George, putting on a mock serious face, pointed at the plate. "I was talking to the food." He couldn't keep the face and he gave her a smile and a wink. It was good to joke and poke fun. It was what he did best, it was how he coped. His life wasn't exactly funny, but he could find the fun somewhere.
Holding the plate carefully so as not to spill, he slid off the arm of the couch and onto the seat proper, his feet up on the repaired coffee table. After about two seconds, he remembered that she'd just cleaned it, and hastily pulled his feet down again. "Sorry," he mumbled as he started eating, as though her cleaning it had made it hers instead of his.
"Not really my place to spread things around, but I don't think it's as bad as they both seem to make it out to be." He shrugged and balanced the plate on his knees to go at the roast with better leverage. "We were kind of thinking of hiring someone professional and making them talk it out. I think it's a great idea, but that's not really saying much."