The Widows' Table

We were invited to party on New Year’s Day. I was really looking forward to it – new year, new people. It was at the home of some neighbors, a couple who grew up here and have a huge network of family and friends.

We arrived and I scanned the room for familiar faces. None of the other neighbors were there. My girls immediately disappeared with the other kids. I felt a wave of panic and wanted to flee. Instead, I helped myself to a glass of sangria and developed an intense interest in the college football game on TV. More and more people arrived – friends and family who have known each other their whole lives.

By my second glass of sangria, I concluded that the bartender had left the courage out of this batch. I wished it would be acceptable for me to pull out my phone and start texting my friends, like Pickle does when she’s uncomfortable. I will be more gracious the next time we’re going somewhere and she asks if there will be any kids her age.

I eventually found my niche with the old widow ladies. They all knew each other, but were warm and welcoming when I asked if I could join them for dinner. It was a port in a storm, but only this time. Next time I’ll be ready to be friendly, witty and engaging with kids my own age.

I’m not ready for a permanent place at the widows’ table just yet.