Angelina reached for a glass at his request, but as he kept on, she found herself switching to a larger one- and setting aside a sizeable one for herself after he had left. She hadn't realized it was going to be this conversation. She'd expected something about Fred, maybe, and how she needed to be understanding and yadda yadda they would work it out blah blah blah.
This was an entirely different animal.
He had an awful lot to say, so she was glad to be distracted by making his drink so that she didn't have to look him in the eye while he said it. And when he came up for air, she slid his toward him with a soft sigh.
"What do you want me to say to all that, George?" she asked, frowning down at her hands. "I've seen you deal with all of this before. I know how horrible it is. I get it. I've seen you ten thousand times worse than this, probably worse than anyone in this village has. And I've seen you get better. Eventually. Slowly.
"It's not as if you suddenly popped up and were rainbows and sunshine and back to your old self. Fred is- was a huge piece of you. You were never the same person. Not really. I don't think we'd ever have thought about getting together if you were." Because, yes, even though she never talked about it, never brought it up, acted like it had never happened, Angelina had come from a time when she and George had been on the cusp of something legitimate. She had been headed to a date with him, an honest to goodness date. The feelings had been there when she'd showed up in this place, albeit novel and confusing.
Of course, hearing how impossible and mind-boggling and uncomfortable George found that to be certainly helped them fade. And there had been Fred. Fred had helped with that bit, too.
"What is it you're looking for here, George? Something to assuage your guilt for finding happiness in the future? There's nothing wrong with moving on with your life."