Lee struggles with a bottle of red, fighting the cork out, narrowly avoiding breaking it. She normally already has one still open on Sunday from Friday, but she was somewhere else then, somewhere foggy.
“Now.” Lee's appetite shrivels up into nothing when she's depressed, but every other time she's always hungry. Michael has never once commented on her weight, and only ever encourages her to eat more. He doesn't give two shits about her measurements, which means Lee doesn't have to care about them, either. She turns her head to kiss him lightly on the mouth even though she has to stoop to do it, casually affectionate. “What do you want?”