Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Tate hadn't seen or spoken to her parents in a long time. Before Jameson had re-entered her life, she'd gone seven years without speaking to her father. It worked for her. He didn't like her. She didn't like him. Her mother was a moot point – too drunk or high to ever matter. It was harsh, but it was the truth. They didn't care about her, so Tate didn't care about them.

So what the fuck are they doing here!?

The elder O'Sheas were seated at a table, picking at appetizers. Her father looked older, more weathered. He hunched over his plate, glaring at the restaurant. Her mother's eyes bounced around the room while she sipped at a large glass of wine. They looked completely out of place.

“No. No, I don't want to do this,” Tate hissed, trying to back away. Jameson held his ground and she felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders.

“I wasn't aware that you had a choice.”

“I'm not fucking around, Jameson. No more games, remember?” she reminded him.

“This isn't a game. This is life, baby girl. Time to suck it up and deal with it,” he told her. She gasped.

“Fuck that noise, I'm out of here,” she tried to twist away from him, but he held her in place.

“Liebe,” he whispered, his lips right at her ear. She held still. “Just do this. Say what you need to say. Forgive them. Tell them to eat shit and die. Whatever. But get it out and get it over with, you can't have this hanging over you anymore.”

Tate took a deep, shaky breath. He was right. Of course he was right; Jameson was always right. Bastard. She leaned back against him.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because I care about you, and it's been long enough.”

She didn't want to be crying when she faced her father, so she pulled away from Jameson and strode across the floor. She was at the table before her parents even realized she was in the room. Her father managed to get to his feet, though he didn't smile. His eyes traveled up and down her form, and the disapproval was evident in them.

It doesn't matter. You're good enough for Jameson, that's all that matters.

“Mother. Daddy,” Tate said in a crisp voice. Jameson pulled out her chair so she could sit down, then he sat down as well.

“We got appetizers while we waited for you,” Jameson explained, gesturing to some food that was on the table. Tate's stomach had turned into a giant knot and she waved him away.

“How are you, dear? It's been too long,” her mother cooed, a distinct slur to her voice.

“Has it?” Tate asked, staring at the other woman.

“I'll admit, I was shocked when I heard from Kane,” her father interrupted.

“Yes. I was a little shocked, myself,” Tate agreed, cutting her eyes to Jameson. He didn't look nervous at all. He actually winked at her.

“How have you been? I'm sure your life is fabulous, I'd love to hear all about it,” her mother said.

“Really? Cause last time we spoke, you recommended that I not be with Jameson, to spare Ellie's feelings,” Tate reminded her.

Might as well cut to the chase.

“Well, I … you were … that was different, dear. That was in the house, we didn't realize how serious you two were,” her mother tried to explain.

“Oh, so when I'm just sleeping with him, I'm not good enough. But now that we're 'dating', it's okay?” Tate clarified. Her mother actually smiled.

“Of course! Ellie's so happy with her life now, and Jameson is such a lovely man, you've done very well for yourself, Tatum. You two make a very handsome couple,” her mother assured her. Tate actually laughed, glancing at Jameson again.

“Is this real life?”

“Well, we are really good looking.”

Thank god a waiter showed up then. Jameson automatically ordered for Tate, and for once, she was grateful for it. She twisted a napkin together between her hands. When the material began to rip, Jameson pulled it away from her.

“So,” her father began again, once their food had been delivered. “I've seen you in the media.”

“Really? I wasn't aware you were a fan of TMZ,” Tate commented, stabbing a carrot onto her fork. She wasn't sure what Jameson's plan for dinner had been; no great revelation had been made. No breakdown or breakthrough. Just more of the same bitterness.

“It's hard to avoid when friends and colleagues are constantly showing me pictures of my daughter making a fool out of herself,” her father replied.

“I'm sorry, what pictures are those?” she asked, putting her silverware down.

“Pictures of you at events, outside of ridiculous night clubs, acting like an idiot. When are you going to grow up!?” he demanded.

“I have a question,” Tate tried to keep her voice calm. “Why am I always the ridiculous one? The idiot? Jameson is in those pictures, too.”

“It's completely different! He is … Kane is … it's totally different!” her father barked out.

“No, it's actually an excellent point. Why is it okay for me to be in these scandalous pictures, but not Tatum?” Jameson asked, dropping his napkin onto the table.

“You know what I'm talking about! You're a man, she's a woman! It's disgusting, seeing her splashed across the internet,” Mr. O'Shea grumbled.

“Really? I never get tired of looking at Tate, in person or online,” Jameson commented, turning towards her. She smiled at him.