Two days later

Bette awoke slowly.  Her eyes adjusted to the filtered sunlight flowing into the bedroom that she’d shared with Tina for the last eight years, give or take.  Cocking her head, Bette sniffed.  The distinctive aroma of pancakes and meat permeated the air.  She couldn’t recall when she last awakened to the smell of a home-cooked breakfast. 

Bette got out of bed and put on her pale blue robe.  Wiping sleep from her eyes, she padded down the hall and at the other end, she saw a blonde woman standing at the sink rinsing fruit.  For a brief moment, from behind, Theresa Kennard looked just like Tina.  Heartache overtook her and Bette reached out for the wall, her knees threatening to buckle under her, and it was only the stability of her hand on the wall that kept her standing. 

Theresa heard a sound behind her and turned, “Good mor…” she started.  Theresa dropped the fruit into the sink and ran to Bette.  “Bette, honey?  Are you aw right?  Bette was slumped over, nearly on the ground when Theresa grasped her arm, pulled her up and led her to a chair.  “Honey?”

“I’m fine.”  Bette cleared her throat.  “I’m fine, Theresa.  I-I just…”  Bette couldn’t explain.  She had almost immediately known it wasn’t Tina, but still, the scene was so familiar—Tina in the kitchen, preparing a meal, rinsing strawberries at the sink, moving the whistling tea kettle. 

Theresa sat in the next chair over and looked at Bette.  “Angelica’s sleepin’.  I guess I tired her out yesterday.  She took a bottle this mornin’ but then she was out like a light.”

“The crib isn’t a problem, is it?  I had taken it out so you’d have more room.”

“Unlike you, I don’t want to have a baby sleepin’ in bed with me.  I could just see me rollin’ over on Angelica.  That would be the end of me, that’s for damn sure.  I don’t take up much space.  Stephanie wanted to stay in The Valley.  I hope you know it has nothin’ to do with you.”  Theresa said.

“Yeah, I know.” 

Theresa stared at Bette who looked pallid.  She gazed into her eyes to see if a fainting spell was approaching.  “I bet I know what’s got you feelin’ so funny.  It’s probably the smell of this phony sausage.”  When she determined that Bette was okay, she walked to the other side of the kitchen, opened a cupboard, took out a tall glass tumbler, and then opened the fridge and pulled out a large bottle of Pelligrino.  “I can’t believe y’all don’t have any pork in this house.  Of course, the smell of this made you dizzy.  Shoot, cookin’ it was makin’ me a little light-headed. You actually eat this vegetable protein, made from wheat stuff sausage out of a green box that says organic?  I don’t get it.”