John would be honest if he was asked -- he wasn't really sure what Carol was implying here, not really. She could have either been saying that she wasn't willing to try having feelings at all anymore, or if it felt like a big hill to climb and she was unsure or what. He wasn't sure if she knew either. She was right though: feelings were a lot different than sleeping with someone.
He lit a cigarette with the tip of a finger, but didn't seem all that interested in actually smoking it, particularly not when he looked down at the little wooden box on his knee. Did they need a reason to steer the conversation somewhere else right now? She said she'd wanted to talk, and they hadn't really done it.
Maybe that was how it was always going to be.
"This," he said, frowning, "is--" He paused, considering it even as he settled it on the counter top in front of them. "This was the first magic trick I ever did. Sealed away a part of myself and buried it in the dirt. And here it is, nearly thirty years later. Apparently boxes are popular these days."