful. And if we decide to—”

  Our waitress whistles and sings, “Yoohoo, love birds. Hope you’re hungry.” Ashley wears an enormous grin as she delivers spinach-and-artichoke dip, fries, and a basket of chicken tenders. “First time in New York? It’s romantic, isn’t it?” She clucks her tongue. We’re both looking up at her. “Just wait ’til it snows. Hope you get a chance to see it during your visit. Your hot chocolate’ll be right up.”

  Finn turns back to me and laughs. “When people think we’re together, I swear, it turns me into a teenage girl. I love it.”

  He kisses the tip of my nose when I wrinkle it. “It is fun,” I say. “Like acting.”

  “Yeah.” He feeds me a fry and then eats one himself. “As I was saying, an affair wouldn’t look good in a custody battle. If it were anyone else, I’d stay away, but it’s not. It’s you, my coffee girl.”

  His coffee girl. I’d smile, but my mouth is full.

  “If it were to come to that, though,” he continues, “I mean, let’s be frank. We’re adults here. How do you feel about kids? Why don’t you and Nathan have any?”

  My angora sweater is already itchy, but the neckline starts to burn against my skin. I scratch my throat. His question is simple, but I don’t even know where to begin. I swallow my food. “Kids?” I repeat.

  “Yeah. How do you feel about being a stepmom? Hypothetically. Or not. I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you off, but I can’t not ask.”

  The restaurant is suddenly bright. I pull on my neckline. Maybe Marissa is a blessing I hadn’t considered. An answer to the lonely part of me not even Nathan can touch. “I don’t know if I can talk about this.”

  “Why not?”

  I scrunch my eyebrows. Kids? How do I feel about them? It’s complicated. I don’t even understand my feelings, and I’m sure any way I try to express them will come out wrong. It’s been months since Nathan and I talked about having a baby, and since then, so much has changed. “I just can’t.”

  He stops chewing and tips his head to one side. “Sadie. Babe. You’re in pain.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  He sighs. “I guess. I know I am. Kendra is.”

  “Nathan is,” I say.

  “You make me happy, though,” he says. His smile is forced, but I really do appreciate the effort. “If he’s cheating on you, I’ll kill him. I will.”

  “Finn. That’s not really fair.”

  “Maybe not. But if I were a fair man, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  I frown. Whatever Finn says about himself is also true of me. There’s no getting around that. I’ve let Nathan down, and it isn’t the first time. I used to make him happy, though. Now, I don’t even have that to fall back on.

  The truth is, cheating on Nathan isn’t even the worst thing I’ve ever done to him.

  Finn puts down a chip he’s already dipped. His eyebrows are drawn. “What is it?” he asks.

  I just say it. “I had an abortion when I was younger.”

  The skin at the base of Finn’s neck pulses with his quickening heartbeat. “I see,” he says. “And you regret it.”

  I look up at him. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh. No—I’m not saying you should, I just thought—” Finn looks as uncomfortable he sounds. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to assume.”

  “I get it, though. A normal person would regret it. I, on the other hand, was relieved.”

  He taps a finger on the laminate table. “I don’t think there’s any ‘normal’ in that kind of situation,” he says slowly, as if his thoughts are forming at the pace of his words. “Whatever you felt, someone else has felt that too.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “I guess. It was the right decision at the time.” I swallow. “Except that, well,” my heart rate picks up, “now, Nathan and I can’t get pregnant.”

  A look of fear flashes over his face before he schools it. “You’re trying?”

  “We were,” I slice my way through the thicket of words in my way, “for seven months. It was awful, so we stopped. I went back on birth control. He thinks we still have a chance, but I think I fucked that chance up.” Once they’re out there, words I haven’t even said to my husband, a realization hits me. All this time, I’ve been waiting for Nathan to recognize the significance of my profound flaw. And then what? Leave?

  “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

  “I had my chance to be a mother,” I say, “and I passed it up. I made the best choice I could at that time.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, and you know it,” he says, almost incredulously. “You, who doesn’t even believe in fate, think you have an allotted number of tries to conceive?”

  “Maybe it’s crazy, but I can’t get pregnant. There’s the proof.” My hands are curled in my lap, all bloodless white knuckles and engorged red fingertips. I try not to want it. Most days, it works, but Finn has forced open a door I usually keep closed.

  “Is there evidence linking abortions to future pregnancy problems?”

  “Not really,” I admit.

  “So? There you go.”

  “We were so excited when we started trying. But then it didn’t happen, and I felt responsible. The more we talked about it, the further away it felt. I don’t want to put him through the disappointment anymore.”

  Finn isn’t as close as he was a minute ago, but we’re still huddled in a corner. When he breathes hard, I feel it on my face.

  I scoot toward him. “I need to use the restroom.”

  “Sadie—”

  “I’m fine.” I nearly force him out of the booth, feeling light-headed. “Really. I’ll just be a minute.”

  I feel Finn’s eyes on me as I hurry away, and all I can wonder is what exactly he sees.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I can’t breathe. I’m on a toilet in a restaurant in Times Square, and I can’t breathe. I’m having an affair in a restaurant in Times Square and my throat won’t open. Back at the table, there’s an untouched hot chocolate and a man w
ho isn’t my husband.

  Nathan always wanted a baby, but we didn’t start trying until a year ago. Every month I bled, my heart broke more. For myself. For Nathan. I tried to be strong for him, but it’s hard to hide from someone who knows me better than I know myself. When Nathan caught me on the bathroom floor clutching a tampon, he made an appointment to put me back on birth control. We have all the time in the world, he said. We’ll talk to a doctor. We’ll try again later.

  I told him I could keep going. I knew he already loved this child that hadn’t even been conceived. But he refused to put me through the disappointment month after month until we had more information.

  I get up from the toilet. The mirror above the sink is splattered with water spots. It reflects a pallid picture. Behind me, the word go is carved into the stall door. I’m hot to the point that I could vomit if I set my mind to it. I wet a paper towel and dab it along my hairline, down my neck.

  My beautiful, pink angora sweater suddenly seems stupid, like dressing up a Barbie only to leave her out for the dog to chew. I turn around and lean back against the sink. I was wrong about the door. There’s more in fainter letters, as if the vandal got tired partway through. Goodbye.

  That’s easy for you to say, I think. Just go. Just walk away. Is leaving Finn the right thing to do? Or would Nathan and I be better off apart? I wash my hands and flick a paper towel into the trash. I’m halfway back to Finn when I’m nearly accosted.

  “Sadie Hunt!” I’m pulled into an enormous hug and engulfed by a cloud of perfume. Jill pushes me back by my shoulders. I’m looking at a face so familiar, it makes my heart stop knowing Finn is half a restaurant away. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks.

  Jill has been a close friend of mine for at least a decade. Since Nathan and I started having problems, my friendship with her has been put on the backburner. She knows us better than most people, especially since Jill and I were together when Nathan and I met.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” I say, still stunned. I could list a thousand places I might run into Jill—Lord & Taylor, ABC Kitchen, hot yoga. A bar and grill in tourist central wouldn’t be on there.

  She leans in to whisper. “I have family in from Minnesota. Of course they want to come to fucking Times Square on a weekend. The little shits need to piss every hour. We just came in to use the bathroom.” Her husband, Victor, stands off to the side with another man, their hands stuffed in their jacket pockets. She waves wildly at Victor. “Did you see? Nathan and Sadie are here.”

  Vic and I smile at each other. We’ve known each other longer than he’s known Jill or I’ve known Nathan. We bonded in a college writing course when we were paired together and discovered we’d both fabricated our personal nonfiction essays.

  A woman in running shoes heads toward us, trailed by two young kids. “We’ll be quick,” she calls as she passes us.

  “That would be a miracle.” Jill rolls her eyes. “Are you eating here? Should we go to the table? Maybe Nate can snap Vic out of his shitty mood. He hates entertaining my sister’s husband.”

  It feels like there’s an elephant on my chest. I don’t want to lie to Jill. I can’t tell the truth. “I’m alone,” I say. Apparently, I’m still not much for creative writing. I can’t think of anything to say except, “I also came in to use the bathroom.”

  She looks surprised. “What’re you doing in midtown?”

  I wipe my brow. “Christmas shopping.” My voice is unnaturally loud, but I can’t seem to control it. “I know it’s early. I hate the December crowds.”

  “I’m impressed,” Jill says. “Nobody can deny you’re a real New Yorker, running around Manhattan in November in only a sweater.”

  She purses her lips. I think. Is she on to me? Did she see something? I can’t abandon the lie now, or she’ll ask questions. “My coat’s at a table. I-I decided to get a coffee. Need my strength.”

  “You’re braver than me, leaving your handbag unattended in this tourist trap.”

  Jesus—is she normally this suspicious? I can’t tell if I’m reading into her tone, her looks. It’s taking all my strength not to glance in the direction of our table. To check if we can even see Finn from here. Jill might recognize my coat. My purse. Has she seen them before? Probably. I can’t remember.

  “Let’s do something soon. Maybe over Thanksgiving?”

  “Can’t.” My throat is dry as a desert. “Nathan and I are going to the shelter.”

  “Oh, boy. How’d that happen? Did you say the wrong name in bed?” She cackles. I laugh, because it’s what I would normally do. “I’m kidding,” she says. “He must be over the moon.”

  Victor comes toward us, rolling his neck. “Hey, Sadie.”

  “Nathan isn’t here,” Jill says.

  He snorts. “Did I ask?”

  “No, but I know you’re looking for an excuse to ditch Gary.”

  “Not at all. I love Gary.” Victor and I exchange knowing grins. “Where is Mr. Perfect, anyway? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

  “He’s out being charitable.” I rub my hairline. “Actually, if you could not mention running into me—I’m shopping for his Christmas present today.”

  “Don’t expect that kind of dedication from me,” Jill declares loudly, competing with the din of the crowd. “Christmas shopping in New York, when the Internet exists? You can send me a link to what you want, Victor. If I approve, maybe it’ll end up under the tree.”

  “Of course, dear.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Have I thanked you lately?”

  We laugh. Jill shoves his arm. I introduced Victor and Jill. They’re complete opposites, and Jill is always lamenting how much better my relationship is than hers, but she fits Victor like a lid on a cup. Even though she has a tendency to pop off now and then.

  There’s a special bond between the four of us, since it was at Victor and Jill’s engagement weekend in the Hamptons that I met Nathan. Vic and I fancy ourselves matchmakers, even though it annoys Jill and Nathan when we brag about it.

  Jill’s sister returns, kids in tow. “All set,” she exclaims. “We should be good until we get back to the hotel. Right, boys?”

  Jill gives me a look before air-kissing both my cheeks. “It’s been too long. We have a lot of catching up to do. Talk soon?”

  I nod, say goodbye to Victor, and watch them go. Even long after they’re out the door, I stand there. Jill knows me well. She doesn’t judge. But telling her about Finn would mean admitting my problems with Nathan. Even if she is my closest friend, I don’t want her seeing the cracks in my marriage. I’m not ready to give up the best-couple title she uses to introduce us at parties.

  I take the long way back to the table. I’m going to be on edge now, knowing they’re in the area.

  Finn stands to let me in the booth. “I was beginning to think you took off.”

  “Sorry. I ran into some friends.”

  “Friends?” He repeats, freezing as his eyes dart around the restaurant. “They’re here?”

  “They just left.” I exhale. “But they didn’t see anything.”

  “Should we go?” His angular face is tense and lined. I love that he’s concerned for me. I think most men in this situation would say not to worry, they’re gone, drink your hot chocolate, when can we fuck again?

  I pull Finn down by his jacket. “Let’s stay. As much as I hate that it has to be this way, I kind of don’t hate it here.”

  He settles in next to me and cups my cheek. “You sure you’re all right?”

  I nod. I actually am. My heart rate has calmed. Finn’s big body blocks me from view, like we’re in our own little world.

  “Tell me about your friends,” he says.

  What could be more harmful than what I’ve already divulged to him? I lean into his palm. “Jill and her husband, Victor, who I know from college. We normally get together a couple times a month.”

  Finn smiles. “That’s nice.”

  I leave out the part about
Vic and Jill being the reason Nathan and I met.

  “And how do you know Jill?” he asks.

  I have to think for a moment. With Victor, the memory is clear, but it’s as if Jill was just kind of there one day. “I’m not sure. We just got to be friends over time since we have similar taste—and distastes. She’s bossier, and I’m more introverted.” She and I bonded over a love of designer clothing, good-looking men, and strong cocktails.

  “Oh,” I say, remembering. Of course. We met because of fashion. “I met her at the dry cleaners of all places.” I smile. “The one on Twenty-Second you and I went to, actually.”

  “No shit?” Finn twirls my hair around his finger. He’s glowing. “Tell me the story.”

  “Well, I had this beautiful Burberry coat that I’d spilled coffee all over. Jill was waiting in line behind me when I picked it up. The dry cleaner had mostly gotten it out, but there was still a faint stain. Jill was horrified. Before she and I had even exchanged a word, she was demanding the cleaner try again. She said something like, ‘You’re killing Burberry. What gives you the right to kill a fashion icon?’”

  Finn laughs, though I’m not sure he grasps the gravity of such a situation. “Then what?” he asks.

  “We got to talking. I liked her. She invited me for coffee if I promised not to spill it on her, and then we exchanged numbers. We’d been friends for a few months when I took her to a dive near campus where we ran into Victor, and they hit it off.”

  “I’ll bet they’re pretty thankful you were clumsy with your coffee,” Finn says.

  I grin. “They like to pretend I ruined their lives. But they love each other.”

  I take a sip of my hot chocolate, which is lukewarm now. Finn thumbs the corner of my mouth. “Whipped cream.”

  We sit quietly for a few moments. The stain never completely came out. I donated the coat when Nathan started at the Family-kind Association. It was an expensive cup of coffee. From Quench, of course.

  I sit up straighter when the connection between meeting Jill and Quench Coffee occurs to me.