That's what comes of never having been a teenager--not the kind who was promised sweet sixteen parties and lazy summer vacations and a college education with plenty of time for goofing off between assignments. Sometimes Beth slips back into the mannerisms of that world without thought; sometimes it feels like an affectation.

Right now, everything feels affected. There isn't a natural way to behave when you're pretending everything's normal.

There's no other choice besides eat the damn groats, and they both know it. They can't afford waste food. So it's with a little nod (and a sigh) that she lifts her spoon and takes a bite. "They've been doing this for ten years." I don't know how.

(She does, of course. Time just adds up, after a while, even if nothing changes.)