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“Time for tea.” The Alarm Clock of Doom chimed incessantly a few feet away on a side table. The eccentric old lady scolded it as she hurried past, barely pausing to tap it twice. “Hush, you miserable old thing! There, that's better. Now for the tea.”

Mary smiled awkwardly at her great-grandmother's oddity. She was only ten, but her 85-year-old great-grandmother was her only relation. Her parents had died only a month ago on one of their trips to Europe; her grandparents had passed away years before, and both her parents had no siblings.

“Would you like two or three forks in your tea?” the voice of her elderly relative floated out of the faded yellow kitchen. Mary frowned.

“What? I don't take forks in my tea.” Her reply was a question of her great-grandmother's sanity.

“Young people these days! Do you actually like tea without sugar in it?”

Mary stared at the peeling flowery wallpaper in disbelief. “I take one or two spoons of sugar...but not forks!”

“One or two spoons, two or three forks.” Her great-grandmother was quiet for a minute. Mary could hear metal clinking on china.

“What kind of tea are you making, great-grandmother?” She was curious.

“If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times—call me Elly!” Elly came out of the kitchen with a tray. On the tray were two white, pleated china teacups, patterned with bluebells, a kettle, a small bowl of cream, a small bowl of sugar with a fork in it, and a plate to put the teabags on. “Mint and ginseng—my own mixture.”

“Mint and ginseng?” Mary hated both types of tea. Together, she was sure it would taste terrible. At least there was sugar in it.

“Try it!” Elly urged her. “Trust me; you'll like it.”
The expression she used, so like Mary's own mother used to urge her to try new foods, brought a wave of painful emotions. Her mother wouldn't ever be able to tell her to try new things again.

“I...” A sob caught in her throat.

“Don't worry, Mary. In time, the pain you feel for their loss will pass. For now, remember the happy times, and try the tea—for her sake.” Elly's voice was gentle and understanding.

She was right. Mary swallowed. The lump in her throat cleared as she accepted the cup of tea. After all, her mother was usually right about the foods she offered Mary—why should her own great-grandmother be any different?

“One or two spoons,” Mary whispered. “Two or three forks.”

Imprint

Publication Date: 02-22-2010

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