Homesick

Mrs. Morgan manages to get Tatum Morgan into the slender, red strap dress that she bought during a wild shopping escapade last week for the dinner. "It'll match," she says sweetly, applying matching red lipstick to her daughter's plush lips in front of her bedroom vanity mirror. "And you'll look wonderful for Nicholas," she gushes.

"Nick," Tatum corrects, knowing her mother will find this absolutely admirable, and, when she does, Tatum feels her stomach twist uncomfortably. After Mrs. Morgan pauses to talk about how beautiful their relationship is, she finishes with her self-employed makeup job and stands up when she decides it's all in the right place.

"You look wonderful," Mrs. Morgan whispers, looking come over with shudders of fondness. Tatum gets up from her seat and looks at her reflection; she wonders why she feels so apart from herself. Her mother took five hours out of her day to straighten her daughter's hair, pick her entire outfit out, and play up her face so that her eyes glow and cheek bones protrude, but it isn't working to lift her mood. Everyone's so happy, so carefree and joyful, and none of it is really rubbing off on Tatum.

"Thanks," she deadpans.

There's commotion going on downstairs - the dinner party has already begun - and Mrs. Morgan wants Tatum to have a grand arrival. She watches as Tatum bends over to pull on her black kitten heels and smooths down her dress a few times, feeling the silky fabric with the palms of her hands. "Are you ready to head down?" her mother asks gently, and Tatum feels herself nodding, out of it.

"Okay," Tatum breathes. "Let's go." Mrs. Morgan opens the door and lets Tatum teeter out before she follows close behind, still gushing. It feels like only a few seconds before Tatum manages down the stairs, smiles as Mr and Mrs. Marshall have their delight and hug and kiss her, and goes and gives Nick forced public affection in the middle of the dining room while everyone eagerly stares.

They all move to the kitchen when the formalities are given, and Tatum, with Nick's arm touching the small of her back, finds Wyatt in a crisp dress shirt and dark pants, sipping water by the island. He sputters some when he sees her, and Tatum gives a laugh at that. "Hey," Wyatt whispers as he wipes the back of his hand against his red mouth. His eyes flicker at Nick, who's not paying that much attention to their conversation, and finishes with a, "You look . . . good. Really good."

Tatum gets herself away from Nick's faltering grip and fixes a strap on her bony shoulder, shrugging curtly. "I kind of hate this dress." She smiles. "But thanks. You do, too, Wy." They find one another's gaze and this is when Tatum realizes the air between them is a little less friendly and a little too . . . a little too - much, she finishes mentally. Wyatt's green eyes are shining and his red hair is all neat and tucked and proper, and his grip on his glass is visibly tight; when she smiles she sees his knuckles going white, lips spreading in slight fascination. Tatum tries to go and stand beside him - she wants to smooth down his already smooth locks and tap at his sharp cheekbones, but Nick has his hand back around her and pulls her towards a beckoning Mrs. Marshall. She tries to twist her head to give Wyatt one last look, but Wyatt is staring at the water in his hand and doesn't notice her protest.

"Tatum!" Mrs. Marshall's red-lipped grin pulls back to reveal blindingly white teeth. She's a short, rounded woman with a good taste in dress and hair always curled in a trendy bob. When Tatum gets close enough, she touches the fabric of the girl's dress and her smile is so big it hurts. "Where did your mother get this?"

"I don't know," Tatum tries. "From a boutique downtown. Or something."

"So nice," Mrs. Marshall is still admiring it, beady eyes wet with envy. "Those boutiques only have sizes up to 5, you know." She gives Tatum a smile. "You're a lucky young lady; you have your mother's shape."

"Oh, Lindsey," Delia gasps from her spot beside Mr. Mashall, looking both scandalized and proud. "That skipped a generation - I was nothing like Tatum when I was her age." A series of doubts fill the air from the parents, and by the end of the conversation Mrs. Morgan is glowing so brightly that Tatum fears she'll sprout angel wings and float up to Heaven.

"Are you hungry?" Nick tries while they all move on to a boring conversation about work and community service. Tatum realizes then that his hand on the small of her back is still there, and she shrugs it away with a scowl, casually shifting on the leg farthest from him.

"I'm fine," she sniffs.

"You sure?" Nick insists, not one for good conversation or anything, really, aside from having sex and taunting her with his incredulously crude pick-up lines. Before Tatum can really answer with her usual disses or insults, Wyatt makes his way between the two - not too noticeable by the parents, but noticeable enough for Tatum to smile, relieved, at him, and Nick to glare. "'Sup, Wyatt?" He tries, annoyance evident in his voice. "Why don't ya shove me while you're at it?"

"Sorry," Wyatt says innocently, and Tatum scrunches her face up as to not laugh, always pleasantly surprised at how good at acting her brother can be sometimes. His fingers very briefly brush her legs, swinging by his sides, to show her his silent support, and she brushes his hand back, just as quickly. "I just wanted to get in on the conversation, too."

Nick hums, but his blue eyes are dark and his chin is tilted up, arrogantly, as to side-glance at Wyatt intimidatingly. Nick is taller, leaner, and broader than Wyatt, and his features are also sharper and more square, but what Wyatt doesn't have in masculinity he makes up in the way he articulates and carries himself, all good-natured and kind and careful.

"You know I saw you with Tate a week ago," Nick says, suddenly sounding pleasant. "You guys were at the shopping centre with Mrs. Morgan."

Wyatt looks up at Nick, along with Tatum, nodding. "Yeah - we were, actually. You were there, too?"

"Yeah," Nick continues, brushing a hand over his dark brown hairdo. "The reason I remembered is 'cause I almost confused you with Tate." Now his voice has a mocking tone to it, and it makes Tatum's face immediately darken. "You're real small for a man, y'know?"

Wyatt knows this is supposed to be a jab at his self-esteem, but he tries at a smile anyway and raises his glass slightly to that. "Being small isn't always bad," he sounds steady and calm. "Besides, size isn't always a positive thing since I have an undisturbed winning streak against you in soccer."

Tatum loses it this time, laughing her little fluttery laugh, covering her red-stained mouth with her hands. Nick only smirks and shrugs, unfaltered, at Wyatt. "Soccer is for the kids who can't play big-league football, anyway." He looks Wyatt right in his eyes. "But nice try, anyway, boy."

"If soccer is so miniscule then why can't you win?" Wyatt challenges. Tatum can see him quickly losing his composure and brushes her hand against his to catch him as he fell, but he doesn't seem to notice and refuses to remove his stare from Nick's.

Nick scoffs, eyes shifting to watch as his father's mouth moves while he speaks to Mr and Mrs. Morgan. "'Cause I don't care to win. Beat me in football and then we can have this conversation again about you being almost as pretty as your sister, kiddo."

He knew the use of nicknames is supposed to intimidate and fluster him, and he was trying for it not to, but the way Nick stood all importantly in the kitchen, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging by his side, sharp chin high and eyes dark, is really pissing him off. But Tatum, just then, brushes his hand again and he notices this time, looking to smile, strained, at her. She smiles back, and suddenly he's not as angered by Nick and his superior attitude anymore, just a tiny bit bothered. "Sure," is all he says in response, and Nick grins like he knows he won.
-
Dinner officially begins. Nick finds a seat next to Tatum, and Wyatt sits at the other side; Mr. Morgan settles at the head of the table, Mr. Marshall to his right and Mrs. Morgan to his left. Mrs. Marshall sits beside Mrs. Morgan and talks to her about Tatum's beautiful dress and the boutique it's from for a while longer.

"Let's have a prayer," Mr. Morgan says, finally, and they all hold hands and bow their heads while Mrs. Morgan does her piece.

"Amen," everyone says together when she finishes.

Nick hands Tatum a bowl of garden salad, and she portions some of it onto the upper right part of her plate, and then hands it to Wyatt, who immediately passes is to Mr. Marshall. They continue to pass bowls and plates, getting themselves some, until there's nothing left to pass and they're ready to eat. Tatum quietly listens to her father talking to Mr. Marshall about business as she cuts up her baked chicken breast and mixes it into her garden salad. "Are you sure you don't want the potato salad?" Nick presses her, leaning towards her to look incredulously at her pretty empty plate.

"I'm not that hungry," Tatum offers silently.

Nick lets out a breath. "You're never hungry, huh?"

Tatum looks him in the eyes and says, very softly, "Not when you're around."

Nick gives a short chuckle at that, showing some white, straight teeth, perfected by previous years suffering from braces. "What - is my presence that much for you?"

"Yes," Tatum says. "And not in a positive way, if that's what you're hinting at."

Nick gives his head a shake. "You're something else, Tate," and then his voice lowers in confidentiality. "Has nearly 7 months really done this to you?"

Her face morphs into a confused expression as she turns to look at him again. "What do you mean by that?" Nick looks up from her and pauses, tight-lipped when he notices that Mr. Morgan and Mr. Marshall's conversation halted, and they were more tuned in to what Tatum and he is saying.

And then Mrs. Morgan brings up a new topic - her organization with those recovering from eating disorders - and the attention is off of them again. Nick looks back down at Tatum, who's still giving him a challenging, unfaltering stare, and smiles wryly. "You were much more open, you know? You actually tried, but it's like you've given up now."

Tatum actually doesn't know what to say to that. Mostly because, when she thinks back, it's true. She wanted her parents to be proud of her, be proud of her for making the right choice, so she really wanted her and Nick's relationship to work out. She wanted Nick to be the person to make her heart flutter; she wanted to say she was in love with Nicholas Marshall and mean it, too. But then she started to lose it as more and more months passed and she realized they were truly incompatible; Nick knew his dreams - he knew what he wanted out of life and was towering towards it. Tatum never knew and doesn't know, now. And while she's more introverted, Nick is more about doing and less about thinking. She realized this too late and now she's here, suffering in a relationship she never wanted in the first place.

Nick notices her lack of words and deflates, some. The rest of the dinner he's more quiet than usual - than ever, actually - and Tatum feels bad for not saying the right thing. She hates Nick, she thinks she hates Nick, and it's awful that she feels awful about it; it's an unusual emotion that makes her feel unsettled the entire night. Even as they put their dishes in the dishwasher and the Marshalls are prepared to leave, her chest is unusually tight, closing down on her heart.

Nick gives her a goodbye hug and a kiss to the cheek - she's sure it's because their parents are there that he even attempts this, since he's obviously still hurt about her lack of words - and she finds herself hugging him back and returning the kiss, whispering, "I'm sorry," against his cheekbone. He looks at her as he unwraps himself from her arms, stunned, and Tatum can't help but give him a sad look, longing to say something to make him feel better. But the glint in his eyes return at her spontaneous display of affection; shrugging curtly, he tries to play it off with a, "you're just being Tate. Don't apologize for that."

That doesn't make her feel better. He leaves, and she still isn't quite sure how to convey her true feelings without making him sad again, so she stands, lost, at the doorway and watches his family pack into their sleek, new car and back out of her home's driveway. Her father places a hand on her bare shoulder and asks, "you miss him already, Tater? He'll be back again soon," and then kisses her on the forehead when she says nothing.

"I feel like I haven't seen them in forever," Mrs. Morgan sighs on her way up the stairs, followed by an affectionate Mr. Morgan. "Their son is getting more and more handsome, isn't he?" Her husband hums his agreement as they get on the top step and walk, chatty, down the hallway and to their shared master bedroom.

Even when the front door is closed, Tatum stands there, lost in thought. From all the touches and fond grips, her red hair is a little messy, bangs frazzled, and a bit of frizz hangs over her head; one strap of her red dress is falling down a pale shoulder; her feet feel sore from all the walking around in heels, even though they're not significant enough to actually be a bother. She wants to . . . she wants to cry. It's like this entire time she was never truly considerate of Nick's feelings - she only cared about her own, and she was always led by her own opinions. But, no matter how shitty of a person Nick makes himself out to be, he's still a person, a human being, and what she has to go through he has to, too.

"Tatum?" Wyatt asks, placing a concerned hand between her shoulder blades, and this is when a tear manages to crawl down her left, pink-tinted cheek. He looks at the side of her face in stunned silence, unsure of how to go about it, especially since he has no clue what she's so upset about. "Tatum?"

"I've been awful," she croaks, and just saying it, just letting it out in the air like that for her to face alone, makes more tears pour down her face. She turns to look into Wyatt's understanding green eyes, and her face contorts - lips quivering and raising, nose scrunching, eyes narrowing, all glassy and burning - and she lets out a sob, repeating, "I've been really awful, Wy."

He knows to hold her this time, and this is what he does, a little desperately, but more uncertain. She leans her head between his collarbones, the hair on the top of her head tickling his chin, and slumps some in his arms. He feels warm - she does, too - and it only makes her feel like a worse person; Nick is a dick, but he isn't deserving of all her cruel words. Not even he deserves that. "I have to try harder," she forces out between a few sniffles. "I have to try harder for him."

"You don't owe him anything, Tate."

"That's right," she says against him. "I don't owe him anything, and he doesn't owe me anything," she looks up at Wyatt's face and smiles wryly, "so why am I such an ass to him?"

Wyatt frowns. "Because he's an ass. You know that, Tatum." He reaches up, hesitates as Tatum laughs shortly, and then wipes her face with his fingers, tracing over her skin with the tips in wonder and awe, as if he's surprised that she feels real, that she's an actual, breathing person. A hushed whisper comes over his tone when he finishes with, "you're too good for him."

Tatum laughs shortly again, shaking her head and moving her gaze to the side, at the living room. "You're really corny." She pulls back some. "I feel like I'm in some children's movie."

"The difference between a movie is that it's true, though." Wyatt still has his hand just under her arm, holding her. "You're too good for a guy like that." Tatum wants to look her brother in the eyes and thank him, but that's it, that's the thing, she wants to look her brother in the eyes and thank him with that sultry voice that she knows is going to come out when she's trapped in his stare. This throws her into a dimension that she's not too sure she's comfortable being in, because - come on - blood relation isn't supposed to talk to one another like they're a minute away from going into a room and having passionate sex.

Tatum removes herself from Wyatt and still can't look at him - she feels suddenly awkward. "Thanks," she says as unemotionally as she can. "I'm going to go upstairs and take a shower now - I feel dirty."

Wyatt can sense the unfamiliarity radiating from Tatum and follows her lead, nodding unenthusiastically. "Okay. Goodnight." She turns and heads upstairs after returning a nod, and Wyatt stands there and tells himself not to watch her the entire time.