I turn on the lamp and go to the open box of Blu-ray discs sitting on the floor next to the television. I select a title, one that is sure to help clear my head, and pop it into the player. I stretch out on the couch, pop the pillow under my head, and pull the throw blanket on top of me.

The movie starts and I’m asleep in five minutes.

5

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The intermittent pressure on my forehead causes me to snort awake.

Caitlyn is standing next to the couch, hunched over me, her finger poised from tapping me on the forehead.

Sunlight is pouring through the windows.

“Why are you sleeping down here?” she asks.

I stretch my aching, cramped muscles. “I fell asleep watching TV,” I reply.

Caitlyn turns to look at the television.

The menu screen for Sleeping Beauty has to have been repeating the same fifteen-second clip for hours, waiting for a response.

She turns back to me, very confused.

“I … I couldn’t remember how it ended,” I say.

She shrugs. “Whatever.” She walks to the kitchen. “Can I have breakfast?”

*

I still haven’t been to the store to do a proper grocery shop, so the options for breakfast are limited to cereal and Pop Tarts, which we’re fine with. It’s only the responsible parenting part of my brain that is uncomfortable, and it can wait.

“Okay,” I say, sitting across from Caitlyn in the alcove. “The objective for today is to finish unpacking. We’re going to try to get everything done.”

“Everything?”

“Well, at least all the big stuff. Between the two of us, it shouldn’t take too long.”

“I wanted to play outside.”

“You can, after you help me.”

She pouts, apparently less eager to help than yesterday.

“Hey. That’s what you get for waking me up by poking my forehead,” I say with a wink.

She tries not to laugh.

*

And she does help.

We take care of the last two boxes in her room that need to be unpacked and put them away. Then, we head to the guestroom.

It’s almost laughable that we’re trying to fill this house with the stuff from a two-bedroom apartment. We don’t even have a bed for the spare bedroom.

I can’t help but think of the plans Nicole had for this place.

In the weeks before the accident, she had been looking at furniture and asking my opinion on whole sets. I told her all I wanted was a big, comfy monstrosity of a recliner. She had webpages of furniture sets bookmarked but we didn’t pull the trigger, deciding that we would pull the trigger once we were in the house. After all, we would have so much time, right? The pages are still bookmarked on the computer, but I can’t bring myself to look at them. Maybe one day.