Zara
Three days later
By the afternoon of the third day after chemo, I’ve officially reached my limit.
I’ve slept. I’ve rested. I’ve read six chapters of a novel without remembering a single word. I’ve watched enough daytime television to develop entirely unreasonable opinions about a kitchen renovation in suburban Toronto.
I’ve eaten eight bowls of Jade’s homemade soup, six grilled cheese sandwiches, seven bananas, three tubs of yogurt, a whole package of crackers, toast thickly spread with peanut butter, and six blueberry muffins that Locke somehow persuaded the concierge to source from a bakery halfway across the city because I'd mentioned, in passing, that they remind me of my mother’s baking.
I've even gained three pounds, according to the scale in Locke's ridiculously luxurious
