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Tina lies in bed, body stiff, staring at the ceiling. Henry is sleeping by her side, he hogs most of the bed. She misses the comfort of the bed she shared with Bette, how their slim bodies would meet in the middle, Bette’s arm draped over Tina’s naked back, leg over Tina’s naked thigh. There was so much room. Tina wonders how could she not see it, all the space there was for her to spread her wings, all the love and willingness in Bette’s dark brown eyes, how could Tina not realize there was a way forward if only she had stayed, if only she had put the hurt aside and opened her heart to Bette again.
Tina gets up, walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs into the open kitchen. She sits on a chair at the small table and looks around. There’s nothing about this house she recognizes, even after all these months. It has never felt like home and it’s about time she faces it never will.
Tina doesn’t come back to bed. She stays there, reminiscing about the other night at The Planet. Producing Jenny’s movie is proving to be a nightmare, but, Tina thinks, having Bette stand up for her like she did that night, listening to her as she pointed out all the reasons Tina was the right executive for that project, telling them what she had accomplished before, that alone made that project worth it. Tina would handle Jenny, and Aaron, and all the clearly straight actresses trying to play queer women just to feel like that woman—the woman Bette admired, the woman Bette felt proud to walk through life with, hand in hand.
Henry wakes up and goes about his day after wishing Tina a good morning. She wonders if he had noticed she wasn’t in bed for hours. Then realizes she doesn’t really care if he notices her or not. She goes upstairs, changes into formal clothes for her meeting this afternoon. Henry is still there when she gets back and she remembers it’s his day off. Great. She almost feels like going into the office earlier. A call from Kate Arden pulls her out of her thoughts. They’ve been flirting. Kate is beautiful, intelligent and interesting, Tina isn’t blind. But if she’s honest, flirting back feels almost manufactured, like Tina’s trying really hard to have that back, the connection she knows she can only have with another woman, just to realize it is the connection she already has—had, she tries to convince herself—with Bette. Is she ever going to experience that again with anyone else? It’s clear now that it won’t happen with Henry.
“I’m not happy,” the words leave Tina’s lips before she can plan for this, put together a proper speech.
Henry mutters something she can't quite get, he can get on her nerves so easily. “What did you say?” She asks.
“Once a lesbian, always a lesbian,” he harshly repeats himself.
He is probably right. Tina’s got to think about it a little more to understand how she ended up back there, dating a man. But it isn’t really about that, is it?
Every night when Tina lies down in bed and she turns off the lights, and her mind settles in the quiet darkness, brain letting go of all the worries and stress of the day, Bette’s face appears. So vivid and clear it almost feels like Tina could touch it. She revisits every feeling Bette makes—made, she tries—her feel. But her brain keeps using the present tense. Is. Bette is it for her. She finally understands what people mean when they say home is where the heart is. It’s why this place will always feel strange—her heart already lives somewhere else.
“It’s not really about that,” Tina pulls in some air to say what needs to be said. Henry has to know. More than that, she needs to start facing it herself.
“I love Bette. I’ve always loved Bette.”