Rules, order, structure, and neatness.

Despite my nerves from earlier, it’s soothing to see a group of old people, of my peers, eating together. Not just eating, but savoring their food. I haven’t shared a meal with anyone in a very long time. I can’t remember when. All my dinner parties feel from another life. Eating with others, talking, making eye contact, it’s such a fundamental part of being a person. A daily ritual.

I’ve missed it terribly without even realizing it.

“Glass of wine?” asks Jack.

“I’m not much of a drinker anymore.”

“Some wine, please, yes,” says Ruth.

Jack shakes his head. “No, Ruth, not you. You already had your glass, with lunch today.”

Ruth giggles. Hilbert doesn’t say anything.

“Actually, I guess I could try some,” I say. “Why not?”

“White?”

“Sure.”

Jack leaves to get the wine.

“It’s nice to have you here,” Hilbert says as he picks a tiny crumb off the sleeve of his jacket. “Our seating discrepancy is finally solved. Our little table feels complete. There’s an elegance to the proportion now. The symmetry of four at one table.”

I look around at each old, lined face around me. I can only assume, like mine, their hands and teeth don’t work as well as they used to. But they’re all happily and hungrily chewing and swallowing bite after bite. It’s a pleasure, not a chore.

Jack returns with the wine. He sets the glass down in front of me and walks back into the kitchen. A moment after Jack leaves, I sniff the wine, take a tiny sip. It’s subtle, dry, exquisite. I slide the rest of the glass in front of Hilbert.

“Lunch was a long time ago,” I say to him.

He receives the glass with a humble nod and takes a sip. Ruth opens her eyes and mouth wide in mock outrage and then starts giggling again.

Pete, undistracted, unaware, continues to eat his food.

After our dessert of warm cherry pie, Jack helps me back to my room. He turns off the overhead light and switches on the soft yellow glow of the lamp.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome, Penny,” he says. “You need anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good night,” he says. “Sleep well.”

As I brush my teeth and put on my nightgown, I’m feeling something I haven’t felt in far too long. I feel looked after, cared for. I’m realizing all that I’d lost over these last few years. Such essential qualities: to feel full and warm and part of a group. Even if I don’t know them well yet, and I don’t, I can’t help but feel energized by it. It’s such a strange sensation. I figured I’d never have it again.

Before getting into bed, I stand by my window, and I look out at the darkness. Standing here now, I’m having a hard time placing the front entrance in relation to my room, the common room, and the dining room.