Page 50 of Matteo

Not everyone can have these muffins and cinnamon buns, but the nurse on duty has already given me a list of people who can. The senior center is well staffed with volunteers and we have a good ratio of retired doctors and nurses who help.

I do more than just take in my baked goods. Occasionally, I fix any issues we might get here. An elderly gentleman looks at me with doleful eyes.

“Lizzie, my phone's stopped working, can you take a look at it?”

And I gladly do. I love coming here and I've gotten to know every single one of the elderly people who come here. We're on first name terms. They call me Lizzie and their faces light up whenever they see me.

Here, I feel useful and grounded in a way I haven't for most of my life, because I've never had a home, not one that I remember much.

Here, I feel wanted.

I love all the small interactions, the familiarity as the regulars return week after week. But from time to time I also experience a deep sadness when someone stops coming, and I learn later that they've passed away.

I love the sense of community. The senior center adds a vividness to my otherwise solitary life. Of course, Arthur and Irene are always just across the hall, but stepping into this place gives me a sense of purpose in a way that work doesn't.

I walk around, offering napkins and sweet treats to everyone who's allowed one. I keep a list tucked into my apron pocket. There are so many dietary restrictions, allergies, and health conditions to keep track of.

As I weave between the tables, a familiar pair catches my eye.

Arthur and Irene are sitting together by the window, exactly where they always sit. Arthur is in the middle of telling some story, judging by the way his hands are moving, while Irene shakes her head fondly.

A smile spreads across my face and I make my way over with the tray balanced on one hand.

Arthur greets me with a cheery smile, his gaze falling to the treats.

“Careful, Lizzie,” he says. “You'll spoil us.”

“You’re already spoiled.” I set the tray down.

Irene beams at me, reaching for a muffin. “These look lovely. Are these the blueberry ones?”

“They are indeed.”

She takes a bite, closes her eyes, then makes a long, appreciative murmur just as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I whip it out.

“Hello?”

“Elizabeth.”

It’s Matteo.

My insides flip at the sound of his voice. Heat rushes through me and I straighten my spine instinctively, smoothing down my hair even though he can’t see me.

Why is he calling me on the weekend?

“Sorry for disturbing you today.”

“Not a problem.” Just hearing his voice sent goosebumps springing up along my spine. “What's wrong?” I figure it must be urgent.

“There’s been another technical issue.”

I lean against the wall, lowering my voice. “What kind of issue?”

“Lizzie!”

I whip my attention to Irene. “What’s wrong, Irene?”

“My teeth fell out!” she cries, a little too loudly. Arthur has stepped away, and is busy talking to someone behind her.