I walk lightly to her, trying to asses the situation before I speak my mind.
"Come on," she says, catching me off guard. "Let's go."
"Home, to make funeral arrangements."
Whaaat? "Can't we do them here?"
"No. I don't like your place. Too modern for my taste. You can turn off the light if you clap. You have a dishwasher. The only non-electric or fancy item in here is your doors."
"Aren't you a little bit sad about George?"
"I am, but I don't want to think about that right now. Pack your things and let's go."
Can I say no? Ughh. "Okay. Five minutes."
I know she'll sob later, and when that happens, I hope I'm not there. I don't know what to do when others do that.