She sat at the table and fidgeted. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She felt like was going to puke. She smiled and laughed at all the appropriate times, but she wasn't listening. She was thinking about blue eyes and strong fingers.

Wrong. He's wrong for you. He's never understood what you want, what you really want.

By the time dessert was brought out, she felt like she was calming down. She was laughing at something an outfielder's wife was saying. Nick had even lightened up a little. He had cleaned himself and his nose had stopped bleeding, which was a plus. Now his hand was back on her knee. She ignored the way her skin felt so ..., normal, under his touch.

“Doing okay?” he asked, leaning close to her ear. She nodded.

“Yeah. Just tired,” she replied. He smiled at her.

“Why don't we go upstairs, and I can -,” he started, when he was interrupted by one of the coaches. Tate let out sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was “go upstairs” with Nick.

While he chattered away to the coach, her eyes fell on the black velvet box. She glared at it. Stupid Jameson. Stupid fucking pearls. Fitting though, pearls the first time they came together. Pearls the last time they parted. She wondered how much they cost, wondered if she could leave them at the front desk for him to pick up. Wondered if she could strangle him with them. She drummed her fingers against the box.

“Awww, did Nicky get that for you?” the same wife from earlier drawled in a thick Southern accent. Tate smiled.

“Oh no, it's from ..., an admirer,” Tate joked.

“Ooohhh, may I ask what it is?” the lady continued. Tate shrugged.

“I'm not really sure, I haven't opened it.”

“Well, honey, what are you waiting for!? That's a big box! Open it!” the woman insisted. Tate sighed and dragged the box forward. Braced herself to see what her price was this time around. $50,000, $60,000, hell, maybe he'd gone all out - $75,000. She flipped open the lid.

She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She couldn't believe it. Couldn't fucking believe it. Tears filled her eyes, and she managed a laugh. She was vaguely aware of the woman asking her what was wrong, asking what was in the box, but she ignored her. A long ago conversation floated into her mind.

“It's knowing the worth of what you have. Fake pearls are just as good as real pearls, if they're given with good intentions and love. If Ang gave me the gaudiest, ugliest, tackiest, strand of fake pearls ever, I would love them more than any set of real pearls my parents ever gave me. Ang loves me.”

“If Ang gave you pearls, huh. And what if I gave you pearls? What would they mean to you?”

“You don't love me, so to be impressed, that price tag better be huge.”

Sitting inside the fancy velvet box, a box that had a Cartier logo on the inside of it, was the guadiest, ugliest, tackiest strand of fake pearls, ever. Fake was too generous a word. The necklace was basically costume jewelry. It was like he had walked into one of those Claire's boutiques, then looked through the clearance bin for the cheapest piece of shit necklace he could possibly find. It even had the price tag still stuck to it. The actual cost had been crossed out with a black marker, but it had been marked down and the original price was still visible.

$4.99.

She could not stop laughing.

Oh, Satan. Got me again.

“What's so funny?” Nick suddenly asked.

“He ..., it's ..., I can't,” she laughed. He glanced into the box.

“Jameson Kane got you that?” he asked, surprise obvious in his voice. She nodded.

“You see, we ..., it's a long story,” she sighed, sitting the box on the table, leaving it open.

“So strange. Look, what I was saying was, maybe we could go upstairs, and continue our discussion,” Nick said, leaning his elbow on her chair.

“Hmmm?” she asked absent-mindedly, staring at the pearls.

You thought he was trying to buy you. He asked you to listen. Are you listening now?

“You know, what we've been talking about,” Nick pressed, trailing his fingertip in a circle on her arm.

“What?” she asked, not able to tear her eyes away from the box.

He's hearing you. Really hearing you. He didn't run away. You ran away. Hear him.

“What we've been talking about. You, me,” Nick lead her along.

“I don't ..., know what ...,” she couldn't form coherent thoughts. Jameson was in her head, taking up all the space, forcing everything out.

“... you're willing to try it all out with him? Let me try it out with you ...”

“You and me, moving in together,” Nick finally spelled it out. She lifted her eyes to his. Really looked at him.

“... That's all I came here to do ... to give you whatever you want ...”

All I ever wanted was for him to love me.

Hear him.

“I'm sorry,” Tate breathed.

Nick blinked in surprise, clearly confused for a moment. Then he looked at the box. Back at her. Then the box. Realization dawned across his face and his smile fell away. His eyes found hers, and she started to cry again.

“I see,” he whispered back.

“I'm so sorry,” Tate babbled. “I'm so, so sorry. I tried. I really tried. You are one of the best people I've ever known. You're smart and funny and sexy, and everything. You're everything. I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm just this horrible, demon, person, thing -,”