“Where has your mind been going, Bette?”

“Towards you.  Straight towards you,” she choked out.  She shook her head in confusion.

Gail placed the hard, laminated menu upright on the table, so that Bette’s hand was behind it, and then Gail placed her hand on top of Bette’s.  She didn’t say anything as she mulled over the beginning of Bette’s awareness.

Finally, “What do you plan on doing about it?”

“What I’m thinking and feeling, my father would find utterly disgusting.”

Gail was offended.  She knew it wasn’t Bette’s intention, but Gail had to get a dig in anyway.  “More so than you swallowing some guy’s come?”

“My father doesn’t know what I do in bed.”

“So why would you tell him about this?  You don’t have to.  This can be between us.  I won’t lie to you.  I want to be with you.  You’re all I’ve been thinking of for some time.”

Bette’s eyes cleared.  Could this woman who had lived a ***** life for years and years really want her?  Gail was in her mid-thirties and though Bette was a legal adult, she could easily remember the trials of high school and her teen years.  Did they even have anything in common?  And what about Ashton?  What was she going to do about her boyfriend? 

“Bette, I think you’re well beyond your years.  Most girls your age would be thinking about the next kegger at the sorority house or planning their weddings to the college boyfriend they snagged.  You don’t hang all over Ashton.  I think I’ve seen you with him once.   You hardly talk about him.  You’re different.  I won’t push you in any direction.  This has to be your decision.”

“Okay.  My decision, of course.” 

* * * * *

Bette had arrived at the library at 9:30, but it took her a good fifteen minutes to rid herself of the many layers she wore to ward off the cold and early morning steady snow that was falling.  She shook out her hair and greeted the circulation desk assistant who handed her an envelope.

“This was left for you,” he said.

Sighing from the recent exertion of de-layering, Bette took the business size envelope from him.  The white envelope simply said, ‘Bette Porter’ in what she knew to be Gail’s handwriting.  Her heart fell.  Inside, she knew that she’d read that Gail wanted nothing to do with her; that it had all been a bit of a laugh; that after she had a chance to think about it, Gail knew that the feelings Bette might have for her weren’t reciprocated.  Bette walked over to one of the benches upholstered in durable, blue vinyl and dropped down.  She slid her thumb across the seal and opened the envelope.