“Because you both over-complicate things,” he replied simply. She threw a glare over her shoulder at him, then walked into the closet.
“My life was very un-complicated before Mr. Kane, you know. I probably wouldn't have ever met Nick, ever slept with him, if it hadn't been for Jameson,” she pointed out, peeling herself out of the dress and changing into a t-shirt of Jameson's. She padded back into the bedroom.
“Mr. Castille would have come to your bar that night, regardless of whether or not you were sleeping with Jameson, so the result would still be the same,” Sanders returned her logic.
“Maybe I wouldn't have just slept with him, maybe I'd be Mrs. Castille by now,” she bit out, yanking her hair up into a ponytail while she glared at him.
“Is that what you'd like? To be Mrs. Tatum Castille?” Sanders questioned.
“No,” she replied quickly, crawling onto the bed.
“And why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because, it'd be boring,” she answered softly. He nodded.
“And that answer, right there, is why your life is so 'difficult',” he told her. She groaned while he walked into the closet. She heard hangers clanking around, knew he was hanging her dress up.
“Your attitude doesn't help, Sandy! Holier than thou, know better than all of us mere mortals, blah blah blah!” she snapped. He came back into the bedroom.
“I apologize. Would you like me to stop offering advice?” he asked. She frowned, wouldn't look at him.
“No.”
“Alright then. What would you like me to do?”
“Will you sleep with me again?”
“Of course.”
Their first night in the condo, Tate had woken up from a violent nightmare. Screaming, hands pulling at her own hair. She had been under water, fighting with someone, though she wasn't sure who. Sanders had been standing over her, looking scared out of his mind. But after she started sobbing, he climbed into bed next to her, let her hold onto him till she calmed down. Till she fell asleep. When she woke up the next morning, he had been laying in the exact same spot. After that, they slept together every night.
“Sandy,” she said softly, long after he'd changed into his pajamas and she'd turned out the light.
“Hmmm?” he responded, clasping his hands together on top of his chest.
“The first time I saw Jameson again, that first time we talked together, I'm the one who turned it all into a game. I'm the one ..., who felt like she couldn't lose. I'm terrified of losing to him. Why do I still feel this way?” she asked, rolling towards him.
“Because he is a lot to take in, to absorb. Because he never loses. And because you've already lost, you just won't admit it,” he said plainly. She winced at his words.
“Ang said that I'm in love with Jameson,” she whispered.
“I have never thought Mr. Hollingsworth to be a stupid man.”
“What if he never loves me back?” her voice kept getting quieter and quieter.
“Is that really what frightens you?” Sanders questioned.
“I'm scared ..., I'm scared that I'm unlovable. That I'm just this dirty human being, a waste of time,” she told him. He sighed and unclasped his hands. She immediately grabbed onto one of them, held it between her own.
“You are none of those things. Mr. Hollingsworth loves you. Mr. Castille loves you. I love you. It seems to me that everyone you know, loves you. So that is a very ignorant statement,” he pointed out.
“But not Jameson,” she clarified. He cleared his throat.
“I said everyone.”
“I don't think he loves me.”
“Tatum, I am not entirely sure that you know what love is.”
“Sandy?”
“Hmmm?”
“Shut up.”
“Of course.”
The next day, Tate avoided seeing Nick until dinner time. It was his last night in town, and she had already agreed to go to dinner with him. She and Sanders had stayed up very late the night before, talking. She had woken up curled around him, almost hugging him from behind. He woke up, and then they talked some more. As blunt as he was, he never once said outright that Jameson was in love with her, and he never once told her exactly what she should do. Just that it was obvious she was happiest with Jameson, to anyone with eyeballs, so why was she fighting against it?
Obviously, Sanders had never had convulsions and been admitted to a psych ward. Obviously, Sanders hadn't spent every day for the past couple months, worrying and waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other hand to strike. Nothing was ever smooth sailing with Jameson. Something was going to happen. She still couldn't say if she honestly wanted to see what it was.
Dinner with Nick was awkward. He laughed and tried to make her feel comfortable, but the kiss laid heavy between them. Words were almost easier to forget than a kiss. He assured her that he was fine, his heart wasn't broken. But before they parted ways, he hugged her tightly and made her promise that if she ever needed anything, anything, that he would be the first person she called.
Tate could've gone home, back to Weston. She had originally planned on going home the next day, because she had wanted to see Nick off at the airport, but that wasn't going to happen anymore. Still. She wasn't ready.
So she invited Ang over to the condo. Sanders protested vehemently, insisting that Ang coming over was almost as bad as Nick coming over. Tate just shushed him and told him to go back to Weston.