Sometimes we have dinner together.
All she can do is talktalktalk about food and her family’s obsession with food and how much she loves pizzaicecreambeefchocolatepastadonutscheese while she stares at her plate as her fork twirls the spaghetti around and around and around until it’s only particles, only dust, and somehow there will be a little less there than there was before but she'll be saying something about how it's notasgood as back home, back home where she must eat fifty meals a day with all the food she’s tried.
She isn’t fooling anyone and she knows it, but it doesn’t matter because it's the pretending that keeps her alive.