If you don't expect me to talk, I won't expect the same.

[A sly smile, a light joke at her expense, but a slight bit of truth. Ginia likes an intelligent conversation, likes being around people (loathe as she is to admit that), but the expectation of filling space with small talk is exhausting. There's value of being around without the expectation of being actively present.]

I suppose. It began as a way to occupy the time and keep my hands busy.

[Ginia twirls a star around on a point before letting it fall over. Worry stars, Margie had called them. Fold up your worries and throw them in a jar. Ginia has no doubt if she actually kept to that practice, she would have filled a flat of mason jars by now.]

Here, perhaps it's a touch of the normal. Even if I have to get creative with my materials.