Page 4 of Say Yes to the Chef

My heart pinches at the thought of my husband, and a familiar pang of guilt follows closely behind the wave of relief I feel at his absence. It’s notTomthat I’m happy to be without; it’s his illness, the way it consumed his body, took hold of our lives. The way it stripped us of the joy we shared in this life together, replacing plans for the future with memories of the past.We’d raised our daughters and were so close to beginning the next chapter of our lives we could almost taste the adventures.

His diagnosis hit us hard, but, for a moment, we had hope. Then the illness took hold of him… and it never let go.

I breathe deeply, pulling the salty air into my lungs. Over two decades spent with Tom, and I know little else. I dated before him, sure, but we were so young when we met—just out of high school, in fact. I can’t really recall a time in my life without Tom.

A knock on my hotel room door pulls me from the memories, and I’m grateful for the reprieve. I’ve had nothing but time to fret over losing Tom, months—if not years—to prepare. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.

But I don’t want to dwell. Whatever this next chapter of my life looks like, whatever my solo journey entails, I don’t want the past to cloud the future.Chloe and Rachelle think it’s time for me to start living again, and I intend to do just that. Because they’re wise, my girls, and they’re right.

Another knock, louder this time. “Coming,” I call as I push out of the lounge chair and set my book on the small patio table, then make my way back inside and through the large suite to the door. A quick peek through the peephole reveals the familiar bright blue of the hotel staff workwear, so I pull open the door.

“Mrs. Rhone?” the young woman asks.

Emotion tightens my throat. I don’t want to be calledMrs. Rhoneanymore, but I don’t want to return to my maiden name either; I’m not that young girl anymore. So Tom’s surname stays, but it’s what precedes it that bothers me now.

I no longer have a husband, soMrs. doesn’t feel right.

I’m too old to switch toMissandMs. sounds so… I don’t know… unfamiliar. Not me.

For so long I’ve beenMrs. Rhone. Wife. Mother. Middle school English teacher.

Who am I now, when so much has changed?

The young woman clears her throat and I realize she’s still waiting for me to respond.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I laugh sheepishly. “Yes, I am Mrs. Rhone. Is there a problem? Something with my check-in?

“No problem, ma’am. I have come to escort you to the Chef’s Table.”

I shake away my immediate confusion and blink a few times. “I’m sorry, what?”

She smiles sweetly. “The Chef’s Table. You’ve been invited to join us for our first Chef’s Table dining experience with Chef Marco Santiago.”

I frown. “Did my daughters do this?”

She shrugs. “I’m sorry, I do not know that information.”

They must have, though; there’s no other explanation.

The young woman’s gaze dips quickly to assess my attire, then she smiles awkwardly as she says, “Resort semi-formal wear is requested for tonight’s dining experience. I’m very sorry…”

“Oh. Ohhhh… my outfit.” I tug my shirt closed as heat flushes my cheeks. “I’ll be just a moment.” As I go to close the door, I realize I have no idea when this thing even starts. I open the door quickly and she jumps, flashing that wide smile again as if I didn’t just startle her. “What time is it? The dinner, I mean?”

“Diez minutos, Mrs. Rhone.”

My eyebrows fly up my forehead. “Ten minutes?”

She nods.

With wide eyes, I hold up a finger and close the door, then run my hand down my sweaty face. Ten minutes.Nice.

“A little heads up would have been great, Rachelle,” I grumble as I hurry to the closet.

Ten minutes!I’m going to throttle those girls.

By the absolute grace of God, I manage to pull myself together in eight.

My hair is secured into a twist at the nape of my neck; I brushed my teeth and washed my face, then freshened up as quickly as I could. There’s a light dusting of bronzer on my cheeks, a soft pink gloss on my lips, and a few swipes of mascara on the old eyelashes, but that’s all the time I could afford.

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