Fortunately for him, she doesn't notice this latest transgression as she's facing forward and focusing on pouring herself another rum and coke. Part of her wonders if she really should be having another one, but a greater part of her doesn't care and just wants to chase the hurt away.

Maybe it was too soon to talk about, not for him - but for her. She spends longer pouring her drink than what it should logically take; pouring the rum, taking a moment, pouring the coke, taking a moment, adding one, no, three ice cubes, standing and staring down at it while she thinks about those she lost. It's opened a new fissure of grief, and that's about the last thing she wants to deal with right now.

Not that she's ever really been good at dealing with grief.

She takes as long as she needs to bottle it back down, then picks up her drink and returns - a little more sober but still willing to stick it out with him.