"Okay. Whenever y'say so."

She nods — it looks a touch awkward as she's lying down, hair moving like sidewinders through the dunes of her sheets.

Her finger keeps sliding across his flesh.

"I think so. I should be. There – there ain't reason t'hide away when there's folk here lookin' for me. S'jus' — hard. Spendin' the holidays alone since he died, an' thinkin' 'bout what he said."

She purses her lips, going distant for a second. When she returns, it's with a forced, crooked smirk.

"I'm a sourpuss this time'a year."