She doesn't want to do it. She still remembers too clearly how Alexandria tried to welcome Rick's group in with a pot luck, with a party, and how hard she'd worked to encourage Abraham to go to it. How hard she'd worked to get him to fit in, to meet people, to make friends because this was home now.

God, what a fucking idiot. But if she says no, he'll ask why, and she might have to explain all of that; it's easier, then, to just nod as she flips the ice pack over and presses it back to her face again.

"No promises for how it'll go," she warns.