Meredith glances down, hand falling to his shoulder, and doesn't know what to say. She can't disagree with that, though she sometimes wants to pretend the woman never existed at all. It's hard to compete with a memory; they aren't as difficult to handle as she can be, not for him at least. Raw as she still feels, aching and stiff and weary, she forces herself to look up even if he won't. "I'm sure she does," she says, voice still rough, but steadier now by a little. "And you should. You should remember her. Just try not to let the past get in the way of now, okay?" What she's saying, she thinks then, is really more like Please don't realize you still love her better, but she can't bring herself to actually use those words. She's done enough tonight. "Maybe if you... talk about her — maybe you're right, maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal."