"Yeah?" Stan finishes with the food and frowns a second, thinking back about ten years, before heading toward the door. Over all that time he thought about Ma the same way he thought about Ford, sort of. When he's low, when things get - well, when things get hairy, when he can't help himself. When he thinks of mom he thinks of how loud and nasal her voice got, the way she'd jitter across the kitchen after downing a whole pot of coffee, the way her fingernails felt running through his hair. "I don't know, Ford, it's been, uh. It's been a while. Don't you ever feel like you could use a little overbearing, sometimes? Just... just for a minute?"

Stan holds the door open for Ford, waving absently at Susan and the last few flirts she's yelling at them before they leave. His eyes jerk toward Ford's face and then away, and he clears his throat. That's why his voice went all, all whatever it was at the end there.