Slip of the Tongue (38 page)

His eyes change as his frustration vanishes. He draws his head back. “Done?”

I hold his gaze. I hold my tremble inside. I hold my ground. He doesn’t get to see weak anymore. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He’s frozen to the spot, so I go around him into the living room.

“Wait,” he says, turning with me. “We need to back up a second so I can explain.”

I scoff, packing up the table linens. “Sorry, you’re about two-and-a-half months too late. An explanation might’ve helped a week ago—or even yesterday morning. You could’ve called me last night while I sat here alone, waiting. But I guess you were too busy in
Brooklyn
to think of that.”

“I didn’t go to Brooklyn. Well, I did, but not—”

I shake my head, focusing on my task.
Brooklyn
stings, as if he’s talking about his mistress. “Of course you did.”

He takes a placemat out of my hand and throws it on the ground. “Would you listen to me?”

I cross my arms and turn, but I can’t look at him.

“I got on the L after work,” he says, “but my head was all over the place. I was still mad, but being with you again felt so fucking good. I was confused about how I felt. So I stayed on the L longer than I should’ve, because I needed to sort it out before I faced you.”

“And you decided to get off at Bedford and bowl instead.”

“No, actually. After a half hour riding the subway the wrong way, I switched trains to come home, but as soon as I got on, there was an accident on the tracks. We were stuck for three hours, babe. I couldn’t call because I was underground with no service.”

I turn my head to the table. The L train is notorious for service interruptions, so I don’t question his story. I’m just not sure why it matters at this point.

“What is all this?” he asks gesturing around us. “The flowers? Candles?”

My jaw tingles. The feeling of having my hopes crushed remains as strong as it was last night. “You were right,” I say. “The other night meant a lot to me. I took work off yesterday to make you ribs and clean the apartment. I had it in my mind that we would finally talk. Figure this out.”

He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It was a surprise.”

He looks around. “I would’ve come straight home.”

“But you didn’t.” I uncross my arms and look up at him. “You knew how much it meant to me to have you back in bed. You said it yourself—I was open. On cloud nine. And you let me down again.”

He opens his mouth, but his protests seem to die on his tongue. He looks around. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat before I continue. “Maybe it’s for the best. It helped make some things clear to me.”

I don’t elaborate, because I see the wheels turning in his head, and I think wondering might be worse for him. After a few moments, he says, “I didn’t do all this to hurt you. I’m hurting too. I’ve been so confused, and, yeah—I haven’t dealt with it well.”

“You think? You shut me out completely. You know how hard it was for me to let myself love you. I didn’t want to end up in a shitty marriage like my parents, angry and resentful. And that’s exactly where we are, but the worst part is that I don’t even know why.”

He swallows, his lips tight. “It just . . . got out of control.”

“I don’t care anymore. You can shove your excuses.” I show him my palms. I’ve made my choice, and going down this path will only make it harder to tell him that. “You had plenty of chances to talk to me, and you didn’t. At this point, I’m more exhausted than curious, and I just want to be done with you.”

He grabs a fistful of his hair, and I don’t even think he realizes he does it. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve had a long night. I’m going to take a shower, call in sick, and go to bed. You should go. I don’t care where. Later, though, we need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

“Sadie—”

I turn and walk toward the bedroom.

“Sadie, wait,” he says. “I know about the baby.”

I stop. The baby? But there was no baby, and it’s impossible that he knows about the abortion. My brother is the only one I’ve told the entire truth, and he wouldn’t betray me. I turn back to face him. “What?”

“I know you had an abortion,” he says calmly. “And I know the baby was ours.”

THIRTY-THREE

My heart thuds at the base of my throat. When I had the abortion, I promised myself I’d tell Nathan. Maybe not that day, or even that year, but if our relationship made it,
one day
I’d work up the courage. Yet here we are, seven years later. I never thought he’d figure it out on his own—or that I wouldn’t be there to explain it when found out. “That’s what these past few months were about?”

“Yes,” he says, “and no.”

It makes me sad I wasn’t there when he learned the truth. I understand why it would upset him, but couldn’t he have come to me sooner? “You should’ve told me you knew.”

“And you should’ve told me it happened.”

I glance at the ground. He has a point. I kept this from him much longer than he shut me out. “I was scared of how you’d react.”

“You’ve made huge decisions—and not just this one—without me. You don’t get to pick and choose what I know. That’s not a partnership.”

“How’d you find out?”

“By accident. I was using your computer to research abortion clinics for one of the girls at the shelter. Around the time we went back on birth control, you’d done some searches about abortions—like whether or not having one could affect future pregnancy.”

I nod. That night, I’d read probably ten articles on the subject. “I was worried that was the reason we couldn’t get pregnant.”

“There’s no link between the two,” he says. “I read the research.”

I curl my toes into the carpet. Maybe not, unless that’s just how life works. “But what made you think it was yours?”

“I remembered a conversation I’d overheard a couple years ago at Bell’s birthday party,” he says. “You and Andrew were watching Bell play in the backyard with some other kids. I was bringing you a slice of cake when you said to Andrew, ‘Isn’t it weird? They would’ve been the same age. Imagine them here together today.’”

I close my eyes, remembering the moment exactly. Nathan had come up behind me, and I’d worried he’d heard something. It was so long ago, though, and he never mentioned it.

“Andrew told you not to think like that,” Nathan continues. “I didn’t understand, but I never forgot that. When I saw that search, I put the pieces together. Bell was born over a year after our first date. Then there was that week, after we’d only been together a few months, when you shut me out completely. You disappeared off the face of the planet. I thought it was over. I beat myself up trying to figure out what I’d done. I was scared you’d met someone else. And then one day, you came back to me in tears and wouldn’t tell me what you’d been through. I was too happy to push you to talk, afraid you’d disappear again.” He scrubs his hands over his face, through his hair. “That’s why you left, isn’t it? You had an abortion. By yourself.”

I wasn’t by myself, though. My brother had taken me. We’d sat in the freezing-cold waiting room, looking at magazines without turning the pages. That’s the kind of family we are—Andrew being there was enough. I didn’t need him to hold my hand or assure me I was doing the right thing.

“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.”