Five days later
I circle the couch, taking in Wendy’s half-reclined form and wondering what my next move should be. Our families have left three days ago, and ever since, she hasn’t moved from that couch except for the occasional bathroom break or to go to sleep in the attic bedroom.
Every day, she follows the same routine. She sleeps until noon or later. When she comes downstairs, she flops on the couch and turns on the TV. She’s cycling through all ten seasons of Friends on demand.
Food doesn’t seem to interest her. She nibbles on whatever I bring her, leaving most behind.
She refused to celebrate the New Year. Not that I had this grand feast in mind, but a simple toast at midnight would’ve been nice. We could’ve watched the city’s fireworks from the upstairs balcony together. Inst
