“Um, Helena?” Bette said, calling Helena back as she walked away. “What kind of fish is this?”

“You’re not allergic to any, are you?”

“No…”

“I’ll tell you what it is after you’ve tried it. I don’t want to color your opinions either way.”

“Right,” Bette muttered.

“Makes sense to me,” Tina said brightly, dropping Bette’s hand and picking up her knife and fork. Bette shot her a glance. Traitor.

Helena walked off, back into her kitchen.  

When she was sure they were alone Bette hissed, “Thanks a lot,” at Tina.

Tina ignored her and set about eating her pasta. Bette tentatively picked up her fork and watched as Tina chewed. “How is it?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“It doesn’t bother you to eat something, having no idea what it is?”

“I do know. It’s pasta with some kind of meat in it. You have fish. What’s the problem?”

“I mean know specifically, and you know it.”

Tina shrugged with a twinkle in her eye. “Didn’t stop us in India.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring. I was as sick as a dog on that trip, you can’t have forgotten that.”

“I haven’t. I’m just teasing you, sweetie. Lighten up.”

Bette sighed and looked down at the fish on her plate. “I hope I don’t end up with a tapeworm or something,” she muttered.

Tina snickered and ate her pasta without reservations.

Bette lifted the fork and closed her eyes, putting the food in her mouth. She chewed. The fish was hot, at least. It was good. There was a hint of… something she couldn’t place in it. She rather liked it.

“Well?” Tina asked, waiting.