Across the parking lot, Bette walks toward The Planet with Mickey holding one hand and Angie skipping a few steps ahead. Tina strolls beside them, laughing at something Bette has just said.

Michelle watches as Bette leans down to listen to Mickey, who appears to be telling her something very important. Whatever he says makes Bette laugh. She gives his little hand an affectionate squeeze, then straightens and looks toward Tina.

Tina smiles at her, and Bette’s expression softens in that unmistakable way Michelle recognizes.

Bette reaches the entrance first and pulls open the glass door, holding it as Angie hurries inside. “Slow down, Angel,” she calls, laughing.

Mickey follows his sister, his little legs moving twice as fast as necessary.

Tina pauses beside Bette and says something that makes Bette grin.

Michelle can’t hear the exchange from inside her car, but she doesn’t need to. She watches Bette’s eyes travel appreciatively over Tina before settling on Tina’s face. Bette bites her lower lip, a flirtatious smile spreading across her face as Tina walks past. Then, with a quick glance toward the children, Bette gives Tina’s ass a light, playful tap.

Tina immediately turns her head, laughing as she shoots Bette a look over her shoulder. Bette simply grins, looking entirely too pleased with herself before following her family inside.

Michelle slowly releases the door handle. She draws her leg back into the car and closes the door, leaning against the seat with a quiet sigh. No matter how many times she sees Bette and Tina together, watching them so effortlessly happy still stings. She knows Bette has moved on, but knowing it and witnessing it are two entirely different things.

Michelle reaches for her purse and retrieves her compact mirror and lipstick. Flipping open the compact, she studies her reflection, tilting her face slightly beneath the overhead light. She brushes a few strands of brunette hair away from her brown eyes, smoothing the shoulder-length layers that have finally grown out from the pixie cut she wore for years. She tucks one side behind her ear, then runs her fingers through the ends, adding a little more volume.

Her gaze drops briefly to her black blouse. She straightens the collar and smooths the fabric over her slender waist before settling back into the seat. At five-foot-six, she’s always been noticeably shorter than Bette. For a moment, she remembers how easily her smaller frame used to fit against Bette’s tall body, the familiar feel of those long arms wrapping around her waist and drawing her close. She remembers resting her cheek against Bette’s chest, feeling Bette’s chin settle lightly against the top of her head.