She made her way downstairs. At first she was surprised not to see Sanders. He was almost always up and puttering around before anyone else was home. Then she remembered the night before and she laughed. She threw one of Jameson's coats on over her tank top and underwear, then tripped over to Sanders' house. She didn't even bother with shoes, just hurried along in her knee high socks.
He was up, and he was dressed, and he looked immaculate, as always. But he had a set of bags under his eyes that made her laugh and laugh. He didn't look her in the eye, just pressed his lips together so hard that they turned white. She linked her arm through his and walked him back to the main house, promising to cook him breakfast.
“The very idea of food makes me want to pull my own tongue out of my head. No thank you,” he replied curtly.
He said he remembered everything they'd talked about, and he wasn't embarrassed at all about being “over emotional”. He did, however, apologize for bringing up her stint in the pool. She pointed out that if that's what he considered to be “over emotional”, she was dying to see hysterical.
“Have any plans for today?” she asked as he followed her into Jameson's bedroom.
“Not really. I was hoping for it to be peaceful. Quiet,” he replied. She laughed, heading into the closet.
“I was going to go downtown. Wanna go with me?” she asked, shrugging out of Jameson's jacket. Sanders came to stand in the closet doorway and stared at a wall while she hopped up and down, trying to squeeze into a pair of leggings.
“Of course. What are we going to do?” he asked.
“I never got Jameson a birthday present, I wanna take him one,” she replied, yanking off her tank top before rifling through a bunch of shirts. She settled on a loose, grungy, black tank top with a band logo on it. She pulled it on and looked in the full length mirror. It was a shirt from her life before Jameson, a thrift shop special she had cut the sides low on, so it showed off her lime green bra. She nodded at her reflection and traipsed out of the closet, moving over into the bathroom.
“Oh really. How were things when you got home last night? I know before I left, he was not happy about your absence,” Sanders told her, not moving from the closet doorway.
“He's never happy about much, is he,” she laughed, digging through her makeup bag.
“He is. Sometimes.”
“We talked a little bit. He told me some things. Things I need to understand, if we're gonna do this,” she explained, leaning over the counter as she carefully drew eyeliner around her eyes.
“And may I ask what it is you're going to do?” Sanders' voice floated to her. She was quiet while she finished her eye makeup, making it all smudgy and dark. Dirty. She looked over her handiwork, then moved onto powder and lip gloss.
“This. What you want. I'm going to try – try – to get the fuck over my hang ups, his hang ups, everybody's hang ups, and just ..., see. See what happens, see where this goes. Pick up where we left off last fall,” she said, examining her face in the mirror. Done. She finger combed her hair, swung her head up and down a couple times to give it volume, then called it good.
“You're sure this is what you want?” he asked as she walked back into the bedroom.
“I think so. Isn't this what you want?” she asked in return.
“Of course. I am just making sure. I don't want to see either of you hurt because of rash decisions,” he replied. She rolled her eyes.
“Stop confusing me. How do I look?” she asked, holding her arms out wide and smiling broadly at him. He took his time, his eyes sweeping over her whole form. When he got back to her face, he cleared his throat.
“You look exactly like the woman I first met back in August,” he replied. She sighed happily.
“Good. We haven't seen her in a long time.”
The drive to Boston took roughly half an hour, depending on traffic. She offered to drive, because of Sanders' condition, but he refused. If he was going to be in a car, then he was going to be the one driving it.
She had him stop at a store first, told him to wait outside. Then they stopped at a little shop right downtown, and Sanders insisted on coming into that place. Then they stopped at a party shop and she got a “Who's The Birthday Boy!?” balloon. Satisfied with her purchases, she had him take her to Jameson's offices.
“Should I call him to tell him we're headed up?” Sanders asked as they walked towards the front doors. She shook her head.
“It's a surprise party,” she laughed.
Jameson hadn't been lying, the secretary in the main lobby was a knockout. A chesty brunette with a blunt bob and bangs, she looked like Bettie Paige. She smiled sweetly at them as they headed into the elevators. The secretary in front of Jameson's office wasn't as polite, however, and made a racket when Tate burst into the anteroom that connected to his office. She didn't shut up till Sanders strode into the room, staring at her. She closed her mouth pretty quick and Tate walked through Jameson's door, sticking her tongue out at the lady.