Lee isn't paying attention to the television at all. She's displayed no interest in it whatsoever except to give him a hard time about buying a television set and nothing to sit down on to go with it ("what, you're just going to sit on the floor? No, put your shoes on, we're going to find a sofa—") But she's always been like that.
Instead she's reading, glasses perched on her nose, the ones she only wears when she reads; she's far-sighted, something very few people know about her. The book in her hands is something that sounds intensely dry, something about mathematics. Lee is one of maybe a dozen people in the world who thinks maths is fun.
But she's pretty tipsy and has been reading the same page for the past five minutes.
"Mm?" She puts a finger along the inside of the book and turns her head up, her nose brushing against his cheek. She's not in the mood to do more than that, she's tired and tipsy, but more than that, she's feeling strangely peaceful and doesn't want to wreck that by getting handsy. When Michael suggested they do a seder — alone, just the two of them, not finding an open one somewhere — she had been a little skeptical. Lee remembers Passover seders as painful exercises in trying not to fall asleep over her grandfather's dining room table. This was — different. "For what?"