The Unpredictable Lightness of Eating Out Alone: A Short Story

There’s two things you can do. Eat out with friends. Or don’t eat out at all. That’s what Dee had said. Lana would add a third. Eat out alone. Lana loved eating out. By herself. With a book. It was one of her favorite things.

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This was a treat. She was at McDonald’s using her hard earned babysitting money. They never ate out. Too big a family and too little money. Sometimes Mom and Dad brought food home to “the crew” as they called them. Six kids was a crew, Lana guessed. Meals were noisy and hectic. Often she cooked or helped prepare the meals. And the cleanup, which was all on her. Every night. All the weekend meals, too, since there was no school on weekends. Sometimes Grandma Viv took her out to eat. Her birthday. Once a year when shopping for school clothes. A special treat. But now she had her own tiny income. Had her bike. And could ride up to McDonald’s and eat all alone. With a book. It was bliss. And no cleanup, the best part.

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She needed a break. She had to get away. Thank goodness for work. If she’d been home with her mother-in-law she might pull her hair out. The garage apartment was a help, yes. She was terrible to be so ungrateful. Her mother-in-law could have said no to their request to live there while they paid off debt. School debt. Her debt. She really must try to be more open. It was a surprise the woman had said yes. She’d been so hateful about other things. Hadn’t come to the wedding. Been estranged in the early years. She barely knew Lana. And Lana was a bit intimidated by her. Why would anyone hate her? No one had ever hated her before. It made no sense. Thank goodness work needed her to fly to Nashville for this meeting. She had a lovely solitary night ahead of her at a new Holiday Inn. A room to herself. Time and privacy for a bath. No one listening on the other side of the garage door. No trying to cook on a two burner electric stovetop. Or cleaning up in the house kitchen under Her hovering, hostile gaze. This was what she needed. A dinner alone at a decent restaurant, an Italian place next door. A book. And no cleanup.

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He worked all the time. He was never home. He didn’t even eat when she cooked, he was so busy. Just grabbed something at the restaurant. Or drive thru. His car was full of empty bags and food wrappers. But he was never home long enough to clean it. When had it gone so wrong? She felt guilty going to the food court on her lunch hour. But she needed the break from coworkers, boss, worry. Some privacy in a neutral place. This little Greek spot was friendly, and no one bothered her. Just the happy buzz of people going about their lives. It was bliss to lose herself in a book and a gyro. No problems for this brief hour. No accusatory looks. No duties or chores. No cleanup.

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She had to get away. She’d squeeze in a snack or lunch after the groceries and before the pharmacy. Caregiving was so constant. Always on. Mom was there 24/7 needing interaction. She could barely cook for herself now. Lana cooked every meal for her. Cleaned up. Where was the family? Where were her friends? They’d moved cross country to take care of her. The stroke was debilitating. She was dependent on Lana for everything. All she did was watch TV. She knew Mom was depressed. Who wouldn’t be? It was all so sad. How long would this state last? She’d stop by Subway. Eat alone. No one gently, patiently waiting to be cared for. It broke her heart. She’d make a list. People to call. She’d ask, no tell them, to come help, come visit. She needed doctors, therapists, psychologists. Eldercare groups. Maybe that church down the street. Maybe a stroke support group. Books on caregiving, stroke recovery, depression. And what about insurance? A planning lunch. Just a sub and her trusty list. And no cleanup.

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So here she was. Eating alone. She’d go out. That nice Thai place with the amazing curry. There’d be people around. She could read. But someone else would do the cooking. Since the divorce she’d had lots of meals with family and friends. She was free now, she could visit and socialize and celebrate as they rallied around her and let her vent and admit all those lonely years. She was building a new life. Finding out what she wanted. What she truly liked. She liked eating out alone. Always had. No one to judge what she ordered. No one to comment on her spending. Food someone else made for her. Just her and a good book. And no cleanup.

Tables in diner by launchpad516 from Pixabay / filtered from original
Cake and a book by StockSnap from Pixabay / filtered from original
Diner booths by Free-Photos from Pixabay / filtered from original
Notebook and pen by Pexals from Pixabay / filtered from original
Cafe tables by photosforyou from Pixabay / filtered from original
Fork by LauraTara from Pixabay / filtered from original