[ Jess shakes her head dismissively. It's a fine line, assuaging justifiable worry and denying herself any sense of accomplishment. She's misstepped in the most intolerable direction, if he thinks she's making progress. ]

I could be a million, [ she remarks thoughtfully, as if the end of her sentence is theoretical as the beginning, not proven ad nauseam, ] and I'd still end up back where we were, sometimes. Like a goddamn bungee cord.

[ She starts to hear herself, how drained she sounds. Jess tucks her shoulder under his so she can curl minutely towards him, rest her head to his chest. In a bold move, she attempts to deflect the conversation onto the hockey game. She can't fake curiosity but she can shift the target of her disgust from inward to outward, and be left over with plenty for both. Jess gestures vaguely to the screen as she leans forward to grab her glass, then settles into the same warm spot at his hip. A particularly alert dog takes that as an invitation to hop on the couch while she drones, ] Who are these idiots?