Sixth Iteration

There hadn't been any reason to worry, in the end.

Nat's back, of course, but as tired as she is, Betty wouldn't exactly blame her if she hadn't noticed that the house had a few more shelves than when she'd left, and that the kitchen cabinet project they'd been working on was entirely complete - as if her roommate had suddenly found herself with some insomnia to deal with.

Now, it's late and the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. The moon is barely a sliver in the sky; there will be a new one tomorrow. Betty's sitting on the porch steps - in the spring they should see about reinforcing them, she thinks. Ginger the cat's slipped outside and is rubbing against Betty's ankles. She's a cat person, so she reaches down to give the cat a quick stroke, even though her eyes are still fixed on the sky.

"You haven't smoked since Harvard, Betty," she mutters. "And you don't even have the means to start it up again now."