He pulls away from her, out of her hand, he gets to his feet, and Maeve finds herself alone on the couch. The stupid movie is still playing, her book is still on the floor, and she leans down to pick it up, not knowing what else she's supposed to do.
Honestly, she should have seen this coming, she thinks. Everyone leaves at the end. Somehow she always ends up doing something, saying something, even without realizing.
"Sure," she agrees. What else is supposed to say to that? If he needs to process, she can't tell him not to, she can't just tell him to figure it out without leaving. That's no more fair than it would be for him to tell her to reconsider.
She curls her legs under her body and moves into the corner of the couch, then lays her book against her thigh, looking at the cover. One corner is bent and she picks at it, bending it back and forth slowly. "Yeah, of course."
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Honestly, she should have seen this coming, she thinks. Everyone leaves at the end. Somehow she always ends up doing something, saying something, even without realizing.
"Sure," she agrees. What else is supposed to say to that? If he needs to process, she can't tell him not to, she can't just tell him to figure it out without leaving. That's no more fair than it would be for him to tell her to reconsider.
She curls her legs under her body and moves into the corner of the couch, then lays her book against her thigh, looking at the cover. One corner is bent and she picks at it, bending it back and forth slowly. "Yeah, of course."