A Cup of Tea
A short story about spilling the tea over a cup of tea
“Bullshit!” she thought as she dunked the tea bag into the cup of hot water. She placed the top on the mug to steep the tea. For a week she’d been drinking tea instead of coffee because, supposedly, it’s healthier.
All she knew was that she cursed people out more — in her mind — this week than she had previously. Were people just more irritating? Was she going through some crazy coffee withdrawal? She just wanted to wiggle her nose and transform that damn cup of tea into a hot, steamy, delicious aromatic cup of coffee.
Of course, it could also be because of…she closed her eyes and shut out the thought.
“Good morning, Krissy!!” someone threw out as they walked by, a little too chipper in her opinion. She was sure they’d had coffee that morning. She mumbled back a response. No need to be rude. More people began to pass through the break area, the hum of conversation and laughter filling the once quiet space.
Krissy stood at the black, granite counter waiting for the tea to steep. Normally, she arrived at the office a good hour before anyone else because she enjoyed the quiet. That hour was the best hour of her day, normally. She would often sit in the corner by the window, looking out over the garden.
Today the quiet had been unsettling. The view less alluring. She wanted the comfort of a cup of coffee to help settle her tumultuous thoughts. She took a deep breath to keep down the sob that threatened to escape. The truth of her predicament could no longer be ignored. It was time to make a decision.
Malcolm, who doubled as a groundskeeper and maintenance man, sauntered over to the counter. “Boss Lady,” he greeted her with his 100-watt smile set against his dark, chocolate skin, ”you still drinking that stuff?” he asked, looking disdainfully at her cup of tea. She had let him try some a few mornings prior.
“Yes, Malcolm,” she replied,” but I’m thinking this is one healthy habit I’m willing to forego. If I’m going to die, I’d rather die happy with a cup of hot coffee in my cold, dead hands.” He chuckled as he continued sauntering out of the room. She watched him as he walked away. He looked back at her and winked before disappearing into the hallway.
She had to tell him. Soon…
.
Krissy sighed as she removed the top from her mug and extracted the teabag. She scooped up the bag with her spoon and wound the string around it to squeeze out the water, the way her mother had taught her. Her mother had given her the mug five years ago when she first opened the Misty Blue Inn. It was her favorite hue of blue and inscribed with the words “Amazing women do amazing things.” Krissy wondered what her mother would think when she told her news.
She added a spoonful of honey to her tea and stirred, watching as the honey became part of the tea. Is that how it happened in your body as well? Instinctively, she laid a hand on her lower abdomen. A part of her. A part of Malcolm. A new human being.
For the first time in eight days, she wasn’t afraid or anxious or sad. At that moment she was in awe of the miracle that was happening in her body. A new human being. A part of her. A part of Malcolm. She glanced at the cup in front of her. Amazing women do amazing things…
She looked around the break room, out the window at the garden. This had been her vision, her baby. Five years ago she created something amazing. And now, something amazing was being created within her. Instinctively, she cradled her abdomen with both hands and let her tears flow, a few dropping into her cup of tea.
“Krissy?” Malcolm inquired, rushing to her side, “what’s wrong?”
She looked at him through a screen of tears. Concern was etched across his handsome face, worry lines wrinkling his forehead. She touched his cheek and smiled, her head tilting to the side. He was a good man. But no matter what he decided, she would love the little amazing human being they created. Krissy took a deep breath, picked up her cup, and sipped. The warmth of the liquid soothed the last of her nervousness.
“We need to talk,” she said, “would you like a cup of tea?”
Author’s Note №1
You can show support and support my java habit by buying me a cup of coffee.
Author’s Note №2
It would mean the world to me if you would stop by to view my photography gallery.
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Jenita Lawal is a writer, traveler, amateur photographer, entrepreneur, and mother. After 20+years of living the American Dream, she sold everything and packed her suitcases to pursue the life of her dreams. She lives abroad in Mexico with her three teenage boys and loves exploring whenever there’s an opportunity. She’s on Instagram @jlawal_atw.
