Only More Alone

Entry for Daily Flash Fiction contest.
Prompt: must include the words "clumsy," "cup," "basket"
Word count: 300

Corinne set the picnic basket on the empty patch of grass, self-consciously glancing at the families around her as she spread the checkered cloth on the ground. Smoothing the corners, she pretended an interest in the birds in the trees above her as she sat down, wincing as her knee protested.

She had made the spontaneous decision to eat lunch in the park, but she had started to regret it as soon as she’d realized she seemed to be the only one by herself. The other visitors had spouses or children to keep them company. The only lone people were runners zipping along the paths, never stopping long enough to feel solitary.

Corinne, however, felt it. With no family of her own, she always did. She generally ate meals at home in front of the television. Sometimes, she would have lunch with her neighbor, but that was when the other woman wasn’t on one of her group trips. She’d invited Corinne along, but they seemed more tiring than enjoyable with so many chatty retirees crammed into a small bus.

Determined to enjoy herself, Corinne pulled out her Tupperware, a plate, a cup, and everything else she’d neatly tucked away. Just as she had her meal laid out, a ball sailed through the air in a clumsy arc, knocking her dessert apple into the grass.

A small boy ran up and held out his arms. As Corinne handed the toy back, he darted away to join his father, who waved apologetically. Corinne nodded in response, watching as the man tossed his son in the air. The child squealed as he was pulled into a hug, laughing as his mother tickled his back.

Corinne’s smile was melancholy as she began to pack her things away. A picnic just didn’t seem appealing anymore.