Twenty-five.

[ It's stated easily, matter-of-factly. There's no defensiveness in it. ]

I'm definitely not a shrink. I just—

[ Pressing her lips together, she glances away and considers her next words. Over her shoulder, there's shrieks of laughter as a group of people take a running jump into the pool. Some splashed up water hits her in the back; she subtly shifts an inch to keep it from hitting the grill as well.

There's too much going on in her head. The quiet has given her thoughts too much room. She covers it up with a joke. ]

I think, when all the meat gives you a heart attack at fifty-five, it might be nice if someone is there to call an ambulance.

[ She doesn't say the quiet part out loud — that "normal" and "boring" might be an antidote for vigilante murder. ]