“I know I have to talk to him, eventually, I just— I know him, you know, I know how it's going to sound to him, and.”

And she sort of doesn't want to deal with it, which doesn't mean she won't. It just means figuring out how might not be within the next half hour, when she would much rather be talking to Stephen than figuring out navigating this and the way he relaxes frees up (maybe too swiftly) her aggrieved frustration with all the things that aren't him, and speaking of the present moment:

“And I'm honestly sort of fucked off Guilfoyle has gone off to, I don't know, get his things? I was still doing his fucking mending for months after we separated because he kept collecting it and bringing it until I put my foot down about it, I don't know why this man just knows where everyone's fucking undergarments are—”

He has, absolutely, been doing this to Stephen as well. The cloak is not the only item of his that has come beneath her needle to be mended, even if it is the project taking her the longest, returned to on quiet evenings.

“Because I didn't need him, or anything!”

Maybe she would have handled this conversation better if he hadn't left. Did he even consider that.

(He might've considered it. She probably wouldn't have.)