The afternoon sun comes out and we’re still asleep, disregarding breakfast, ignoring the phone that continuously rings, deliberately not paying attention to the clock that now reads 12. I am bored on this mundane Wednesday afternoon where mom and dad are enjoying a night in the streets of Belgium. I miss Belgian chocolates that never fail to bring a smile to my face. And I miss my brothers, their separate lives, the families they now have. I must do the laundry today because the laundry basket is too full, too heavy; someone has to empty it. She is off to the library and I’m here, in the living room, listening to Shania Twain, Nura’s favorite singer. I found the bottle of wine that she had hidden in one of the cabinets, among pots and pans. I might have a few sips. Or I might not.