“Um.” I pick at nothing on my jeans. “This summer. August twentieth, actually.”
“I see.”
I look up. He sees. Obviously, he’s intrigued by the fact that I know the date. “It was a comfort smoothie,” I say.
“How come?”
I think back. “I got a prescription for birth control.”
“And you were sad, so you got it to cheer yourself up.”
“Nathan did,” I say. “He took me there after, six blocks out of his way. We were both late getting back to work.”
To Finn’s credit, he doesn’t pull away when I reminisce.
“Maybe I should’ve been treating him, though,” I say, “now that I think about it.”
Finn squeezes my hand. “It’s okay to not want children, Sadie. It doesn’t make you a criminal.”
“Nathan definitely wants a baby.” I lower my eyes to the table. I did too, up until I went back on birth control. Now, if we choose that path again, all I see is a future of disappointment, shame, and sadness. And I let myself remember, just a little, that my whole marriage hasn’t been perfect. There’s been pain this last year. But at least I had Nathan to lean on then. The more I think about the likelihood of infertility, the more fear beats down my maternal urges. “What if we can’t figure it out?” I ask, more to myself. “What if we just want different things?”
Finn slides his thumb over the nook of my thumb and index finger. “I’m fine with not having more children.”
The comment catches me off guard. I look at him for what feels like the first time in a while, as if I’ve been off in another world. His eyes are somber, but it’s hard to feel any darkness in their honey-flecked green. “Really?”
“Really. I have Marissa. She’s all I need.”
It’s the first time children have actually been taken off the table for me. I’ve considered not having a baby a lot over the last year. Especially these last few months. Part of me can’t envision a life without one. The other part sees the sacrifice and heartbreak that children can be, even when they don’t exist. Finn is offering me an out. “You don’t want kids?” I ask. “Definitely?”
He cocks his head. “I said I’d be fine with not having them. I’d also be open to it, if that’s what . . . the other person wanted.”
“You and Kendra don’t talk about it?”
“We do. She wants another one. I don’t—not with her.”
He says it so definitively that my heart aches a little for her. And just as suddenly, I’m embarrassed. Not in a bad way, necessarily—it just makes me more aware of what we’re doing. Finn would consider having a baby with me.
“I know that sounds harsh,” he continues. “She’s just so hard to deal with sometimes. I learned years ago that if I’m not explicit, she’ll twist my words into something else. To her, maybe means yes. For instance, she said she wanted to get Marissa a dog. I said I’d think about it. I come home from work that same day, and guess what I find? ‘But you said yes,’ was her defense.”
“You have a dog?” I ask.
It’s his turn to look uncomfortable. He takes his hand out of mine and wipes it on his jeans. “If she got pregnant, I’d just feel more hopeless than I do now. I think it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
As much as what he’s saying puts me off, because as a woman, I can relate better to Kendra, I also admire him. It isn’t always easy to tell your partner what you don’t want. “It’d be easier for you to just give in to her.”
“You have no idea. We have to have the discussion every few months, and it’s never pretty.”
“So you don’t have sex?” My tongue gets looser the more time I spend with Finn. I think that means I’m comfortable, but I’m not sure. I’m not this way with many people. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Why not? Don’t you think you have a right to know?”
“I don’t know that I have any rights . . .”
“You and I are sleeping together, so, yes, you do.”
“And Kendra and Nathan don’t have a right to know?”
He frowns. “I can’t exactly just tell Kendra about you. I’d have to divorce her first.”
He says divorce casually, as if it’d take no more than a phone call. I wonder how long he’s been thinking about leaving her. It might not have as much to do with me as I think, and that gives me some comfort. “Is that what you want?” I ask.
“I . . .” When he moves, the gummy bench grunts like some kind of sea mammal. “We’ve talked about a lot today. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Overwhelm me.”
We’re both surprised by my challenge. We’ve been circling this topic all afternoon, though. I don’t think it’ll help anything to go home tonight with more questions than answers.
“All right,” he accepts. “If you told me you were ready, I’d have the first of many difficult conversations with Kendra. My ideal situation would be to end things with her, share custody of Marissa, and be with you.”
He moves back a little. I’m grateful for the space. I asked to be overwhelmed, and I think I might be. I can’t tell if I’m feeling butterflies or barbed wire in my stomach. He’s serious about me. Is that a surprise, though? This has never been a fling. We aren’t take-it-or-leave-it fucking. I might, on some level, use Finn to escape my situation with Nathan, but when Finn’s inside me, I’m not thinking of anything else.
“You want me to love you,” I state.
“I do. I don’t expect it now, and maybe I shouldn’t expect it at all. I want it, though.”
This must be what it feels like to free-fall without a net. We’re moving fast, but it might be up or down, left or right, right or wrong. I don’t know. I can see myself with Finn. I’m not sure I can see myself without Nathan.
Finn blows out a breath. “Heavy, huh?”
“A little.”
“I think you get it, though. What we could be. I see it in your eyes.”
What do I really know about Finn? I take stock. First, the green couch would have to go. The record player could stay. I don’t have any vinyl, but I like music. I can make him dinner with his cast iron skillet. Marissa would have her own bedroom that I could help decorate. Ginger has claimed nooks and crannies in our apartment, but Finn has the same ones. They’re just on the other side of the hall. What becomes of Ginger, though? What becomes of Nathan?
“I just need some time to adjust to the idea,” I say. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I feel I need to be explicit. “More time than this.”
“Believe me, Sadie, I get it.” He looks earnest, almost happy. Not like I expected. “We’re not seriously talking about this. You know that, right?” He covers my hand again. “I just have a hard time keeping my feelings inside. And I can’t stand to see you living like a zombie, doing your best not to set him off.”
I raise my ey
ebrows. My marriage has been a drain lately, but my heart still beats strongly. For Nathan, and now, for Finn too. “Do I seem like a zombie to you?”
“Not right now,” he teases, smiling warmly. “Right now, you’re alive. You’re radiant.” He chuckles. “And now, you’re blushing. You don’t know what that does to me, seeing you get shy.” He kisses my cheek, my temple. “See? I know you so much better, just from one simple, not-so-simple question.”
I can barely remember what the question was, especially with Finn’s lips on me. It wouldn’t be such a bad life, fucking in movie theaters, warming each other up with hot chocolate, kisses, and dreams. What girl wouldn’t want to be told she’s radiant, to have a handsome photographer make her feel undeniably sexy, to have had a romantic moment in her past so powerful, it remapped her life? It wouldn’t be such a bad life.
But, I can’t help feeling it would never move above second place.
Finn pays the bill, and I realize he never answered my question about sex. From what he’s told me about Kendra, I don’t think of them as intimate. They must be, though, after so many years together. Even if it’s occasional. And what if it’s not? What if the next time he goes to Connecticut, he does to her what he did to me?
The thought makes me uneasy. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy, or something else, but my timing is off. It doesn’t feel right to bring it up now that we’re leaving. I put my coat on, pick up my purse, and follow him out.
Ashley is chipper as ever. “Enjoy your stay!” she calls after us. I wonder just how new she is to the city.
When we’re on the sidewalk, Finn says without looking at me, “I want to get you that Burberry coat.”
I balk. “No, Finn. Absolutely not.”
“I insist. Let’s just pretend it really is my fault your coat was ruined. I like to think it played a part in our love story.”
“Finn, really. I can afford my own coat.”
“I know. But I’m offering. How can you say no?”
Admittedly, it’s hard to turn down Burberry. Since I got a raise and Nate turned his down, I haven’t wanted to spend too much on myself. We’re in a better place financially than we’ve ever been, but it still feels a little like rubbing it in his face. “I can’t just show up at home with Burberry,” I point out.