Free Slip of the Tongue by Jessica Hawkins

home.
    “Your husband.” He clears his throat. “Where is he?”
    “Oh.” With some effort, I slide the large plate into its spot, close the cabinet, and take a breath. “I don’t know. We have a very relaxed—”
    “So you’ve said,” he says. “You don’t care where he is?”
    I look down at my hands. Finn continues to press an issue I don’t want to think about. I came here to distract myself, not confront demons. I could try and guess where Nathan is, but the point isn’t that he’s not here. It’s why. What’s keeping him away lately? Another woman? Or, worse—me? Except for bowling nights, it takes a lot for him to miss dinner.
    “Of course I care,” I say. “But I trust him.”
    “I didn’t realize we were talking about trust.”
    Neither did I.
    “Something wrong?” Finn asks.
    I keep my back to him. “No.” I take out another dish in a floral pattern. Where the hell did he get this—a flea market? Men .
    Finn wipes his hands on a rag, takes the plate from me, and sets it aside. “I know we don’t know each other very well—”
    “We don’t know each other at all.” I turn to face him. “We’re half a step up from strangers.”
    He winces, almost imperceptibly. “Okay . . . well, then, think of me as a stranger. Sometimes it’s easier to confide in someone you don’t know.”
    My chest is tight. Actually, Finn doesn’t feel like a stranger, but more like we’ve known each other a long time. Longer than Nathan and I, even, which makes no sense. Meeting Nathan felt fresh, like a beginning, as if he’d just been born and walked right into my life. Finn could be an old friend, though, a t-shirt I’ve worn a thousand times.
    “I found something.” The words tumble out.
    “What did you find?”
    “It’s stupid. And cliché. It’s dumb to even mention it.” I roll my eyes and lean my back against the counter. “I found a lipstick stain.”
    “When?” His expression closes. “Where?”
    “Last night, on his tie.”
    “Jesus, Sadie.” Finn runs both hands through his hair as if I’ve just told him something about his own spouse. He makes a face. “I’m sorry.”
    “You are?” My heart skips. “Why? You think it means something?”
    “Oh. I—” He scratches under his collar. “Probably not.”
    “You’re lying.”
    He exhales a nervous laugh. “I just—I mean, how would I know? I’ve never met the guy. But every time I see you, you’re alone.”
    “I told you, last night he was bowling.”
    He raises both palms. “I’m not saying anything. Are there women at the bowling alley?”
    “I don’t know.” I haven’t been to a game. Maybe I should, though.
    Finn reaches out and hesitantly rubs my bare shoulder. There’s a sheen of sweat at the base of his neck, and my scalp grows hot. I move my hair over one shoulder as he slides his hand a little higher and presses his thumb along my collarbone.
    I part my lips, and when he does it again, I close my eyes. “That’s nice.”
    He isn’t gentle. I can feel the strength of his hands as he massages my shoulder, then my neck.
    “The thing is,” I say in the dark, “I haven’t always been the best wife, but he’s been a flawless husband. That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”
    “Have you asked him about it?”
    “No. It seems ridiculous to even bring it up. Anyone who knows us . . .” I pause, unable to think of how to explain it. “He wouldn’t.”
    We stand quietly for a minute. Finn slips his fingers under the strap of my tank top. It slides down my shoulder. “Sorry,” he mutters.
    I don’t fix it.
    He continues to work the tension out of my neck. “When you say you haven’t been the best wife . . .”
    “That’s not what I mean.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been unfaithful. It’s just, when one half of the relationship is perfect, the other half is bound to be a let down, any way you cut it. I don’t always say and do the right thing.”
    “And he