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I start with his search history. It’s mostly work stuff. Nathan helps maintain the Family-kind volunteer site on his own time. His dedication to this organization doesn’t surprise me after all these years, but it always awes me. It gives me a sense of pride. And now, it makes me feel dirty for not trusting him. I’m about to click out of the window and shut it down when a folder on his bookmark bar catches my eye.
Brooklyn.
Brooklyn—are you the key to my husband’s thoughts? I wonder. Do you know why he doubts me? I don’t want to know what’s in it. Except that I do. I click on it, and a list of bookmarks drops down. Craigslist. Zillow. StreetEasy. My palms sweat. How recently was he looking for apartments in Park Slope, Bay Ridge, Greenpoint, Dumbo? I don’t click on any of the links, but I recognize the neighborhoods.
A knot forms in my stomach. I “x” out of the browser quickly, like the computer’ll self-destruct if I don’t. This is why people shouldn’t snoop. You only come away with more questions. Nathan is looking for apartments in Brooklyn, and he knows I don’t want to live there. Is he pulling a Finn and leaving, with or without me?
The room seems suddenly bright. In my flurry to prepare for tonight, I haven’t had anything but coffee today. I make myself a snack and check on the ribs. All I can do is make tonight the best it can be. Brooklyn might come up at dinner anyway.
In the bathroom, I throw my hair into a bun on top of my head and scrub the mirror, the toilet, and the tub. I weed through drawers of makeup, lotions, and sample-size toiletries collected over the years. Nathan has been subtly hinting about the clutter for as long as I can remember. I end up with a trashcan full of expired or half-empty junk. I do the same to my nightstand. I am relentless, tossing receipts I might need and moving every last paperclip to the desk organizer in the other room. He’ll love this apartment when I’m finished, and the woman I am now.
Once I’ve gathered our laundry, I take the plastic basket, made heavier by a bag of quarters at the bottom, to the front door. Ginger comes bounding after me, spinning in circles and sniffing out her leash.
“We’ll go later,” I tell her and grab my keys. “All of us, together.”
As I approach the elevator, the doors split open with a ding. My heart skips. For a frenzied moment, I’m sure Nathan will walk out. It’s not close to five, but what if he comes home early? I’m not ready. The apartment isn’t perfect yet, and I haven’t planned out what I want to say.
It isn’t Nathan who steps out and stops abruptly, though. My heart rate slows a little, as if I’ve been presented with a consolation prize. Finn may be second place, but a consolation prize is a prize nonetheless, and I’m glad to see him. In the back of my mind, though, I know the truth. If I want to make things work with Nathan, and I do, I can’t lead Finn on.
He wipes his hands on his sweatshirt as he looks at me. He’s dirty, his clothing and skin stuck with something gray and tacky. “Just got back from my first pottery class,” he says, holding up his spackled palms. “Not as sexy as I thought.”
I shift the basket onto my hip. He looks as good in clay as he does in anything else. “Well, I’m not exactly spic-and-span.”
He takes in my hair on top of my head and the laundry in my arms. Nathan’s boxers are on top of the pile. “I don’t know. I think you look pretty hot as a homemaker.”
I blush. “I’m a mess.”
“We’re both a mess,” he points out and smiles. “Maybe next time we can be messy together.”
The elevator starts to close. I lurch forward. Finn catches it before I do, pushing the door back in place, his bicep flexing. My insides wither remembering those strong, skilled hands around my waist, on my cheeks, between my legs.
It’s dangerous. I shouldn’t stand here any longer, letting my imagination run wild. “Can we, um, talk?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says. “Now?”
“Not now.” I wipe my sweaty upper lip on my sleeve. “Maybe tomorrow—”
“I can’t wait that long.”
We look at each other. The elevator screams. We’ve kept the doors open too long. I go inside, and Finn releases the door. “Meet me out front in two hours,” I say. “We’ll go for a walk.”
His forehead wrinkles with his frown. His violet NYU sweatshirt makes his green eyes pop. It’s almost hard to look at him. “Why can’t we do it here?” he asks.
The doors shut. I’m jittery from consuming almost nothing but coffee all day. His puzzled expression stays in my mind. I deflate against the back wall of the elevator. Chores, dinner, and Brooklyn are momentarily unimportant. What I really want right now is to lose myself in Finn’s adoration and warmth, in his big hands, for a few hours. He can help me forget how much hope I’m placing in a basket of dirty clothes.
I can’t, though. I don’t want to surround myself in him as badly as I want to fight through this with Nathan. I’ll tell him we’re through. That he has to stay away. He can’t really argue—he never had me to begin with. He can’t completely own my heart when most of it belongs to someone else. Does he know that it does, though?
I get the laundry going and head back up. When Nathan gets home, the apartment will sparkle, our bed will smell April Fresh, and the dining room table will be a spread fit for bon appétit. When I picture it, I panic. I can’t remember if we have candles, and lighting’s vital to set the mood. I tear apart our linen closet until I locate two stubby, jarred soy candles. Not ideal, but since they’re unscented, they won’t compete with home-cooked ribs. While I’m there, I unearth and clean placemats and the fine silverware Nathan’s mom gave us when she moved to California. Once the table is set, I run down to move the wash into a dryer, then take the stairs back up. My heart pumps. My face is red with exertion. It feels good to move, to use my legs, to feel blood in my veins.
I drag the dining table out of our plain kitchen and into the living room. The loveseat goes against a wall to make room. I vacuum the carpet with special attention to the indents from the chair.
When it’s time to get the laundry, I wash my hands of grime and check my watch. I have enough time to bring it upstairs, run a comb through my hair, and meet Finn.
An elderly woman comes up from the basement as I go down. I recognize her from around the building and throw her a cheerful hello, even though we’ve never spoken. The laundry room machines churn, swish, and whir at full capacity, even on a weekday afternoon. My rubber soles screech against the vinyl floor. I toss the basket between the two dryers I’m using. Nathan’s clothes are done, but the linens are spinning wildly. I’m bent over, emptying the first dryer’s contents into the basket when the door behind me opens.
The air in the room changes. I straighten up. Heavy footsteps cross the floor.
Two hands land on either side of me, trapping me between the dryers. “You wanted to talk?” Finn asks in my ear.
My heart begins to hammer as violently as the dryer shakes. He smells of soap, and my mind goes blank. I can’t remember anything I’d planned to say. “Not here.”
“Here,” he says with finality.
I open my mouth and hesitate. I know the risk of being this close to him. If I don’t come out and say what needs to be said, I’ll lose this battle. “We’re finished,” I tell him.
“Finished?” he asks, both softly and gruffly. “Why?”
I shake my head. His warmth spreads through me, and a trickle of sweat drips down my stomach. I could have him. Quick. One last time. Would it make a difference after what we’ve done? His astute eyes, his generous lips, his big hands and cock. He’s so much man, and I love to take him all. I steel myself against the dryer. “I have to . . . I need to . . . make things work with Nathan. He’s my husband.”
“You don’t need to,” he says simply.
“I want to.”
He rakes back some strands of hair that’ve escaped from my bun. Pointless, because he then tugs the rubber band out. He grabs a handful of hair at the back of my head. “You don’t want me to fu
ck you anymore, Sadie?”
I should lie, but I can’t. My panties are already sticking between my lips, my body’s demands private but impatient. “I do, but we can’t keep doing this.” It’s obvious he needs convincing, so I continue, “If we end it now, they won’t have to know. Nobody gets hurt.”
“So that’s it then?” He guides my head back, so my eyes are forced to the ceiling. My scalp tingles. The skin at my throat tightens when I swallow. “We’re done?”
“Yes.” My body gives me away from raw voice to quivering thighs. Finn’s effect is immediate. Undeniable. There’s no use trying to hide it.
“If they’ll never know, then one more time won’t matter, will it?” he asks.
“I’ll know,” I say. “We’ll know.”
