It was weird. The constant feeling of dj vu I’d been having all week had intensified like crazy. I squeezed my eyes shut to figure it out. It wasn’t like I had actually experienced this particular feeling before; I’d just been expecting it, dreading it, refusing to guard myself against it.

Stupid.

“Oh,” I said in a small voice.

She was breathing slowly. She looked a little relieved, like she felt better. That made one of us, at least.

But what did she want? Congratulations? Did she want me to talk her out of it? Give her advice? We could compare notes, I thought bitterly. I could tell her how much I loved her and she could tell me if she loved Tina more, less, or in equal amounts. I mean-God. What the *****?

I looked at her; she had calmed down significantly, but she still looked over-caffeinated and agitated, tapping one foot in a quick rhythm against the coffee table. I sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.” Her smile was weak and feeble and her eyes looked tired. “I guess I just wanted to say it out loud to someone.”

“Why not Tina?”

She didn’t appear to like that idea so much. The tapping of her foot increased in tempo.

This was my job, it seemed. I was the best friend. I was the one she came to when she wanted to say things out loud.

“How’d you get here?”

“Walked.”

“Yeah? How much coffee have you had?”

Bette looked perplexed until she looked down at her tapping feet, her overanxious body, and she smiled sheepishly. “A lot.”

“Okay. Come on.” I stood from the couch, tapping her leg. “Let’s see if we can get you something to calm you down.”

“I’d like to feel calm,” she agreed as she followed me into the kitchen. “I’d like to feel like myself for once.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be bad.” I contemplated the whiskey on top of the fridge for a moment and then thought better of it, opening the fridge up and taking out a carton of milk. Bette sat down on a stool as I poured some milk into a pot and put it on the stove.