"I think so," said Ellie, furrowing her brow. "Or Chinese? Chinese."
I wonder what China looks like now, she wondered vaguely -- though of course there were only the same images in her mind, the same that appeared whenever she wondered about anywhere. Anywhere at all.
Ellie would never have guessed him as an artist, but of course now that he'd said it perhaps he looked that much more sensitive. Thoughtful. The mind had a funny way of making associations. It was a testament to how strong these could be, that after years and years of no contact with anyone she still supposed artists should be sensitive at all.
"I was a student. NYU. I studied... Brains. Neural Sciences, Psychology." Eloise lit up somewhat, though her smile softened. "It was fun."
She'd been a lucky girl: fulfilled and happy as a mere undergraduate, never questioning what she did, what she wanted to do. Life had been good in that way -- leaving out some of the rest. None of those things mattered anymore, though, really.
Eloise took the book gently -- objects related to children seemed to make her naturally cautious now, as any children alive now were incredibly precious -- and thumbed through it, obviously amused by the little blonde protagonist. The illustrations were sweet, nostalgic.
"Cute," she managed. That's the word. Now what do I say?
Ellie shifted her weight, immediately aware of the dreaded Pause -- that thing that happened when talking to people she didn't know, where the conversation seemed to suddenly disappear for no reason at all. She had a sneaking suspicion that it had more to do with her than with them, though.