Table for One

Chapter 1.

Oh, darn it! Caryn Miller paused to examine gum stuck to her Jimmy Choo’s sole. Just wonderful. It was the perfect ending to a horrible day. And here she thought it could not get any worse.

She scuffed her shoe against the curb of the sidewalk, groaning when the sticky mess spread over the entire bottom. She took a cautious step, wincing when her shoe adhered to the concrete, and then gave her foot a yank, staggering like a drunk when the gum stretched on in a long ribbon of pink goo.

“Awesome! Just freaking awesome,” She muttered, glancing around to see if anyone had witnessed the battle of Bazooka. The gum prevailed. She did notice the back of a young man with black curly hair just about five feet away from her. He did not see her, did he? If there was ever a time she did not want to be noticed, it was now.

Oddly, she often felt invisible as she walked the narrow streets of Philadelphia, although she did remember a time when someone paid attention to her, a time when someone loved her. Now there was no one. Grief and despair were her constant companions. What did she really have in her life? Work, food, and her family were the staples. The work she loved, but her new boss Phillip Hauser, a self-righteous control freak straight from New York City, not so much.

Caryn’s place of employment was the famous Philadelphia Food Bazar magazine, celebrating its one hundredth year of publication. The magazine shifted from a weekly print edition to a monthly digital publication. Caryn was an exceedingly popular food blogger and critic for the magazine.

Funny how Caryn thought the day started off great when she received a phone call from Jake Edwards, the DJ from WHOT radio. He wanted to schedule an interview with her wildly successful blog, ‘Table for One.’ Jake also wanted to podcast the interview for their online services and Caryn loved both ideas. However, upon presenting this noteworthy development to her supervisor, she encountered an entirely unexpected response.

It was downright hurtful. Her image, in Hauser’s opinion, lacked the perfection he wanted to project for the magazine. In fact, he had had the gall to suggest that he would go to the interview in her place and promote the magazine instead of her blog. Her immediate reaction was to quit the damn job. But in today’s economy it was not a feasible choice.

The blaring sound of a car horn startled her back to the present, and her battle with the resilient gum. After scraping her shoe for five minutes over the curb, the gum finally released its powerful grip. She breathed a sigh of relief. If she could only let go of Mr. Hauser’s nasty comments about her weight so easily, hopefully her night would be better.

And then, Caryn was so self-absorbed in her thoughts that she did not realize she bumped into something. Something solid with a very sexy Irish accent, “Are you alright, love?” Looking up, Caryn was tongue tied as she saw the most handsome man, she ever laid her eyes on. She surmised he was six foot and lean. He was wearing a tight black tee shirt revealing well developed muscular arms. His dark brown curly hair hugged gently and carefreely around his earlobes; while he was waiting for a response from Caryn, he pulled down his sunglasses to reveal warm, romantic, chocolate brown eyes. She stammered as she let her eyes drop down to examine his perfect full lips. He was gorgeous!

“Are you sure, you’re, okay?” “Fine, I am fine.” She timidly said. He flashed a sexy grin, “Well, no damage done here either, have a good day.” He left quickly; Caryn kept looking until he turned at the corner. Sex on a Stick! She thought, finally she saw that term came to life. Of course, this happens when she was still half frazzled by her ordeal with that nasty piece of bubblegum. Sadly, she thought that male companionship was a thing of the past. These days she was not comfortable in her own skin.

Food was her solace; it had been for nearly ten years. She did not want to think about it anymore. Depression would come too quickly, and she would turn to food to relieve the all-consuming ache. At two hundred pounds she could barely glance at the mirror. Why would she? She hated the way she looked and the way she felt about herself.

Caryn wiped the sweat off her brow, reminding her how hot and humid Philadelphia is in late July. As she crossed the intersection of Broad Street and Geary Avenue, she was surprised to see one of her favorite restaurants boarding up with a for sale sign on its front door. Though looking at the closed-up restaurant did not deter her from the ultimate dream of having a restaurant of her own.

Quickening her pace, she turned the corner, a wall of heat smacked her in the face. Being a little winded did not help matters either. Yes, she could lose some weight. That was the truth. Food and work were the total of her existence; her family was important too. Thank God for her brother Frank, her rock, her shoulder to cry on. He had been working so hard lately; she decided to treat him to a home cooked meal tonight.

A couple more blocks and she was home. There was plenty of time to rehash that heated discussion with Phillip Hauser. Not going to think about him now, not worth my time! Unfortunately, his stinging remark circled her thoughts like sea gulls zoning in for French fries on the Boardwalk at Atlantic City. Why should she care? Was she that repulsive?

****

One hour later, Caryn was laughing heartily with Frank. They were enjoying warm apple crisp with French Vanilla ice cream for dessert when Caryn delicately broached the subject of her insufferable boss. Frank dropped his fork on his plate, shook his head while wiping his mouth and said, “That guy is one hell of Class A jerk!”

She gently slapped his wrist and admonished him. “You shouldn’t say things like that since you’re a priest.”

He took a swig of his beer and looked at his watch, “Well, right now I am off God’s clock. I am your brother first, a priest second. I don’t like that he takes advantage of you to serve his own selfish purposes, and you know I’m right about this.” He leaned his forearm on the table and frowned. “He’s a selfish prick!”

Clearing the dirty dishes from the table and placing them in her sink, Caryn shrugged. “Selfish or not, he’s still my boss and I have to respect that.”

Frank rolled his blue eyes, “Respect is one thing, being a doormat is quite another. St. Paul talks about that in the bible. Where’s Hauser’s respect for you?”

Caryn grinned. “I thought you weren’t on God’s clock tonight. That sounded a little preachy to me.”

“Touché, little sis. Thanks for the lesson in humility.” He sat back, stretching in his chair, and studied her for a moment. “Sara’s wedding is three weeks away. You’re still going, right?”

Caryn paused, momentarily caught off guard at the abrupt change of subject. She looked past Frank’s shoulder to a portrait hanging on the wall. The handsome young Marine in dress blues smiled back at her. Her gaze dropped to the display case sitting on the table below it and to the flag that lay inside.

Sorrow rose and threatened to choke her, but she swallowed it back and nodded. “Of course, I am. She’s Tom’s sister, why wouldn’t I?”

Frank shrugged, “Just wondering how you felt about it since-” and he left the comment hanging.

Caryn’s spine stiffened. “Since it is two days after the anniversary of Tom’s death, as his widow, you were wondering if I could handle it. Was that what you were about to say?”

His lips formed a hard line, apologies swimming in the gentle depths of his blue eyes. “Sis, you know I wasn’t going to say that.”

She thought back to that dreadful day of tears. The coffin draped with a flag and the solemn faced the Marines who carefully folded it before handing it back to her. Her fingers had clutched the cloth to a hollow chest as she listened to the words of a grateful nation.

Frank’s hand covered hers, his gentle touch bringing her back to the present. “Sis, I’m sorry.”

Tears burned the backs of Caryn’s lids. She blinked them away and took a fortifying breath. “I’m okay,” she assured him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. But all she really wanted to do was hang her head and weep for the loss of what could have been.

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t want to drag your butt to confession.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” she said, with a half-hearted grin.

Frank’s cell phone buzzed, and he looked down, making a face. Giving her a guilty look, one she knew too well. “Sorry, I’m back on God’s time. Looks like Mrs. Finn is not going to make it through the night. I need to go over and perform last rites for her. Reluctantly, Frank got up from his chair and Caryn walked him to the front door.

Giving her a warm bear hug, he said, “Everything is going to be okay. Have faith, I know I do. Tom was a great guy, and someday you’re going to find another great guy.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a possibility for me anymore.” Caryn sadly shook her head.

“For crying out loud Sis, you are thirty years old, not eighty-six. You are a very capable, successful, beautiful woman. And remember what Mom says, every pot has a lid. ’In my opinion, you need to believe in yourself a little more.”

“Well, my pot already had a lid.”

“There’s no law saying you can’t get married again. So, get a new pot and find a new lid.”

She chuckled. “Says the priest with no dating experience.”

“My lid had a higher calling. You’re starting to sound like Mom.”

’” Oh, speaking of Mom, remember we’re having dinner with her on Friday night.”

Frank let out a small grunt of frustration, “Great. Remind me to bring some extra beer, I am going to need it when she harps about my career choice and the lack of grandchildren she has. Wait a minute, I better bring Vodka.”

Caryn gave him a playful slap on the back of his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

He winked. “Yeah, but I’m one cute incorrigible priest. It’s a known fact that God has a great sense of humor, he created the Giraffe and Zebra.”

Frank gave Caryn a quick peck on the cheek and then he was gone, leaving Caryn alone with her thoughts.

With a sigh, she walked over to Tom’s picture. Her lips gently brushed against the frame. She cursed under her breath. Damn its Tom, why did you have to be a hero? I could be kissing your lips and feeling your arms around me. But no, I just visit your grave now.

Flicking off an errant tear from her cheek, Caryn trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. She opened one of her front bedroom windows for a bit of fresh air. On her dresser bureau lay a small wooden box, inside a reminder of her daily grief—Tom’s Purple Heart. She should not have glanced in that direction. How she longed to hide the box away and be done with it. She knew in her heart she could not bear to touch it, let alone move it, and chastised herself for being such a coward. As always, she was hoping that one day, she would be ready to touch that medal and put it away. Slowly she approached the box, but her quivering hand barely touched the surface. She yanked her hand back like a curious child near a hot stove. She brandished herself as a coward again.

Instead, she went through her nightly ritual of kissing Tom’s picture and getting her clothes ready for work. She walked back to the window, staring up at the stars and moon, making her nightly wish before going to bed. Generally, it was always the same, to be happy in life, and strive to be a better person than the day before. She paused and took a cleansing breath, putting the negatives of the day behind her.

If only Tom was there. He would know what to say to calm her nerves. They had been childhood sweethearts. Tom was her first boyfriend, lover, and best friend, all rolled into one beautiful man. Sweet memories flooded her senses. The moon was full tonight, much like the night that Tom proposed to her. At the age of nineteen, she eloped with him, who was twenty at the time, an action that was met with disapproval from both sets of parents.

Naturally, their parents felt they were too young to marry. They had wanted them to wait a few years, but Tom had signed up for the Marines right after High School. Nine-Eleven was a recent wound on the nation’s psyche, so when Tom came back from boot camp he wanted to get married as soon as possible. The few years they had together were incredibly happy ones, with her living on the base in North Carolina while Tom was stationed at Kandahar Afghanistan.

Being married to a Marine was a constant reminder of how fleeting life can be. It was nearly ten years ago when a suicide bomber walked in the market square to wreak havoc, but Tom sacrificed himself so many could live include young children and his entire unit. He was one of the two that died that day and Caryn had stopped living as well, becoming the shell of a woman that she was now, who got up each morning, went to work and then came back to an empty home, only to do it all over again the next day.

Caryn closed her window and then went to the other window to turn on the air conditioner. She grabbed her nightgown and headed to the bathroom, then remembered she hadn’t washed her dinner dishes. Being the anal-retentive person that she was, she groaned and headed back downstairs. As she entered the kitchen, she glanced over to her laptop sitting on the counter and decided to check her e-mail. She instantly regretted her action upon noticing a new email from Mr. Hauser. She slammed the lid down, annoyingly brimming to the top and ready to boil over.

Despite having Mr. Hauser as her new boss, she really loved her job. Her blog ‘Table for One’, was for the busy single woman who did not have time to make elaborate meals, offering quick, enjoyable dishes that could be prepared in thirty minutes or less. It was this blog, full of quirky anecdotes, easy directions and fun filled with facts that caught the eye of Gillian Graham, her previous boss.

Originally, Caryn started in the advertising department when she entered a blog contest and won a spot to be in the magazine. Since then, Table for One was a staple for the magazine. Eventually, when a food critic position opened, Gillian gave Caryn a chance to shine and shine she did.

Under Gillian’s guidance, Caryn created a twitter account as the unknown critic called ’The Shadow”. On the tweet, she would give a hint as to where she was heading. She made it humorous, current, and hip. In the next issue, the shadow would review the restaurant, and Caryn, as with her blog, gave each critique a stylish touch—even negative ones were handled tastefully. She liked the anonymity of being a shadow and not being judged by her looks, as Mr. Hauser put so bluntly into words that day.

She was at the sink cleaning her dishes and letting them air dry when temptation crossed her mind. The fridge was just a few steps away, calling her to indulge in her cravings. Food had become her surrogate spouse, filling her needs at a moment’s notice. If Frank had not been there tonight, she probably would have eaten a whole pint of Eddy’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream in a single sitting. She knew she needed a change in her life, to stop using food as an emotional crutch. But still, could she resist the urge tonight?

She tried to walk away, and yet her hand reached for the door handle.

No, I cannot, not tonight.

Taking a breath, she eased her grip on the handle and stepped back. Slowly she returned to her living room and walked to Tom’s picture. Gently, she traced the outline of his handsome face repeating repeatedly, I miss you, Tom. I miss you so much!

***