Edna laughed. “That’s all I ask.”

“So,” Sheldon began, reading from his icebreaker list. “What is your fondest memory?”

The Medford Independent Living Center’s shuttle bus smelled like werthers originals, Bengay, and faint existential dread. Sheldon Cooper sat rigidly in the third row, his knees pressed against the vinyl seat ahead, a laminated list of “Conversational Icebreakers for the Elderly” clutched in his sweaty hands.

“The probability of a rig fire in a properly maintained system is less than 0.3%,” he said.

“I’ve never done it. But I’ve read all 847 pages.”

Beside him, Missy snorted. “You called Mom’s chicken-fried steak ‘a statistical outlier in the culinary arts.’ This is way better than chores.”

“Doodles are inefficient.”