"Thanks," she says, her voice quiet. Everyone she had said just a moment ago is absolutely the truth that she feels and it's especially true now. She has no idea what she's doing, what she might be starting or potentially hurting just by asking if she can come up for a little while. When they get upstairs, she doesn't know what her intentions might be or what she's even thinking. All she knows is Maggie's voice is somewhere in the back of her head, a few whispered words she'd told Beth one night in the dark of their shared bedroom after some boy had broken her heart.

The best way to forget is to find someone else.

And she knows how stupid it is, how she can't take that to heart. Maggie had only been seventeen at the time, but it's the sort of memory that's stuck with her all through the years. It's the advice she'd taken when some dumb boy at school whose name she doesn't even remember had turned her down for a date. He'd said no, so she'd said yes to Jimmy.

This isn't the same, it's not even remotely that, it's so much more complicated, but she doesn't care. Not now.

"When I was younger, my sister used to tell me about all her boyfriends and it always seemed so fun," she says, giving another laugh. "I had no idea it could get so serious."