Pop 5

The nursing home dining room buzzed like a high school cafeteria for the elderly.

Sunlight streamed in through smudged windows, glinting off half-filled pill cups and trays

of indistinguishable mush. Somewhere near the buffet line,

a hearing aid whined at full frequency.

But the real static came from gossip—particularly last week’s scandal.

“He wasn’t fired,” whispered one resident to another over cold toast.

“The owner made him his captive boyfriend.”

“No, no,” countered another, eyes wide behind Coke-bottle lenses.

“He’s not even a nurse! He’s a Soviet spy.”

“A Soviet spy from where? TikTok?” someone chimed in.

“No. Real Soviet. As in—time traveler.”

“They say he’s genetically mutated,” muttered an old man chewing

the side of his cup. “Looks twenty. Could be seventy.”

None of these rumors, of course, came from reputable sources—just a

collection of stir-crazy minds with slow metabolisms and faster imaginations.

At a far corner table, Petals, wide-hipped and opinionated, stabbed at

her cup of applesauce like it had personally offended her.

“I hate this thing,” she muttered. “Doesn’t even taste like apples.”

Across from her, Ashton lowered his newspaper and took a slow sip of coffee.

He was all bones and bathrobe fluff.

“They’re good for one thing,” he said. “Make everything slide easy.

I do six of those a day. You don’t want yours, pass it over, baby.”

Petals slid the cup across the table with a dramatic eye-roll. “You’re welcome.”

She glanced around the room, then leaned in. “So everyone’s still going on

about that nurse with the OnlyFans. Big deal. He’s young. He’s horny. Not surprising.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow.

“No, seriously,” she insisted, making air quotes. “Whenever he comes to my room

to do ‘nursing care,’ I swear he’s checking me out.”

Ashton glanced at her—round, confident, pushing 250 pounds and

proud of every ounce. Petals didn’t walk through a room, she shifted its gravity.

“You listening to me?”

Ashton smiled faintly. “Probably wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Exactly!” Petals beamed. “That’s what I was thinking.”

She eyed him. “How old are you anyway?”

“Ninety. This December.”

She tilted her head. “Really? Just ninety? Huh. You look... like 125. I mean—no offense—

you move like an abandoned VCR. You should ditch that applesauce.

Might be aging you faster.”

Before Ashton could respond, Olive entered the dining hall—floating more than walking.

Hair perfectly waved, tray balanced with hot tea and greens like a model in a retirement runway.

“Hey, what’s up, guys?” Olive said, sliding into the seat beside Petals with a megawatt smile.

Petals scowled. Not hate, exactly—more like... professional jealousy.

Olive was warm, well-liked, the kind of woman who had an opinion on everything

and people who wanted to hear it.

“Apple sauce again, Ashton?” Olive teased.

He raised his spoon in surrender. “A man’s gotta stay regular.”

“So aside from the nurse who moonlights as a cam boy,” Olive continued,

stirring her tea, “what’s new?”

Ashton shrugged. “Today, everything slid out just fine. But some days... blockage.

I might ask Nurse Pam to check if one of my pills is jamming the system.”

Olive grimaced. “You know we’re having breakfast, right?”

Then she turned to Petals. “Why are you all shy and sheepish?”

Petals hissed under her breath. “Shut up, Olive. Mrs. Margarette’s here.”

All heads turned.

Mrs. Margarette strolled into the room like royalty. She was 95, smelled like Chanel No. 5,

and had two attendants trailing her—one applying blush to her cheeks, the other filing her nails as she walked.

Residents whispered reverently. Some even stood.

“Mrs. Margarette,” Olive muttered, rolling her eyes. “Queen of Shady Pines.”

She stopped by their table, laser-focused on Petals.

“Petals,” she said curtly. “If this is about the zoo trip again, it’s not happening.”

Petals looked down, silent.

“The bus is small. You occupy... three seats. People don’t want to be squished in next to you.”

Petals winced.

“But.” Margarette pulled a cartoon giraffe sticker from her coat pocket.

“You wanted to see a giraffe. So here.” She pressed it into Petals’s palm. “Your own giraffe.”

Petals blinked. Then, like she’d been knighted, she kissed Margarette’s hand.

Margarette sailed away to her private table, where two waiters in bow ties

set down breakfast with a vase of fresh white roses.

Petals clutched the sticker. “She’s so pretty and cool...”

Olive rolled her eyes again. “She’s ninety-five and Botoxed within an inch of her life.”

“You’re just jealous,” Petals snapped. “Look. She gave me this.”

“She insulted you, girl,” Olive said. “And you’re bragging about a dollar store sticker?”

Before the spat could escalate, Ashton jumped in.

“I heard new nursing students are arriving this week. Tomorrow, even.”

Olive smiled and touched his hand. “Don’t worry, Ashton. I’ll find you the most handsome one.

Even if I have to pay him.”

Petals snorted. “With what? Your cigarette butts? You barely pay your rent.”

She looked toward Margarette’s table. “Don’t you wish you were like her?”

Olive turned to Ashton, ignoring her. “Don’t listen to her. You’ll find someone who likes you for you.”

Ashton chuckled. “You make it sound like I’m desperate.”

Petals snickered. “Desperate? Ashton, you’re beyond desperate. Remember

the student nurse you fell for? I’ve warned you, he’s just using you for cash

no offense, but that’s what I think ” Petals said flatly. “Ashton, he was like twenty.

You’re almost ninety. Why would he like you?”

Olive stomped on Petals’s foot under the table.

“Ow!” Petals wiped her eyes. “Sorry.” A tear fell on Petals eyes

Ashton softened. “What’s wrong, Petals?”

She took a deep breath, voice cracking. “I just wanna go to the zoo... to see the

giraffe... before I die. But they won’t let me. Because I’m too... fat.”

Silence fell between them. Ashton reached out and gently held her hand.

“Then we’ll find a way to get you there,” Olive whispered. “Even if we have to steal the damn bus.”