Slip of the Tongue

by Jessica Hawkins

  “It might sound selfish, but I did it for us,” I tell him. “If you’d known I was pregnant, you would’ve done the right thing no matter how you felt about me.”

  “What would I have done?” he asks, raising his chin.

  “We were young. And new. We’d only been together three months, but we had something special. I needed to know you were with me because you loved me, not because you felt obligated to stay by my side. I refused to trap you.”

  “But you’re not your mom, Sadie, and I’m not your dad. You can’t just decide these things without me.”

  I study him. We’ve worked so hard not to become our parents, and yet, we’ve ended up like them. My parents are miserable together. His stopped talking to each other and grew apart. “If you’d come to me as soon as you’d found out, I would’ve told you what I’m telling you now, and the last few months could’ve been avoided. I don’t regret what I did, and we’re stronger because I made that difficult decision for us.”

  He shakes his head, frowning. “You’re not understanding me. I’m not mad that you did it. I’m mad that you cut me out of the decision and did it alone. That you didn’t trust me enough then, or the past seven years, to let me help you. To be a part of this marriage. And once I realized you were capable of that, everything else you did felt personal.”

  “Like what?”

  “I love making you happy—you know I do. But when I found this out, I started to think of all the ways I’ve put you first only to have it not reciprocated. I turned down a promotion at work to be able to spend more time with you—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “You did that to be around for your dad.”

  “I did it for you,” he says. “It meant more hours at the office. More workload. But when Amelia offered you a promotion months later, you took it the same day. You never even consulted me.”

  I wrinkle my eyebrows. “Are you kidding me? That’s why you’ve made me feel like a stranger in my own home for three months?”

  “All that shit piled up. You don’t even know my favorite pastry—Gisele has to tell you. I try for months to get you to come to my bowling games, and then you turn around and accuse me of not inviting you. You only listen when someone else tells you about a new restaurant or bar. I talk about Park Slope all the time, but it isn’t until Donna mentions it that you suddenly consider it the place to be. Then you go and make life-changing decisions without me, and it makes me wonder—would you even fucking notice if I weren’t around?”

  My mouth hangs open. “That’s so unfair,” I say. Pastries? Brooklyn? I can’t believe those are the things coming between us. Maybe all of what he says is true, but he had plenty of chances to call me out. Instead, he let it fester, and then, he abandoned me. “Those are stupid reasons to end a marriage over.”

  He points at me. “And that is exactly why I haven’t brought them up sooner. Do you know dumb I felt getting upset over a goddamn donut? But it’s what’s underneath it. Is it that you don’t care enough to remember what I like? That’s what’s going on in my mind.”

  “But I tried so many times to get you to talk. To figure this out. Any one of those times you could’ve told me all this was bothering you. Instead, you shut me out, and you went too far, Nathan. I might not’ve been as attentive as you wanted, but this is who I was when you married me. You, on the other hand, did a complete one-eighty and left me out in the cold.”

  “Because I was confused and hurt.”

  “But at least I didn’t hurt you on purpose.” A sudden storm of emotion moves up my chest, and I need to get away from him. I’ve been too vulnerable for too long. He abused that, and he doesn’t deserve it anymore. “You didn’t love me in the dark like you promised.”

  His eyes widen, clearly taken aback at having the vow he wrote for me thrown in his face. I will love you the same in the dark as I do in the light. “Love? I never stopped loving you for a second. I hurt because I love you.”

  “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” I pick up the vase of calla lilies and hold it out to him. “I got these for you because I love. Because I care. Because I know they’re your favorite. I made you barbeque ribs, and I dressed up how you like. I’m not a stranger. I’m your wife.”

  My hands shake, so he takes the vase but says, “These aren’t my favorite.”

  “Yes they are.”

  “They’re yours,” he says. “And that’s why I love them.”

  I frown, unexpectedly flooded by the memory of the first night we met, sitting on the beach under the stars. He asked about all my favorite things—flowers, books, cities. And to this day, he remembers them. Did I ask about his? I can’t remember. “I didn’t know that,” I say. “So I guess it means I don’t love you as much as you love me. You don’t like the kind of wife I am? Then go.”

  “That’s not what—”

  I turn around and head for the bedroom.

  “We’re not finished,” he says.

  “I am. I’ve had a long night, and I want to be alone.” I slam our bedroom door behind me, but he opens it, so I go into the bathroom, but he follows me in there too. I spin around, unbuttoning my pants. “You’re no longer welcome in here. Get out.”

  “No.” Still holding the vase, he puts it on the counter. Ginger pushes between us as if to mediate, looking from Nathan to me and back. “I made some mistakes, but so have you. I’m willing to overlook the other decisions you’ve made without me, but not this one. This time, I won’t let you be selfish.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s done. There’s no going back.” Cornered, I get into the shower fully clothed and pull the curtain shut.

  He whips it back open. “I’m not talking about the abortion.”

  I pause to put my hand against the tile. At first, I think I’ve misheard him. A decision I made for us that isn’t the abortion? What else could it be? But then, I remember our pact. We’re supposed to come to each other if we’re ever tempted to cheat.

  He knows about Finn. But how?

  Finn and I were careless. New York isn’t as big as people think. It could’ve been anywhere. The laundry room. Times Square. Jill might’ve said something to him on the phone last night.

  But what makes me sick to my stomach isn’t that he knows. It’s that I can’t tell if he’s upset that I did it, or that I didn’t honor our pact by telling him first. Because the least painful part of an affair is the tumble and tangle of body parts. The agony is in the guts. In the reasons behind it. When I let Finn close, I didn’t choose him over Nathan—I chose myself.

  I look up into his eyes. They’re unguarded, even after all this. “How long have you known?”

  “About what?”

  “Finn.”

  He tilts his head and draws his eyebrows together. “Finn? Our neighbor?” In the same second that he straightens his back, I understand. Nathan doesn’t know about the affair. But he isn’t stupid, and by just hearing Finn’s name, he figures it out. He retreats a few steps from me, shaking his head. “No.”

  My heart pounds as I watch the realization dawn on his face. “Nathan—”

  His mouth eases apart, then cracks open as his chocolate-brown eyes dart over my face. “Finn?” he asks, as if he’s never heard the word.

  This is one of the first times in my life I can’t guess his reaction. I see the tension cording his arms, but his expression is cycling through confusion, anger, despair.

  “You’ve been . . . with . . . how long has this been going on?” he asks, gulping. “Wait. Don’t tell me.” He looks at the toilet paper roll, the wastebasket, the sea spray-scented hand wash. “When he took your photograph.”

  I wring my hands together. “Yes.” I inhale. “We didn’t plan—”

  “When was that? Two weeks after he got here?” He flares his nostrils like a dragon about to spew fire. “I guess it could be worse. You could’ve done it on move-in day.” As he stares at me, silent, a flush rises from under the collar of his t-shirt, up his neck and
cheeks. “Is that where you were last night?”

  Guilt I thought I couldn’t feel creeps in. I can’t find the right words. I don’t think they exist. Even though I chose Finn last night, Nathan’s obvious agony feels like a knife between my ribs. I would’ve had to tell him about Finn—and soon. But this isn’t how I wanted him to find out. All I can do is nod.

  “So you were with him. And then you came back here.”

  “Nothing happened last night,” I say as if it’s any kind of defense. “We didn’t . . .”

  His chest heaves with each breath. “I don’t understand. If you didn’t sleep with him, are you having an affair or not?”

  “Yes, but—last night, it didn’t feel right while . . .” I cover my face. “I can’t explain it. You wouldn’t understand. It’s not just about the sex—”

  “Oh,” he scoffs. “No. Don’t fucking tell me that.”

  “I was lost, Nathan. Confused. Lonely. You weren’t here, and he was.” I lower my hands. “I turned to him. I cried on his shoulder—over you, and he let me. So now . . .”

  He grits his teeth, his jaw tensing, as though he’s containing an explosion. “Now? Now what?”

  It’s difficult to get the words out. My decision to be with Finn is still so new. But I have to say it. I owe Nathan the truth if I expect it in return. “You know this is over,” I say, tears finally flooding my eyes. My love for him isn’t supposed to hurt this much. It feels like it’s killing me from the inside, and it’s starting with my heart in a blender. I never wanted anything or anyone other than him, but he withdrew his love to hurt me, and for what? For me, his reasons are valid, but they don’t excuse his behavior. This is where we are, and it doesn’t have to be this way. I have someone else now. “It’s too hard.”

  “Marriage is hard.”

  “Don’t tell me what marriage is,” I say, raising my voice, disgusted. Ginger whines, nudging Nathan’s leg. “You abandoned me.”

  “And you fucked someone else.”

  I reel back. “No. I care about him.”

  “So you’re going to, what, walk away? For him? Someone you’ve known less than a month?”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I was going to tell you later. But when you said you were mad about something other than the abortion, I thought you were talking about Finn.”

  “Finn?” he asks, the name slicing from his mouth. His nostrils flare, his face beet red. “You thought you could sit me down, tell me you’re having an affair, and I’d just accept it?”

  “No,” I admit. “I figured you’d be—”

  “What?” he asks. “Angry? Furious?” He grabs the vase. “You didn’t think maybe it’d go something more like this?” He launches the lilies across the bathroom. The glass shatters against the wall like a crystal firework, my eardrums bursting, my hand flying over my mouth.

  I’m stunned completely still, as if he threw it right at me, but Ginger panics. She takes off, skidding around the tile floor, startled.

  I jump out of the shower. “Nathan—”

  He’s already after her, but she bolts for the door and slides right through glass. Shards fly from under her paws. Nathan curses, chasing her out of the bathroom. I follow, hopscotching through the mess, driven forward by her howling.

  In the bedroom, Nathan has his arms around her as he tries to wrestle her onto her back.

  Blood is smeared everywhere. It’s so striking against the white carpet that I start to cry. I pull it together and catch one of her flailing legs for a better look, but she wriggles harder.

  “Get back,” Nathan says to me. “I’ve got it.”

  “No, you don’t. There might be glass in there. She’s bleeding a lot—”

  “I can fucking see that,” he snaps. “I have it. Just back off.”

  I straighten up and touch my trembling hands to my mouth. The fear in her eyes racks me with guilt.

  “Shh, Ginge,” he says, coaxing her onto her side. Her eyes dart all around the room, as if she can’t see us. “Get out of the room,” he says without turning to me. “She can’t focus. You’re making it worse.”

  I take a step back, more from shock than anything. To be shoved out like this when Ginger needs me breaks my heart. Nate buries his nose in Ginger’s furry neck, and after a few seconds, her whines soften.

  When they’re both calmer, I say, “Nate—”

  “Shh. It’s okay,” he says softly. “I just need to see your paw. Be a good girl.”

  She’s shaking, and I just want to take her in my arms. We can help her better together, me holding her while he checks for glass. “Nathan,” I try again, “Let me—”

  Ginger’s head shoots up, and she starts to writhe out of Nathan’s grip.

  “God damn it, Sadie,” he says. “I need her calm enough to get her to the vet.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll carry her if I have to. It’s not far.”

  “It’s ten blocks,” I say incredulously. “You need—”

  “I don’t need. Not anything. The vet won’t be open yet, so call the emergency line, tell him we’re coming, and stay out of the way. We don’t need you.”

  The rock in my throat is so big, it hurts when I swallow. In a daze, I leave the bedroom, but I don’t know where I’m going. Call the vet. I go to my purse. My phone isn’t there, and I can’t remember where I left it. I get Nathan’s from the coffee table. From a list we keep stored in the desk, I find the phone number and let them know we’re on the way.

  Nathan comes out of the bedroom with Ginger in his arms. “Get the door.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. I can’t deal with both of you right now.”

  “Nathan—”

  “Christ, Sadie. I have to get a sixty-pound dog downstairs and into a cab. Can we argue later?”

  Fuming, but more worried about Ginger than anything else, I walk over and open the door for him.

  “Phone? Keys?” he asks on his way out.

  I slide his cell into his jeans, which he somehow managed to get on while subduing her, and then his keys and wallet. “Will you call me when you know?” I ask.

  He’s already halfway down the hall, and I have to fight the urge to go after them. My heart aches for Ginger. For Nathan. I know he’s hurt, and though my instinct is to make it better, I’m not sure if I should. Or, at this point, if I even can.

  I get to work early, but Howie’s already in his seat next to mine, half hidden by his noise-canceling headphones. “Good look,” he says sardonically and with hardly a glance.

  Any other day, I’d laugh. He’s right to call me out. After Nathan left with Ginger, I cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, showered, and packed a bag. My mind spun as I dressed blindly and slicked my wet hair into a bun. I don’t have any meetings today, so I find it hard to care.

  Opening Outlook, I start mindlessly e-mailing clients their blog features from the week before. I copy, paste, copy, paste, copy, paste until there’s enough to prove I did my job—last week, at least. I should be excited that an Instagram celebrity posted a picture using IncrediBlast mascara over the weekend. Instead, I catch myself wondering whom she’s getting ready for. Is she married, and if so, does she flaunt her husband like her lashes? Or did she go out with friends, teasing boys, sipping martinis? Ten minutes of scrolling through her Instagram feed, and I’m more caught up on her life than I want to be.

  At a quarter to eleven, Amelia arrives from a breakfast meeting. I’m the only one unfocused enough to notice her breeze in. We’re all on our second and third cups of coffee. With a once-over, Amelia nods me into her office.

  Without needing to be told, I close the door to give us privacy. I’ve done something wrong—I just don’t know what. Maybe it was simply being the first person to make eye contact with her.

  “What’s this?” She drapes her red, check-plaid cape and cashmere scarf over a brass coat rack.

  I shift feet. “What’s what?”


  “Outfit. Hair.” She sits on the edge of her desk. “Are you even wearing makeup? Not acceptable for this office, Sadie.”

  I could argue that I don’t work any harder in cosmetics than I do out of them, but this is the job I signed up for. This morning, I wrote a blurb for US Weekly about a pop star who stays camera-ready by carrying lip-pumping gloss in her cleavage. “I’ll visit the closet,” I say, referring to a small room with emergency designer apparel and sample beauty products.

  “Please do,” she says. “I’d have almost preferred you’d called in sick again. Will this thing with your husband affect your work today like it has your appearance?”

  I hesitate, which is a mistake.

  “I recognize this. I was this,” she says, wiggling a finger up and down my outfit. “The day his affair finally hit me over the head, I fell apart too, but I did it in private. Image is everything in this industry.”

  “I understand. I’ll go change. It won’t affect my work.” I go for the door.

  “Wait.”

  I turn back. “Yes?”

  She looks closely at me. Despite her bluntness, I know she cares. “I hope you did the right thing and kicked him to the curb.”

  I let my eyes fall. Why, when I was planning to leave Nathan, does it feel like I was kicked to the curb?

  “Don’t look at the floor, Sadie. Be strong. Excuse his behavior, and he’ll do it again, believe me. Cheaters are selfish. Egoists. You give him another chance, and he’ll walk all over you the rest of the marriage.”

  I should stop her, but I’m not sure I don’t deserve to hear the truth about Finn and me.

  And Amelia is more than happy to be the messenger. “Do yourselves both a favor and pack your bags. Trust me. He’ll beg—it didn’t mean anything. He loves you, not her. Well, the son-of-a-bitch should’ve considered that when he had her on her back in my bed.”

  “It was only a couple times,” I say defensively.

  “So what if it was one time or a hundred? So what if they were strangers or if they shared their deepest, darkest secrets with each other? He made a fool of you. He betrayed you on the most basic level.”

  It’s hard to swallow her words. She’s never held much back, but I think finding a common enemy has made her more candid. How could she know I’m the one she’s railing against?