Slip of the Tongue (12 page)

“It’s a lot more than a subway pass.”

The driver grunts, “It’s Brooklyn.”

They exchange a look and shrug as if they’re old pals. Great. Nathan is chummier with the cabbie than he is with me.

“How was work?” I ask, inviting a more neutral topic.

“Busy.” He rests his head against the seat with a sigh. “You know how it is around the holidays.”

The Family-kind locations get overcrowded this time of year, especially now that it’s started to snow. He raises money in an upstairs office and doesn’t see half of what goes on in the shelters, but he internalizes their strife anyway. I admire his commitment, even if I don’t always understand it.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, then pause. Whenever I say this, Nathan feels the need to tease me with something like “uh oh” or “God forbid.” Usually, it annoys me to no end. “I’ve been thinking,” I repeat, in case he didn’t hear, “we should skip Thanksgiving this year and serve dinner at the kitchen.”

He lifts his head a little. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

He turns in his seat, and this time, he stays. “I’ve been trying to get you to do that for years.”

“I know. But I’ve decided this year, we’re not dealing with my parents’ manipulative bullshit.”

He’s about to smile, but he stops himself. I don’t know why he won’t, but I can see I’ve made him happy. I’ll take what I can get. After my conversation with my boss earlier, I thought long and hard about doing something special for Nathan. There were no shortage of ideas, but it was harder coming up with one specifically for Nathan that didn’t also directly benefit me, or even us as a couple. Every year, Nathan asks me to serve at Family-kind with him, and every year I say no. My mom gives good guilt-trip, and my brother piles on so he and my niece don’t get stuck alone with our parents. Nathan never tells me no. He just volunteers the night before instead of Thanksgiving Day.

Nathan looks back through the windshield. “We’ll see.”

“I already called my mom.”

He stares forward. He has a striking profile, as strong and silent as he is. At first, it’s just another nose, mouth, set of eyes. And then, when you look closer, an art and symmetry so beautiful, it takes my breath away. “You did?” he asks. “You told her no?”

There’s hope in his voice. It’s as if I’ve been sitting in the dark, and a small light has finally turned on. “She tried to talk me out of it, but I held my ground. Andrew and Bell are coming over Wednesday night for an early Thanksgiving dinner, and the next morning, the three of us are going to the Family-kind soup kitchen—with or without you.”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Almost imperceptibly, his shoulders ease back into the seat. “Thanks.”

I allow myself a small smile. His approval feels like finding a small oasis during a long trek across the desert. I wonder how much farther I have to go until I reach the other side.

Brooklyn Bowl is nothing like I expected. From the outside, it looks like a warehouse. But from the moment we step inside, it’s dark and crowded. The music is turned up loud. In an area opposite the entrance, lasered lanes and multi-colored bowling balls create a neon playground. Everything glows black-light blue and hot magenta, and after each clatter, opaque mouths swallow up straight, white, bowling-pin teeth.

“Just another Wednesday night,” Connor Vicks, Nathan’s college buddy, tells me.

This is not the sad, empty bowling alley I’d pictured. The music is fresh and reminds me how out of touch I am with what’s underground-cool. Here, Nathan isn’t one half of a stuffy married couple. He’s the popular, fun, drinks-on-me Nathan I met seven years ago.

I rise onto the balls of my feet, tracking Nathan. Thankfully, since he left me here while my back was turned, his height makes him hard to lose in a crowd.

“Have you said hi to Donna?” Connor asks.

“She’s here?”

“Sure. It’s Wifey Wednesday after all.”

I tear my eyes from Nathan. Connor has the kind of face that becomes attractive over time. He’s best when he smiles. Nathan says he only got Donna’s attention because he plays guitar. “What’s ‘Wifey Wednesday’?”

“You know. When the wives come out. Sometimes they even get their own lane. To be honest, I’ve probably seen Donna roll one ball. Of course, she got a strike. I think they mostly just drink wine and gossip.”

I can only imagine the look on my face, but to Connor’s credit, he’s unruffled. He doesn’t let his slip show. In the year Nathan’s been part of the team, he’s never mentioned wives’ nights.

Connor’s wife, Donna, waves at us. She beckons me over to a two-top bar table. Donna looks the same, even though I can’t remember when I last saw her—black hair, straightened within an inch of its life, and heavy eye makeup. She always has something animal print on. Of all Nathan’s college friends, Donna and I are the least alike. She’s also the friendliest.

“Oh my God—you came!” She hugs me tightly when I’m close enough. “I’ve been bugging Nathan for months to get you here.”

I’m too embarrassed to tell her the truth—Nathan didn’t want me here then, and he doesn’t want me here now. “I’ve been busy,” I say.

“I know, but it’s been almost a year since the alumni dinner.”

I think back to the night we’d seen Donna and Connor at an NYU-sponsored dinner. Nathan and I had drunk too much, and he’d put his hand up my dress during the dean’s plea for money. Donna had busted us. After a giggling fit, Nathan overspent on a hotel room, and we slept in the next day.

“This is Nathan’s wife Sadie,” Donna tells two other women at the table.

They both groan. “Nathan is such a sweetheart,” says a blond woman in a black halter-top. “He talks about you all the time.” I wouldn’t normally be surprised to hear that, but now, it catches me off guard. I’m sure he’s spoken fondly of me—in the past. We shake hands. “I’m Alyssa,” the woman says, “and this is Joan.”

Joan could be Donna’s sister, with the same dark features and tan skin. She has a warm smile. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking around the three of them. They’re my age, maybe a little younger. “I didn’t realize this was a thing. Nathan didn’t really give me all the details.”

“Don’t worry.” Joan waves her colorful acrylic nails. “Nathan says you do this on purpose.”

I lean in to hear her better over the music. “Do what?”

“Spend a couple nights apart. Keep the marriage fresh. He says you love your alone time.”

“I do, but if I’d realized—”

“You’re lucky he agrees to it,” Alyssa chimes in. “Tried that once with Bob—‘alone time.’ He threw a fit. We drive each other crazy, but I guess he likes that.” She lowers her voice. “Wives only come Wednesdays. Monday night, Bob thinks I’m at home pouting. Really, I’m sprawled in front of the TV, pigging out the way I can only do when he’s not around. It’s my special night.”

The women laugh. That’s more or less what I do when Nathan’s gone, so I smile along with them.

“If I didn’t live in Brooklyn, I probably wouldn’t come half as much as I do,” Joan says, checking her cleavage is on full display. I’m in the same blouse that stuck to my back in Finn’s apartment as he pressed his mouth to mine. Joan’s pink lips spread into a sugary smile. I wonder if she wears red lipstick too.

“Which one’s your husband?” I ask her.

“Fiancé, actually.” She points to one of the men with Nathan. “That’s my Mikey.”

Mikey, balding with a beer belly, stands next to Nathan, who’s easily the most handsome man of the group. And at the precise moment Nate throws back his head and laughs, I wonder if I should’ve been more worried about that over the years.

“You said you live in Brooklyn?” I ask.

Joan nods. “Park Slope.”

“We’re all there,” Donna says. I must look confused, because she continues, “You knew that. We moved from Hoboken recently.”

I vaguely recall Nathan mentioning it. Except for my brother in New Jersey, my attention wanes when people mention anything outside of Manhattan. “Of course.”

“Park Slope is where it’s at, especially if you’re, you know—
thinking ahead
.” Donna winks, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the laser lights. I try not to look scared by her unsubtle suggestion. “You should come over sometime. I’ll make sangria.”

“All right,” I say with some excitement, as if sangria is a good reason to go anywhere. In reality, suggesting that we have dinner with his friends seems like a good way to get Nathan’s attention. “I’ll talk to Nate.”

Joan sips something red and fizzy through a tiny black straw. “I told Mikey, if our marriage is half as good as Nathan and Sadie’s, we’ll be so lucky. So, so lucky.”

Her words sound almost mocking, but her tone isn’t. I’m confused, and a little mad that Nathan abandoned me with these women. Does Joan, with her sweet drink and sweet smile, know something I don’t?

“Thanks,” I say. “But it’s all him. He’s a great husband.” Two months ago, I would’ve accepted her compliment easily—maybe even a little smugly. Does it make me a fraud, playing into the image they have of us? Nathan and I have held our place as an enviable couple so long, I’m not ready to give it up.

I touch my unfaithful lips, as if they might give me away somehow. “Excuse me.”

I fight the crowd to get back to Nathan, who’s involved in a conversation with Mikey, Connor and some men I don’t recognize.

“Hey,” I say.

He looks down at me. “What’s up?” His tone is light, but his smile falters.

“I just met Joan.” I look for a spark in his eyes—fear, excitement, anger—anything.

He just stands there, then glances at his friends, who are ignoring us. “Okay?”

“She seems nice.”

“I don’t really interact with them too much.”

“Oh.” I study his face. He’s a bad liar. At least, I think he is. He hasn’t done much of it to my knowledge. “She made it sound like you’re all best friends.”

“She’s exaggerating.” He turns away.

“Why didn’t you ever invite me to
Wifey
Wednesday?”

Nathan sets his jaw without looking at me. He says something right as the music crescendos.

“What?” I ask.

He turns and shouts, “I invited you
lots
of times.” The music cuts out, and a few people look over at us. He lowers his voice. “You insisted on spending time apart.”

“I
insisted
?” I reel back at the accusation. “We agreed it was good for us to have separate interests.”

Connor leans over. “Anyone need a drink?”

Nathan gives Connor an easy smile. “I’ll take another IPA.”

When Connor’s gone, Nathan speaks to me from the side of his mouth. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“I want to talk about it now.”

He takes my arm firmly, steps out of the circle, and walks us a few feet from the men. His forearm between us is like a bridge I want to cross, but he removes his hand from me too fast. “I’ve invited you,” he says calmly. “The first time, you said no. The second time, you said no. The third, fourth, and fifth time—no. Eventually, I stopped asking.”

“Because when we come out together, you’re always checking to make sure I’m having a good time. And I wanted this to be your time to relax.”

“You wanted that time for yourself,” he says.

“That’s not fair,” I say. He makes it sound as though I kicked him out two nights a week, but I only thought it would be good for us to try something new. “Time alone is nice for both of us. We came up with that plan together.”

“No, we didn’t. You brought it up at dinner one night. Said you heard it’s good for couples to miss each other. What was I supposed to say to that? You want to spend time away from me, I’m not going to force myself on you.”

I gape at him. He’d grumbled over the idea, I remember that, but he didn’t refuse it. I thought he enjoyed coming here. “Is this what you’ve been mad about?”

“Don’t come here, to my night out, and pick a fight. I won’t do this here.”

“Nathan, answer the question. Is this why you’re pissed at me?”

“I don’t know.” He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. “I’ve been stressed about my dad. Work’s crazy this time of year. I’m here to chill, Sadie. Why are you trying to put more on my plate?”

My heart beats in my throat. I can’t tell if this conversation is making things better or worse. I touch his forearm. “Babe.”

“I need to get my shoes on. The game’s starting.” He walks back to his friends.

I recoil, grinding my teeth. “Sorry to disrupt your ‘game,’” I yell after him. Either he doesn’t hear me or ignores me. “Looks to me like it’s just a bunch of grown men drinking beer and showing off their balls.”

Joan laughs beside me. I have no idea where the hell she came from. “How long have you been there?” I ask.

“Just for the part about the balls. It’s dead on, but kind of cute how much they love their team.”

Cute?
I look at Nathan’s back. It’s just a stupid hobby, isn’t it? Or is this where Nathan comes to have fun, flirt, and possibly even forget about me?

“I’m so glad you came,” Joan says. “Donna told me you were funny. It’s nice to have another chick here.”

There isn’t an ounce of malice in Joan’s voice. I don’t know what to believe. If I ask Donna whether she’s heard anything about Nathan, she’ll see the crack that’s begun to form in my marriage, and I don’t ever want people to doubt us. It reminds me of the way I feel about my parents, which is that they’d be better off apart. They hate each other but refuse to divorce. Nathan’s parents, on the other hand, loved each other but couldn’t keep their marriage from crumbling.

Nathan glances back at me. He’s too far to hear, but he can damn well see. I sling an arm around Joan, pleased with the way Nathan lowers his eyebrows. “Let’s get a drink,” I say. “And not those girly beers the guys drink. I want the hard stuff.”

She jumps up and down. “I just knew I’d like you.”

Nathan watches us for as long as I can see him, and then we turn our backs to slide onto two fortuitously open barstools.

I flag down the bartender and order an Old-Fashioned for each of us. I generally try to avoid following in the footsteps of my alcoholic father, but my world is upside down tonight, so I go with it. Joan’s never had one, and she makes a scene with every sip. “It’s so strong,” she cries. Then, “Jesus, woman. You have a pair.” I clink my glass with hers.