"Because you're acting weird," Abby points out, fairly. He should know that he's being obvious, at the very least.

But she stops looking directly at him.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," is not a guilt-trip, or to reverse engineer him into telling her. Abby gets it. Sometimes you want to sit around having a bad fucking time without lifting a single finger to do anything about it. She starts to eat her dinner, spooning stew into her mouth.