“He hasn't said anything to me, I just know that he has been seeing someone.”
“Sandy, you're so good at getting people to talk, maybe you could just -,”
“No.”
“But I'm dying to know!”
“No, I am not asking him.”
“Sandyyyyyyyy!”
“Not this again.”
“Sandy, please! Please! Please!” she whined in a high pitched voice. He pressed his lips together.
“No. It's none of our business,” he reminded her.
“Fiiiiiiiiine,” Tate groaned.
“Besides. I thought maybe I could ask some questions tonight,” Sanders said.
She was blown away, again. He just kept shocking her. Sanders talking in whole paragraphs was monumental enough, but asking questions? Being engaging? She almost felt dizzy. She definitely felt nervous.
“Of course, of course, go right ahead,” she offered.
“I want you to know,” he started, his eyes staring straight down while his posture remained as straight as an arrow. “I admire you a great deal, for how you've handled this whole situation, this last month.”
She instantly teared up.
“Sanders, I -,”
“And I wanted you to know that I understand how you feel, about him. I understand why you feel that way. I know that things cannot be taken back, once they have been said and done,” Sanders continued.
Always about Jameson.
“Thank you,” Tate responded, waving a hand in front of her eyes to keep the tears from spilling.
“But – he is a large part of my life. I don't want to have to choose between the two of you. I have avoided talking about him or anything to do with him up until now, just for your sake. This cannot always be, I owe my life to him. I am not proud of what he did, I am not making excuses for it, but his home is my home. He is the only family I have,” Sanders reminded her. She nodded her head.
“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.