Joe Coffee on East 85th Street was exactly the kind of place Bette would choose – understated, quiet, with tables spaced far enough apart for private conversation. Tina arrived five minutes early with Carson, who had insisted on wearing his best button-down shirt and had spent ten minutes in the bathroom making sure his hair was “perfect for Bette.”

They found a table near the window, and Tina ordered herself a latte she didn’t really want while Carson got hot chocolate. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she wrapped them around the warm cup to steady them.

“Mom, you’re nervous,” Carson observed, stirring his hot chocolate methodically.

“Very nervous.”

“Why? It’s just Bette.”

“It’s never ‘just Bette,’ baby.”

At exactly 6 PM, the door chimed and Bette walked in. She spotted them immediately, and for a moment, Tina saw something unguarded cross her face – surprise, pleasure, maybe even relief. But it was gone so quickly that Tina wondered if she’d imagined it.

Bette approached their table with careful steps, as if she were navigating a minefield. She was wearing a charcoal wool coat over what looked like an expensive suit, her long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She looked every inch the successful Manhattan lawyer, polished and untouchable.

“Hi,” she said softly, her eyes moving between Tina and Carson.

“Bette!” Carson stood up from his chair, and for a moment, Tina thought he might launch himself into Bette’s arms the way he had back in California. Instead, he offered a somewhat formal handshake. “It’s really good to see you.”

Bette’s professional composure cracked slightly at the gesture. She ignored the handshake and pulled Carson into a gentle hug. “Hi, buddy. Look at you in that fancy shirt.”

“I wanted to look nice for our coffee date,” Carson said seriously.

“Well, you look very handsome.” Bette’s voice was warm, but when she turned to Tina, her expression became carefully neutral again.

Tina stood and moved toward Bette, unsure of the protocol. They embraced briefly, but it was stilted, awkward – the kind of hug you give a distant relative at a funeral. Bette’s body was tense, her arms barely making contact before she pulled away.

“Tina,” she said, settling into the chair across from them with obvious relief to have the physical contact over with.