Shit, shit, shit. Bette stared into the box in disbelief. Very bold, she thought.

”Do you like them?” Angie was practically hopping up and down. Bette continued to stare into the box, a smile forming on her full lips. She felt heat rise into her cheeks.

”They’re perfect,” she muttered, bringing the box closer to her face. Inside were a pair of Vivenne Westwood cufflinks. Silver with the orb detail in onyx. The overhead lamp caused the black stone to shimmer.

Bette knew these cufflinks well. Knew them because this wasn’t a gift – this something she owned, being returned to her.

Angie broke her mother’s trance by hopping over and looking into the box.

”So pretty,” Angie said, leaning her head against Bette’s shoulder. Bette’s heart was racing, beating so loudly she was sure that Angie could hear it. Worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep her hand steady for much longer, she closed the box and set it on the counter.

”Do you like them?” Angie asked, looking up at Bette.

”I love them. A very thoughtful gift.” Bette replied, sweeping a dark curl from Angie’s forehead. Bette looked at the clock on the wall, noticing the late hour, then to Angie, who nodded.

”I think Mama T might have helped with choosing them,” Angie said, grabbing her iPod and headphones from her backpack, ready for bed. Bette leaned over and kissed her daughter on the cheek.

”Well whoever chose them, I think they are just my style.” Bette said goodnight to Angie, and watched her climb the stairs.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Bette tried to process the thoughts racing through her mind. Moving through to the lounge, she approached the drinks cabinet with intention. She poured herself a whiskey over ice, perhaps being a bit more heavy-handed than she usually would on a Sunday night. The liquor burned her throat in a comforting way, bringing her back down to earth. Bette sat on the edge of the soft grey sofa, elbows resting on her knees, tilting the glass of whiskey to catch the amber liquid in the soft light of the lamp. She felt it ironic, that she was alone but not lonely. Never lonely. She chuckled to herself, and knocked the rest of the whiskey back in one gulp.