Gloria was 82, sharp as a tack, stubborn, and somehow always made everyone around her smile.
I still found it more welcoming.
“You’re new,” she said the first time I brought her breakfast tray. “But you don’t move like it. You’ve been carrying trays your whole life, haven’t you?”
I laughed. “Something like that. I’m Daniel. Nice to meet you, Gloria.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, too. Sit down for a minute. Tell me about yourself.”
Nobody had asked me that in years.
“Something like that.”
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