"Ask what you wanna ask, Elodie," he said flatly, his focus locked on the profile of her face, her taut posture (it reminded him of the way Spencer had sat in the office), the way she bit the inside corner of her mouth. Her name held a weight in his mouth that he had not felt since they broke up. "You know what you're here for."
There was a long pause that gave him a crawling feeling over his lower arms and made his heart feel like a lump in his chest. Then, she snapped towards him, and asked, "Did you say something to him that might've maybe, possibly, potentially given him the wrong idea? You know, something you might've said that might've left a bad impression or could be easily misconstrued?"
He pretended to think. "No," he replied with a small shake of his head, finishing his glass of water. 
"Are you sure?" She pressed, her eyes wide and focused, lines of apprehension forming in her forehead. Her desperation made him feel nauseous and he wondered if there was a hint of envy to it. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything like that.
"I'm sure," he said, getting up from his seat to fill up his glass of water again. He picked up a packet of ibuprofen that his mom left on the counter and popped two tablets out of the packet, drinking some more water and swallowing them together while she watched him as if she'd never seen him before, as if he was doing something that she couldn't wrap her head around, as if there was something inexplicably unusual about him.
"How do you know?" She challenged, narrowing her eyes watchfully.
"Because we didn't even talk about you," he replied tersely— it came out crueller than he had intended. He glimpsed at her apologetically as he leaned against the kitchen cupboards behind him. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."
Shrugging, she glanced down at the floor and then looked out at the garden again. He felt a sharp twist in his stomach. 
"He didn't say anything about me?" She asked lightly, quietly, self-consciously touching her throat with her left hand, twisting her E necklace between her fingertips— he'd bought it for her as a birthday present. 
"No," he told her, trying to keep his voice soft. "He probably didn't think it was... Appropriate." He frowned, glancing towards her necklace as she continued to twist that little silver initial between her forefinger and thumb. "Does it bother him that you still wear that?"
It took her a second to realise what he was asking. "Oh," she said, releasing it and raising her eyebrows as if only just becoming aware that it was there. "No. It doesn't bother him."
"Does he know where you got it from?" He asked, unable to help himself.
"Pandora," she replied wryly.
He snickered.
"Yeah," she nodded, biting on the inside corner of her mouth again. "He knows where I got it from and he doesn't mind that I still wear it. I always wear it." She glanced away, sighed and looked back at him. "So you didn't say anything to him?"
"I didn't say anything to him," he assured.
For a moment, she pondered. "Did he say anything else?"
"About what?" He laughed, pulling his sweater sleeves down and folding his arms over. 
"I don't know," she frowned, dropping her shoulders. "About anything. About how he was feeling or what he was thinking or if something had happened."
"Why would he talk to me about that?" Hadley pressed helplessly, throwing her a doubtful look. "Don't you think if he wanted to talk about what he was thinking or how he was feeling then he'd talk to you?"