If there was one thing Avery was glad for in times such as these, it was her daughter. She refused to believe that Robin was dead, just as she once refused to believe that she could be a good mother. She was being tested now, and she couldn't help but feel that karma had a great deal to do with it. Now, as she stood along the edge and watching Ariadne - who seemed to prefer her middle name these days - her life felt too standstill. She should've been out looking for her husband.
But then the unexpected happened. A man knocked into her and made her look up in surprise. He apologized immediately and she realized that it hadn't been a misstep of hers while she was more or less zoned out.
"Oh, don't worry about it," she returned with a small smile. It didn't light up her face like it would have done in the past, but she felt fairly comfortable with the fact that this man might not realize it. There was something familiar about him, but Avery couldn't place it so she instead glanced back towards the group of kids, trying to discern which ones looked the most like the man in question.
Should she pretend to be happy? Avery wasn't sure at all how to act anymore. With some people, pity allowed for more important conversations, but others needed her to be dramatic and determined and having absolutely none of their disinterest or hesitation. Then again, she had no reason to believe that this man could be helpful, regardless of that faint feeling that she should know who he was. Perhaps he knew a friend of hers, or knew Claire. The two sisters weren't so distant as they had been, although Avery wouldn't dare claim that they were close, at least not in the typical way.
But the important part was that she needed to find out if he could be useful to her. That, unfortunately, was the first thing she wondered about everyone she met now. It wasn't fair to any of them, but she couldn't help it anymore.
Deciding that the best route would be to act absolutely pleasant and as though nothing was out of order to a grand extent, Avery chose to go with the farce of a husband having passed a while ago. It was easier to pretend that an imaginary husband had died than that her real one was supposed to be gone. The latter had not become comfortable, even months after she received the note.
"Which one is yours?" she asked, looking at him again, going for small talk. "My daughter is being rather shy today, it seems."