“I know that. I would never make you choose, Sandy, he's your family, I'm just -,” she tried to assure him.
“You are very important, too,” Sanders assured her first. She laughed and wiped at her eyes.
“Thank you. Thank you for telling me all this, but I've gotta say, it makes me nervous. He's not gonna pop out of a cake or something, is he?” she joked.
“I shall notify the kitchen to cancel dessert.”
Tate didn't stop laughing until a waiter came to pat her on the back.
“I'm not gonna lie, it's not easy. I don't like ..., thinking about him, or those days. I don't talk about him. But I don't want you to feel like you can't be around me just because you also need to be around him. I wouldn't do that to you,” she told him again.
“Thank you.”
She thought he was going to continue on, maybe tell hilarious anecdotes about his and Jameson's life in the country as bachelors, now that Tate was out of the picture. Oh, the shenanigans they probably got into together! To get through it, she would probably have to stab herself in the thigh with a fork, but she would suffer through it. For Sanders.
But he didn't. Their appetizers were brought out, and they chatted over normal things. Sanders was an avid horse rider, and Tate had ridden all through school, so they talked about horses and stables, the best places to ride. He complimented her hair and she complimented his suit. He promised that after dinner he would take her to McDonald's, so she could get a Happy Meal with a toy – she should have something to unwrap on her birthday, after all, and she could never resist a milkshake. She hugged him from across the table.
“This was awesome, Sandy, thank you so much for taking me out,” Tate said as she scraped the last little bit of cake off her dessert plate. It was promptly whisked away, and two tiny glasses of port appeared in front of them.
“Of course. I always enjoy our dinners. Which leads me to ask, I was wondering something. You can say no, I won't get mad. It was just an idea I had,” he started, sipping at the dark wine. Her defenses immediately went up. Apparently the conversation from earlier wasn't over.
“Alright. What is it?” she asked slowly.
“I am a fairly accomplished cook. I thought it would be nice to make you dinner one of these nights,” Sanders told her. She raised her eyebrows.
“Of course! Just tell me when, and I'll come over to your place -,”
“I moved out of the hotel,” he said quickly. Her breath caught in her throat. There was only one other place he would go.
“Sandy, I know, I know he's your family, but I can't. I just can't go sit and have dinner with him. I'm not making you choose, really, I just can't be in that house, with him. I can't, I can't,” Tate was speaking at supersonic speeds. Sanders reached out and rested his hand on her arm, and she was instantly soothed. He never touched anybody, so any display of affection from him was a massive one.
“He's not there. He left the country. He hasn't been home for almost six weeks,” Sanders explained.
Six weeks. Tate had been out of the hospital for almost exactly six weeks. Apparently when she had said she wanted him gone, Jameson had taken her very literally. She was such a stupid girl, her stupid heart had believed him again. So much for seeing her around. Kind of hard to do from 3,000 miles away. Or was Berlin 4,000 miles away? She wasn't sure.
Goddamn fucking stupid Danish beauty FUCK. FUCKER.
“Oh. I just ..., I don't know. Let me think about it? It's hard, Sandy. It's ..., hard,” Tate's voice fell in to a whisper.
Jameson's house had become home to Tate, in the short period of time she had stayed there. It was where she had met Sanders, a soulmate. It's where she had met her match, in Satan. More than her match, it turned out. She had left a piece of herself in that house, imbedded in the structure, buried in the foundation. She wasn't ready to get it back yet.
“Of course, no pressure,” Sanders assured her. She smiled.
“You could always come cook at our place. Nick has a really nice, commercial grade stove,” she told him. His lips quirked to the side.
“May I ask you one more question?” Sanders ignored her suggestion.
“Yes.”
“Will you ever be ready to see him again?”
Sanders just would not stop with the surprises. She wondered how long he had been planning this; Sanders would never do something without extensive planning, especially if it involved him going out of his comfort zone. This was so far out of his zone, he was practically a new person.
“I don't know. I'm ..., he ..., I don't think I can explain it. I thought ..., I told him I felt a certain way. I didn't ask for anything back, but he led me to believe there was something. It was all a lie. A joke. A game. He didn't care about me, he just wanted to hurt me. Me, my heart. Why would a person do that? Why would he be so cruel to a person, just because she liked him?” Tate asked, wiping at tears again.
“You know when I tell you something, it is completely unbiased, yes?” he asked. She nodded.
“Are you even capable of being biased?”
“No. And I am telling you, it was not all a joke to him. It was not a game. He didn't lure you in to 'falling for him' just so he could play some cruel prank on you. It wasn't like that. He is very stupid, I will agree, and he acted like a child, that is certain. As I said, I am not proud. But I also know that he cared about you,” Sanders stressed.
Tate squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to remember the pool. Sometimes, she almost thought she could. Coldness, surrounding her, coming from everywhere. From inside of her. Like being dead. She knew that Jameson wasn't the one who put her there – she had done that to herself, she was the only one to blame. She had debased herself, she had degraded herself. She had done a lot of low down, dirty things in her adult life, but that night had taken the cake.
But Jameson had been a part of it. Tate may have been responsible for her drunk driving descent into madness, but Satan hadn't helped, either.
“I'm sorry, Sandy, but I just don't believe that. It's just wishful thinking.”
“You are entitled to think what you want, but that does not make it accurate. So. If you don't believe he ever cared for you, then there is no chance of you two making amends, sometime in the future?” Sanders questioned further. Tate almost laughed again.
“Is this for real? No, Sandy, I don't think there is any chance that we will 'make amends' sometime in the future. I can't even imagine speaking to him, and clearly he doesn't want to speak to me. It's better this way. It was a pretty toxic relationship, whatever it was – I think I need to just calm down for a while. Show a little restraint. Maybe try out a normal relationship for once,” she told him. He quirked up an eyebrow.
“A normal relationship? Like something with Mr. Castille?” Sanders asked. She laughed.
“You know what, yeah. Maybe. Maybe something exactly like that. Nice and normal,” she replied.
There was a very long pause, during which Sanders stared at her the whole time. The table was cleared and the check was brought, but he still stared. She began to wonder if she should pay when he finally looked down to grab the bill.