Emma: [about her things, that are packed up in boxes] I don't mind, you know. If you just got rid of it all.
Dexter: [softly] I'd never do that.
Emma: Keep the photos, though. I was actually quite gorgeous in my twenties. Though I didn't appreciate it at the time.
Dexter: I did.
Emma: Sometimes you did. Sometimes you didn't.
[beat]
Emma: It won't always be like this.
Dexter: Why wouldn't it? What's going to change it?
Emma: [chuckles sadly] Time.
Dexter: Time. No, that's... that's... I can really feel the clouds parting, Em.
Emma: Yeah, you're funny. Well. At least this year you can pass out on your own carpet.
Dexter: There's not enough in there for that.
Emma: Yeah.
[sighs. Dexter cries quietly]
Emma: Then you'll go to the offie. And you'll buy a couple more bottles. And maybe some cigarettes. And then you'll smoke them in here, which you'll regret, 'cause you'll never quite get the smell out. And Tilly'll call you later. And Sylvie. But you won't want to sound sad or pissed, so you don't pick up. Which means tomorrow you'll have to call them both and say you fell asleep early. And your dad, because they'll have called him too. But they won't believe you. And you'll feel guilty and hungover and just... shit. All day. And it'll go on like that.
[Dexter sniffles]
Emma: Until it doesn't. 'Cause one day, it won't.
