"Hey, I'm not saying it makes sense." He thought about it as he got forks and knives from the drawer, then said, "Well, maybe it does. It's not about responsibility or sin, but feeling bad as in a sense of loss, grief. Wanting to share the suffering around. Sometimes that's all people have left to hold onto when they're losing each other, they cling to this sense that if they're both suffering and missing each other, then in a way they're still together. I think people have that feeling a lot, that being happy is a sort of betrayal of the past. That you've accepted the loss instead of fighting it." He set the silverware out on the table, nudging the two knives into alignment with the grain of the wood, evenly parallel with the forks, checking it once before forcing himself to turn around and go back to the counter. That was the new rule, checking once was okay but after that he had to stop. "Which doesn't make it true. But it's normal."
He was mostly thinking out loud; he hadn't had time to process any of what was happening. The comment about the juice-maker thus got a laugh out of him. "Yeah, I'm gonna wake up from an induced coma and make my own juice," he said as he opened the fridge door, smiling to take any edge off the sarcasm. "What did I say about complicated instructions? Orange is fine by me. This is looking good, wow. Thank you for cooking."