by Angela Terry
He laughs back. “Ha-ha. Got it. No pressure. I just want to get your initial impression.”
“Okay.” I cautiously try a forkful. Oh my god! Whatever it is, it’s heavenly, and it must show on my face.
“That good?” he asks.
“Mmm-hmm.” I nod as I finish chewing and then point my fork to the dessert. “It’s that good. It’s like a flourless chocolate cake, but even better!”
“It’s a raw chocolate bar.” He puts the chocolate in quote marks with his fingers. I can forgive him this because his dessert is so divine. “It has cocoa and cacao.”
“Is that the name? Raw chocolate bar?”
“I guess it will be raw, vegan, gluten-free chocolate bar.”
“Hmm … That doesn’t quite sound as delicious as this tastes. What about Heavenly Chocolate Dessert Bar? Or Divine? Or something with the word sinful, but that also implies it’s good for you?” My mind starts whirring.
“I like that.” He drums his fingers on the table and then leans forward toward me. “You’re in marketing, right?”
I nod. “I’m in PR. Potayto, potahto. They’re both a lot of branding work and stuff. I guess I can’t turn it off.”
“I appreciate the free advice. Where do you work?”
So much for forgetting my troubles. “Actually, I’m in between things right now.”
“You’re a consultant?”
“No. Between jobs, actually.” Ugh, I’m not sure how I want to spin this. “I left my old job. I was at a big firm.”
“Why did you leave?”
It’s just the two of us in here, so I swallow my pride and drop the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude. “Truth be told, I was let go. They told me that they were consolidating the work, and I guess I was too high up.”
“Ouch. That sucks. I’m sorry.” He does look truly sorry, and I appreciate the sympathy.
“Thanks. It does suck. I’d been there twelve years.”
“So now what?” He looks at me earnestly, his eyes on mine. But after sharing my embarrassing news that I was fired, I’m unable to hold his gaze. I look down at my plate and fiddle with my fork.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. After the way they let me go with no warning, when I’d put in twelve solid years of work for them, it has me questioning whether I want to work at another large firm. And, on a more existential level, whether PR is what I want to be doing at all.”
“The way you just started spinning ideas for my new menu item tells me you’re a natural and that you enjoy it.”
“Interesting. That’s the thing though—I don’t know if I enjoyed it. I just did it. I had an English degree, and it was the first job I got.”
“Hmm … If you’re not into something, you’re not into it. Trust me. I used to be in the finance industry, and I hated every minute of it. It ultimately worked out for me in that I know a lot about investing, but after a few years all I could think about was how to get out of it and what I would do. After all, I had an MBA and was I just going to waste it?”
“Wow! I’m impressed.” I’m glad it’s a slow Wednesday because I want to hear more. Though it was hard to admit my situation, the door has been opened, and the reward is that I can finally ask Eric about his life, which I’ve been dying to do. “So, Mr. MBA, how’d you go from finance to the coffee biz?”
He smiles at the nickname. “It all sounds a little midlife crisis-y, I know, but it actually happened quite suddenly. My mom had a stroke and needed someone to take care of her, and I couldn’t even get the time off to be with her. So I just quit. It wasn’t any premeditated decision. I’d had enough. Worrying about some guy’s portfolio who already has more money than he knows what to do with compared to worrying about whether my mom was going to live or die—right then my priorities came into focus. It was the easiest decision I ever made, and I never looked back.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry to hear about your mom. How’s she doing now?” I might have opened the door, but Eric is demolishing walls with how much he just shared with me. His story makes my existential crisis trivial in comparison.
“Thanks. She’s fully recovered now. But it was scary, and at the time, my sister lived in Ohio. Luckily, now she and her family moved back to the Chicago area and so we can both drop in. And I like that my nephews are close by. My mom loves her grandkids.” He grins.
“And your dad?”
He shakes his head. “My dad died when I was twelve. Brain cancer.”
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry to hear that! That’s terrible.” His hand is resting on the table and I put my hand over his. He gives me a small smile.
“Thank you. Yes, it was terrible and my mom never remarried. I think it was hard with two kids. So I guess I’ve always felt responsible for her.”
“I couldn’t imagine. Your mom is a lucky woman to have such a devoted son.”
Turning his hand over so his palm is in mine, he squeezes my hand. “I don’t know about that. I was a bit of a handful.” He gives me an impish grin and looks incredibly boyish.
We’re interrupted by the sound of someone coming through the front door. I look up and see that it’s Brian. “Hey, guys. I’m back from lunch.” He waves and winks at us before disappearing into the back.
“Looks like the boss is back. I guess I better get back to work.” Eric gives my hand another squeeze and then releases it. “Thanks for tasting the new dessert. I’m also working on a carrot cake one that I’d love for you to try.”
“If it’s even half as yummy as this, then when you’re done with the working, I’m ready for the trying.” I grin and then take another forkful of dessert.
He smiles and then gets up while I finish the chocolate-cacao deliciousness that’s in front of me. Though Eric told me why he quit his job, I still want to know what led him to open this coffeehouse. But I can save that discussion to be had over raw carrot cake.
BACK AT HOME and feeling inspired by Eric’s raw dessert, I want to experiment too, and I go online to peruse recipes. I find recipes for savory gluten-free crepes with mushrooms, a zucchini noodle Pad Thai, a kale-pineapple-mango smoothie, and a raw vegan chocolate almond “cheesecake” made with cacao, agave, and cashews. Maybe these dishes will turn out to be a disaster, but I don’t have anyone to grimace or complain if they are. Rather than feeling sad about this fact, I feel a surprising sense of freedom; and in this mood I make a list of missing ingredients from my kitchen and head off to the grocery store.
I’VE NEVER MADE crepes before, and there is more batter splattered on the counter and floor than actually made it back into the pan. Even though I watched a YouTube video on how to properly flip crepes, there is still some room for growth. The sautéed mushrooms with thyme and parsley, however, came out perfectly. I forgot how much fresh herbs cost at the store, and it has me thinking about planting a little herb garden out on my balcony.
Since the cheesecake requires about six hours of soaking time for the cashew filling and because I’m on a crazy cooking roll, I also make the Pad Thai zucchini noodles. While I wish I could have kept the spiralizer from my registry, my vegetable peeler does the trick. And as I’m pouring the cheesecake filling into my regular old blender, I mourn the loss of the Vitamix I registered for. But I do have an ancient food processor that was a hand-me-down from my parents that I drag out from the back of my cabinet, dust off, and use to make the date, walnut, and almond crust.
The cheesecake filling splatters on me as I try to pour it on top of the crust, and crushed nuts scattered on the floor keep sticking to my feet. I’m so neat in so many other aspects of my life that I forgot what a messy cook I can be. But since it’s been a while, I’ve lost the skill of cleaning as I go. If Neil thought the beet “blood” was bad, then this is a Category Five kitchen storm.
Hours upon hours later, it’s midnight and I’m standing in my chaotic-looking kitchen with more food than I can possibly eat by myself. I’m amazed to find myself happy and at peace for the first time
since that horrible day when my life changed. For the first time, I wonder whether maybe it wasn’t the day my life changed for the worse, but for the better.
Good morning!” I greet Eric at The Cauldron a little after ten in the morning.
I’ve officially changed from my routine of gym and then straight to coffee. I figure I might as well draw my days out. So after my run this morning, I headed straight home, showered, and threw on my favorite sundress. While I didn’t get my usual seven point five, or lately ten to twelve hours of sleep, I still feel fantastic, riding the high from last night’s cooking adventure. I have my laptop and plan to check if there are any new opportunities on the job front. Though I realize this might ruin my mood, I feel it’s better to start the job search from a positive place.
“I brought you something,” I say, while taking a little Tupperware container out of my tote. “Your delicious bar gave me a taste for more healthy sweets, and so I made this last night. It’s a raw, vegan, gluten-free Chocolate Almond Cheesecake.”
I hand him the container and then have a moment of self-doubt. Am I overstepping boundaries here? Am I being competitive? Is this why I make frenemies? Ugh. These self-help books are making me overanalyze my every move.
But Eric’s smile as he inspects the container’s contents calms my insecurity. “Wow! This looks great. Mind if I try some now?”
“Go ahead! I have too much at home, so I can always bring more if you like it.”
He flashes me another great smile as he grabs a fork and then takes a bite. His eyes go wide, and he nods while chewing. When he’s finished, he says, “This?” He points his fork at the container. “Is amazing! I’m going to save the rest so the others don’t see me eating it and I’m forced to share.”
I laugh. “Like I said, there’s more where that came from.”
“Your fiancé is a lucky man,” he says.
Oh. Awkward. I already told him I was fired. Do I really want to tell him I’ve been dumped as well? No. No, I do not. I make a noncommittal mmmmm sound and then order my usual almond milk latte.
When the latte appears on my table, I look up from my laptop and see Brian, not Eric. “Oh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Then reading my thoughts he says, “Eric had to take a call.”
I nod. I want to say that it wasn’t really that I was expecting Eric so much as … (okay, I was expecting Eric), but I say nothing.
“I tried a bite of that cheesecake creation you made for Eric. Right on.” Brian gives me an appreciative nod. “I wouldn’t have known it was healthy until he informed me of the fact.”
“Thank you.” Though I want to insist that I didn’t make it specifically for Eric, I instead say, “I made it last night and made too much. If you like it, I’d be happy to bring you a slice.”
“Nah. I’m eating too much of the stuff here,” he says, patting his nonexistent belly. “Besides, you should let your fiancé enjoy the rest.” He gives me a meaningful look—as if he’s asking me a question rather than making a statement. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. It’s hard to tell these days.
Even though I’m no longer wearing my ring, it’s none of Brian’s business. So I just say, “Sounds good. Thanks for the table service.”
“Sure thing.” He knocks his knuckles on the table and returns to his barista station.
I take a sip of my latte and start typing. Today I’m widening my search. I’ve been so hung up on what I lost that I’ve been looking for the same exact job—a job I gave twelve years to and got fired from for suspect reasons. So why do I want more of the same? My career book suggested listing my skill set and matching it to various professions. Not even having to be that creative, there are some in-house opportunities in marketing and advertising I could apply for. Everything listed is very corporate-sounding, which even though I’m thinking of big firms, doesn’t excite me. And the smaller firms seem like just that—small and not much of a challenge. It may be that I’m not really interested in my field at all. Yes, I enjoyed thinking up dessert names for Eric yesterday, but was that really because it’s my passion or just because I’m so used to it that I do it on autopilot?
After an hour of searching, I’m feeling uninspired. I’ve finished my latte and even the caffeine can’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach. I debate getting another coffee to have an excuse to sit here longer and avoid going home. I look around the coffeehouse and think about how Eric just completely switched gears in his life. Going from finance guy to coffeehouse owner seems like such a complete one-eighty. Did he always have a passion for coffee? How did he figure out this is what he wanted to do?
Maybe sensing my existential crisis, Eric swings by. “How’s it going?” he asks. “Need a refill?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” I lean away from the computer and blink a couple times to refocus my eyes. My lack of sleep is catching up with me, and I might need a nap rather than caffeine.
“Looks like you were doing some serious research.”
“Just job hunting.” I shrug and then grimace.
“It seems like you could do whatever you wanted.”
“How I wish that were true. Unfortunately, I still haven’t figured out what I want to do when I grow up.” I give a little laugh.
“Sometimes we need to let it find us.”
“Is that a Buddhist saying?”
“No. It’s an Eric Caulder saying.”
I tilt my head, not sure I’ve heard of him. Should I be reading his books? I make a mental note to check him out at Barnes & Noble.
“My last name is Caulder,” Eric clarifies.
“Oh!” I laugh. These self-help books are making me take everything so seriously; but now the name of the place, The Cauldron, suddenly makes sense. “It’s good advice. The Tao of Caulder.”
“Or maybe it’s a Buddhist saying and I just adopted it as my own?” He puts his hands out and does a half-shrug. “Like I said, when my mom got sick, I did a lot of soul-searching and read a lot.”
Before I can ask him if he has any recommendations, a new customer walks in. Brian isn’t at the counter, so Eric sweeps up my empty mug and says, “I’ll be back.”
But one customer becomes a few more and Brian and Eric are busy, and I’m taking up table space for no good reason. I’ll have to ask him about book recommendations later and, more importantly, the genesis of his coffeehouse.
IN THE MORNING, after I’ve worked out and called my mother (who answered and immediately announced that she’s still not technically speaking to me, but then launched into a thirty-minute fertility lecture—ugh), I’m at a loss on how to spend my afternoon. I can’t imagine any new job opportunities have suddenly appeared, and a quick dutiful search confirms my suspicion. Since I’m out of self-help books and am trying to resist the siren call of Bravo, I walk to the bookstore.
Just like I’m now used to Eric and Brian at the coffeehouse, I have now made friends with Leticia at the bookstore. When I bring a copy of Lean In to the cash register, she nods approvingly.
“She’s a good one,” Leticia says, scanning the bar code.
“Mm-hmm.” I’m a little embarrassed that it’s taken me this long to read the book that’s become the manifesto for career women everywhere. Whenever the title comes up in conversation, I usually just nod and murmur something about how inspiring Sheryl Sandberg is. And I wonder now if Leticia is employing the same technique since she doesn’t say anything further.
I BRING MY new purchase to The Cauldron, where it’s just Brian and a girl I haven’t met yet behind the register. While ordering my usual latte, I notice Eric’s dessert with a handwritten sign “Sinfully Healthy Chocolate Bar” in the glass pastry case and point to it. “And I’ll have one of those.”
So Eric did like my suggestion after all. I smile inwardly. It’s a small thing, but it makes my entire day.
I take over one of the comfy chairs and settle in with my latte and dessert. I’m a few chapters into my new book when I hear Eric’s v
oice over my shoulder. “Good book?”
“Yes. She’s an amazing woman,” I repeat the mantra.
He nods. “It’s good to learn from others’ success. When I was thinking about opening my own business, I read a lot of books about entrepreneurs.”
“Funny you should say that.” I close my book and smile hopefully. “Being that you’re someone who changed careers and I’m reading a book about leaning in, I’ve been curious about what made you decide to open this place. I know you said you hated finance, and this is so far away from finance.” I sweep my arm to take in the place.
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Yes and no.”
“Is that your final answer?” I tease.
He laughs. “Yes and no.” He grins at me, his blue eyes twinkling. “It was a long process. I’d like to tell you the story sometime, but it’s hard in the shop.”
“Then can I invite you out to lunch? I would say coffee, but that seems kinda silly in your case.”
“Ha-ha.” He rubs his chin again. “Sure, I can do lunch. I have to coordinate it with Brian to make sure there are two people here. When are you thinking?”
“I’m pretty much free whenever. How about tomorrow?”
“I can do tomorrow. Does one thirty work?”
“It’s a date!” I feel my face start to go a little hot, if not from the word choice but from my evident enthusiasm. “So, um, where would you like to go?” I ask.
“Someplace close in the neighborhood so I can get back here if I need to. How about Nico Osteria on State?”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you there at one thirty.” I pause. “That is, if I don’t see you beforehand when I come in for my morning coffee.”
This morning I decide to make coffee at home, skipping The Cauldron, and use the extra time to plan my lunch outfit. I’m still cringing a bit that I used the word “date” to invite Eric out to lunch. We’ve been on friendly terms, and I don’t want to give him the wrong idea (or lose my new coffee spot!). Even though my ring’s been off and he hasn’t commented, I do wonder if he’s noticed. Maybe to make sure that he doesn’t think I have any hidden motives, I should wear it for our meetup.
