Free Slip of the Tongue by Jessica Hawkins Page B

back to the living room. “You didn’t see this?” I ask.
    He shuts off the TV, stands, and stretches. He’s so tall, his fingertips graze the ceiling. “I figured you were out shopping or something.”
    “You should’ve called me. What about dinner?”
    “I made a grilled cheese.”
    I don’t know what to say. If he’s home, I make him dinner. Period. I want to tell him that. To tell him I know he moved the Post-It. I’m fairly positive he did. Though, I could be mistaken. Do I really remember where I stuck it? I’d sound hysterical if I were wrong.
    “Where were you tonight?” I ask.
    “I went to see my dad.”
    “Without me?” I ask. “I would’ve met you at the hospital.”
    “I wasn’t planning to. I just decided to stop by on my way home from work.”
    I crumple the Post-It in one hand. Nathan’s dad’s health has declined quickly since they discovered his lung cancer. When we found out he’d been sick a while, Nathan blamed himself for not making his stubborn dad see a doctor sooner.
    “He’s better, by the way.” He sniffs. “Radiation just hit him a little harder than usual. They’re keeping him there.”
    “Did you call your mom?”
    “Yeah. She’s sending ‘healing energy from California.’” He tosses the remote on the couch. “I’m done with the TV if you want it.”
    “Maybe we can watch something together?”
    There are shows Nathan and I watch together, and there are ones we watch when we’re apart. I can’t stand medical primetime drama. He’ll leave the room if he sees Tim Gunn. But when we find a show we both love, we always watch it the same way—gasping simultaneously. Laughing at the same things, even those that aren’t meant to be funny. Yelling at idiot characters.
    “I’m going to read,” he says. “I’m finally starting that Erik Larson book I ordered forever ago.”
    Historical nonfiction. Not my thing. I know he’s been looking forward to it, though. “All right.”
    He turns to walk away.
    “I was at the neighbor’s,” I say. “That’s what the Post-It said. He asked me to help him unpack the kitchen.”
    “That was nice of you,” he says. “Moving on your own is a bitch.”
    “I think you’d like him.” I hesitate. Maybe if they knew each other, the temptation of Finn would disappear. The funny thing is, I think they’d get along. “You should go over and say hello sometime. I don’t think he has a lot of friends.”
    Nathan turns his head halfway over his shoulder. “His heater still busted?”
    “Yes.” I run my hand over the back of my clammy neck and remember Finn’s fingers there. “I’m sweating like a pig.”
    Nathan takes a long look at me and opens his mouth like he’s going to speak. After a brief pause, he asks, “What’s his name?”
    “Finn.” I wait. “He worked in banking or something.”
    Nathan shifts on his feet, watching me. “I’ll try to get over there to take a look, but no promises.”
    He goes into the bedroom. I make myself something to eat and watch TV, but I’m not paying attention. Nothing has really happened today, and yet, my mind is spinning—from Nathan’s lipstick stain and his dismissal just now. From Finn’s strong hands and his confession. What is a kiss, really? Two body parts touching, like one hand to another. The thought of Finn’s unsolicited, forbidden kiss shouldn’t stir something deep inside me.
    I’m still sticky, so I leave the dishes for the morning and decide to take a shower. Nathan doesn’t look up from his book. I undress in the closet and slip on my robe. As I’m taking my birth control, I notice the dry cleaning bag has new things in it. I drop to my knees and rifle through until I find his tie. I pull it out quickly, straightening and smoothing it over the carpet. It’s crumpled, but clean. I sigh, a mix of relief and embarrassment, as I hunch over the bag. Then, I smell it. Cigarette smoke.
    I set my jaw. Nathan quit years ago and hasn’t slipped up once.