Her fingers press into the sandwich, leaving print dents in the bread. She's still not sure if she wants to hear any of this anymore. If it took that much to find even one happy thing in the next three years she's not sure she can take it. Especially if it's something like Oliver dying. Or, well, any of Team Arrow or Team Flash. They're kind of her family.
"Am I gonna need a pint of mint chip for this?" Because she will go out right now and get one. Or maybe even a gallon of it.