“Tate, we -,” he started, but she shook her head. The car was pulling up in front of a large, colonial style home. Not unlike Jameson's home in Weston, though this one was on a much grander scale. More pillars, more bricks, more rooms. She knew it had more rooms, because she had been in it many times. She took a deep breath.
“You'll never win, Kane. So how are we doing this? Is there an explanation, a back story? Are you my boyfriend? Am I your paid whore?” Tate asked.
“We ran in to each other in Boston. We're friends,” he said in a slow voice. She cackled.
“Friends. We have never been friends, Jameson,” she snapped, listening as Sanders got out of the driver's seat. Talked with someone who had come out the front door. Jameson put a finger under her chin and pulled her gaze to him. He looked angry.
“Baby girl, I might just be the best friend you've ever had,” he told her. She smiled sweetly at him at the same time Sanders pulled her door open.
“You better start smiling, Jameson. You know how my family loves a happy face,” she whispered, and then took Sanders' hand, allowing him to pull her out of the car.
Her mother, sister, and some guy she didn't recognize, all stood on the porch of the house she had grown up in, the house she had been living in when she had first met Jameson; the house she hadn't been back to in seven years. She took a deep breath.
Show time.
*
Her mother actually cried. Like real tears, not drunk ones. Hugged her. Gushed over how beautiful Tatum was, how amazing she looked. Tate managed a smile, but she had a feeling that it looked more like a smirk, as that long ago phone call played through her mind. Her own mother, calling her a worthless whore, a good for nothing, a home wrecker. Telling her own daughter that she wasn't allowed to come home, ever again.
“Ever again” apparently only lasts seven years.
The mystery man turned out to be Ellie's husband. He was tall, dirty-blonde, and handsome. He smiled a lot and stared at Tate's chest the whole time, even though there wasn't even a hint of cleavage showing. Asshole rolled off of him and Tate moved away quickly.
She had often wondered what meeting up with her sister would be like; would she be forgiving? Would she be angry? She wasn't necessarily either, she was just the same, old, hateful Ellie. Like no time had passed. Scowling at Tate like she was a nuisance, an interruption. Like she was lesser than. And when Jameson came down the line, shook Ellie's hand while standing what could probably be considered too-close to Tatum, Ellie's eyes looked downright murderous. Tate could read her thoughts, “you stole this from me, he was mine, and you ripped it all away.”
Funny that everyone had gotten so angry at her, but no one had seemed to care about Jameson's part in it all.
They all went inside and she was told that her father was out of town, but he would be back the next day. Her mother claimed that he was “looking forward” to seeing Tate, but the woman could barely get the words out through her painted on smile. Tate just nodded, following everyone in to the kitchen.
Wine was poured and stories told. Jameson had called Mrs. Blanche O'Shea a couple days ago, explained how he had run in to Tate, how they had developed a friendship of sorts. He just wanted to help, could he bring Tatum down for a visit? Tate's mom had been all over that idea, and got even more excited when he had invited himself along, as well. They were placed in rooms across from each other, neither of them Tate's old bedroom. That room had long ago been broken down and turned in to a spare office.
Ellie's husband, Robert, talked non-stop. How he had heard so much about Tate, but he had no idea that she was so good looking. Mrs. O'Shea only made beautiful children, it seemed. Most of his speeches were made to her chest, and at one point she caught Jameson scowling at them, so she indulged Robert. Arched her back, stretched her arms, leaned in to him. Made a big show of letting her hair down, shaking it out so it was wild and messy – a person fave of Jameson's, she knew.
Ha, choke on it, Satan.
Ellie didn't even notice, she was so busy kissing Jameson's ass – Tate was just waiting for her to get down on her knees and make an offer to suck him off, right in front of everyone. It was ridiculous. In between flirting with Jameson, Ellie threw poison darts with her eyes at Tatum, who just rolled her own eyes and drank a little more. Finally, as if awkward small talk wasn't bad enough, they all sat down to dinner.
“So where do you live in Boston, honey?” her mother asked.
“North Dorchester,” Tate answered.
“Oh wow, you must be a tough little thing,” Robert laughed. Tate laughed as well, winking at him.
“You have no idea,” she teased.
“Tate's never had a problem getting down and dirty, have you?” Ellie snapped, sipping at her water. She was two months pregnant, and it was obvious by the way she eye balled the wine that sobriety was difficult for her.
“Oh never. In fact, I absolutely love it,” Tate drew out the words. Jameson cleared his throat.
“Tate has been working for me,” he offered up. The whole table went silent and stared at him. Tate wondered how truthful he would be.
“Oh? Doing what?” Ellie asked in a cool voice.
“Oh, just some work here and there, around my house. Making the place brighter, you could say. In exchange, I have been setting her up with a retirement account,” he explained, his eyes locked onto Tate's. She laughed at him.
“Making the place brighter - it's was I live to do, Mr. Kane,” she replied in a husky voice.
“Well, you are very good at it.”
Her mother interrupted then, not drunk enough – yet – to let the innuendos go over her head. Dessert was brought out and they ate mostly in silence, then retired to a drawing room. Mrs. O'Shea didn't last much longer before heading off to bed. Tate followed her to the stairs and gave her a hug goodnight. When she turned around, Ellie was behind her.
“I know what you're doing,” she snapped. Tate sighed. She was so tired.
“What am I doing, Ellie?” Tate asked.
“You stole Jameson from me. He was going to propose, and you ruined it all. Now that Robert and I are about to have a baby, you want to steal him from me, too,” Ellie replied, rubbing her hand over her belly. Tate laughed.
“I didn't steal Jameson – in seven years, I never even saw him, not until a couple weeks ago. He was never going to propose to you, he told me that night that he was going to dump you, so I didn't ruin shit. I just made it easier for him to end it. And trust me, in no way, shape, or form, do I want your husband, so you two can have all the babies you want,” Tate assured her. Ellie narrowed her eyes.
“You're just a slut, Tate. It's so digusting. I can see what's going on between you two, 'doing work around the house'. Is that what you call screwing? And he pays you? Now you really are a whore. He doesn't care about you. Jameson Kane would never be with a slut like you. Some day sex won't be enough, and he'll need a real woman, and that's when he'll marry a girl like me. Not one like you,” Ellie hissed.
Her words were true, and they hurt because they were true, but before the cut could split open and bleed, Jameson walked in to the room. Tate didn't even look at him, just kept her eyes locked on her sister. Tate was a little shocked, though, when he stopped next to her and coiled his arm around her waist.