Languidly I play with a French fry, drawing it slowly though the ketchup and watching the trench left behind in the thickness. This is exactly why Christopher and I rarely put ourselves in situations where talking is pretty much the only thing to do. Tonight the emotional weight is too heavy, and we're crumbling.

Christopher breaks the awkward silence with stagnation that reflects the complete opposite of his usual, animated self. “You know, luv. This not talking about what's on our minds isn’t helping. You haven’t even told me if you’ve settled on a school, and it’s daft I’m afraid to ask. I’m sure you have it all figured out, but if you’ve skived off I may need to give you a good verbal lashing.”