There's a part of her-- insidious and fueled, no doubt, by the sometimes unstable cocktail of hormones flooding her body-- that wonders if he finds it repulsive, the way she's changed. For him, of course, it's sudden and extreme-- perhaps, in comparison to his recent memories, grotesque. (She doesn't really think that. But the careful, aloof way he's been since-- well, since she stood up and he saw-- it's shaken her confidence, and that's hard to recover when half the time she's on the verge of tears for no reason.)

"Worth a try," she says, with a soft smile that she hopes seems more normal than any of this feels. Half-reflexively she sets her hand on her belly, not that they need the reminder of his extra houseguest. "I-- uh, my appetite can be a little unpredictable. But fried rice sounds good and soup is usually a safe bet."

And if her stomach turns, it's not a bad idea for him to have leftovers on hand. She's not sure how long he'll let her stay and take care of him.