It will doubtless sink in for Ned later that the situation must be slightly different than he'd been assuming, if no one can tell Ginsberg anything about his mother - not even his father. But he doesn't quite think to puzzle through that inconsistency just yet; he just accepts what Ginsberg says is true and tries to imagine how he would have turned out if he had never even had his mother in his life. After all, she's been so important to him, in so many different ways. He tries to be like her (and to be unlike his father), to keep her memory alive in the way he lives his life.

But he's not sure what he's supposed to say to Ginsberg. Yes, it was hard? Without noticing himself doing it, his hands have curled into loose fists at his sides Ginsberg might not be trying to make him feel worse, but he's sadly failing. Ned has to exert a certain effort not to think about how hard it was (and still is), about exactly the kind of woman he's missing, and worst, why he's missing her. At least he's not gushing sympathy or asking a million questions. Ned can appreciate that.

"It's not a competition," he says, simply, then quickly follows it with, "She looks so... impatient," because turning the conversation abruptly back to the painting will hopefully signal to Ginsberg that he's not particularly keen on discussing his own mother's death, "Like he's asked her to stand there holding this flower and she thinks it's the dumbest idea she's ever heard."