It'd be nice to have a couch, and Meredith can't help a flicker of resentment at being here again, worn and faded though it is, at being here instead of elsewhere with him. It's easy to pretend his drinking wouldn't be a problem if they were somewhere else, that life would be simpler and she would be happier in a more fulfilling job. There's no guarantee of any of that anywhere, though. "Quiet," she says, still less than pleased in spite of her attempts at logic. "How was yours?"