Tea for Two

I drop the teakettle when I hear the pounding on the door. It clamors against the stovetop, and the steam scalds my thumb.

After all these months, he is finally here.

Brushing my throbbing finger against the waistband of my blue floral skirt—his favorite—I rush to the door and roll back my shoulders before swinging it open.

My ex-husband smiles hesitantly when he sees me, and his eyes graze over my body before he says, “It’s good to see you, Sammie.”

“Samantha,” I correct. It is too soon for nicknames.

He clears his throat. “May I come in?”

Part of me considers telling him I’ve changed my mind, that the wound is too deep to mend, but instead I swing the door open wider.

His steps show his familiarity—after all, this was his house too—and he strides into the living room, reclaiming his old spot on the couch.

I pause in the entryway. “Let’s talk in the kitchen, Ryan.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it before shrugging. “Whatever you’d like, Samm—Samantha.”

I lead the way and motion for him to sit on the barstool at the old wooden island we had found on the side of the road when we used to make our adventurous and romantic trips to the city.  

But that was before.

Grim images flash in my head, but I bury them so I can focus. You promised you would hear him out before you decide. 

I reach the marble countertop and glance inside the porcelain teapot—the tea is finished steeping. I pour some into Ryan’s cup before securing the lid on the tin of herbal leaves I’d selected with him in mind. I drop a teabag in my own serving and cover it with water from the kettle. Then, balancing a cup in each hand, I turn and set them on the matching saucers atop the island.

“Cream?” I ask.

The hard lines on Ryan’s face soften as he eyes the steaming liquid. “You remembered?”

“Of course.” I pour half-and-half into his cup without waiting for a response.

He lowers his nose and breathes in deep. “It makes me think of the good times.” He wraps his hands around the cup, lifting it so it scrapes against his well-trimmed beard.

Not yet,” I say quickly. “It’s still hot.”

With a hesitant clamp of his lips, he obeys, returning the cup to its saucer.

There is silence. He folds his hands. I finger the string of my tea bag.

 “So,” he says finally. “I imagine you were surprised to get my call.”

I keep my expression unreadable. “Why are you here?”

He shifts in his seat, rocking until he settles on leaning forward, elbows on the island. He swallows. “I came to win you back.”

There it is.

A hot wave of anger courses down my spine. I ice it before it can boil over. “That surprises me.” A lie, but he is too stupid to notice.

“I knew it would.” He casts his eyes to the teacup. “I hurt you when I left, and I’m here to do anything to make it up to you.”

The words I had once so longed to hear are now hanging seductively in the air. Words to mend my bruised ego and stitch my tattered heart. But they do not weigh what they once did, and I am no longer so easily taken.

“Anything?” I grit my teeth. He deserves one chance to redeem himself, Sam.

“Anything.” His brown eyes well up, and one lone tear trickles down his cheek.

I stiffen. Ryan never cries. But is it an act?

“You’ve been gone sixteen months.” And two weeks and three days. “Why come back now?”

He runs a finger along the rim of his cup. I wince as it wobbles on the saucer, nearly spilling out the sides. “I realized I couldn’t live without you.” He swallows. “It shouldn’t have taken me sixteen months; I know that now. I thought there could be a better life out there.” He bows his head. “But I was so lonely without you.”

I click my tongue. He takes it as encouragement to continue.

“You’ve been with me since the beginning, since high school. Remember that first time we talked in Geometry?” He smiles. “And you were the only one I had eyes for. No one was as breathtaking as you. Or kind. Or smart. And I wanted to be with you every single moment because there couldn’t be anyone better. And then…” A shake of his head. “I don’t know. I grew tired of the humdrum. The same old thing day after day, and I thought—foolishly—there was something more out there for me. But there wasn’t. Isn’t.” He inhales. “I know that now.”

There it is—the speech. He waits for my response with bated breath, his pride dangling on the line. I do not want to ask, but I must.

“What about her?”

His head shoots up, a wild expression behind his eyes, but he quickly tames it and furrows his brow. “Her who?”

So he will make me say it. “You know who.”

A bead of sweat forms on his forehead. “Ah, yes. She’s gone.”

I grip my teacup with both hands. “Gone where?”

His tongue snakes out between his teeth as he pauses. “She kicked me out of the apartment.”

My heart is lead. “She made you leave.”

“Yes.” He quickly adds, “And I know how that sounds. But the reason she kicked me out was because you were the only woman I could talk about.” He stretches across the island and grasps one of my hands in his. “She knew you were my soulmate, and she saw how distant I was growing. The more I thought of you the lonelier I got—and the guiltier I felt.”

His hands are gritty like sandpaper and ice cold, but I don’t pull away. He has one chance.

I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. “You want to invest in our relationship again.”

It isn’t a question, but he still says, “Yes. More than anything.” He nods so violently I think his head might fly off his neck. “I’m all in.”

“Whatever it takes?”

“Whatever it takes,” he parrots.

I tilt my head, surveying him for the tiniest glimmer of genuineness. “I have conditions.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably before resummoning his nonplussed expression. “Name them.”

I rattle them off. “We will see a couples counselor. You will check in with me daily, and we will have date nights once a week. You will proactively communicate with me instead of shutting down and hiding. You will give me unfiltered access to your phone, laptop, and all your accounts.” I lean forward so our faces are mere inches apart. “And, finally, you will have zero contact with Alexis Devereaux.”

His eyes dash back and forth, weighing my words. He brings one hand to run through his wavy hair before exhaling. “Done.”

Hope prickles in my chest. “You’re willing to accept every one of those conditions?”

Another violent nod. “Yes. Of course. Anything.” He drops my hand and scratches his chin. “Except, with your permission, I think it would be helpful to keep Alexis’s number in my phone at least for a little while. Because, you know, she still has a bunch of my stuff at the apartment.”

My heart ices over.

I lean back in my seat. My thoughts swirl, but all I say is, “Your tea should be cool enough now.”

He sits up straight and takes a gulp of his lukewarm tea. “It’s sweeter than you usually make it.”

I shrug. “Things change. Do you not like it?”

“No, I do.” He takes another couple sips to prove his point. “Just takes some getting used to is all.”

“Mm.”

We sit for a long moment; the only sounds are the slurping of tea and the clinking of our cups against the saucers.

He squints. “So, you really are willing to give me a second chance?”

“Of course.” I lick my lips. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a long time.”

His entire body relaxes as he drains the rest of his cup. Wordlessly, I fill it again from the teapot.

He rubs his forehead. “You have no idea how excited this makes me, Sammie. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” I continue nursing my own cup, which reminds him to do the same.

His words fire rapidly. “And I know it’s going to be a lot of work, that it will take a long time to get back where we were, but I’m willing to do it. I’ve changed, Sammie—I really have.” He massages his temples. “It’s bright in here, don’t you think?” He blinks rapidly before shrugging it off. “What do you say we plan our first date?” He chuckles. “Well, our second first date. We’ll do anything you want.”

He chatters for the next several minutes, dreaming of our new future together. I remain silent. Eventually, his words start slowing down—he is finally running out.

He tries to throw one leg over the other but misses and nearly falls off the barstool. “Sorry, I guess I had too much caffeine this morning. I’m a little shaky.” He brings the teacup to his mouth, and his hands are trembling.

“You look pale,” I say, standing. “Let’s get you into the living room where I can take care of you. Maybe this is too much excitement.”

He obliges, and I lead him to his old favorite spot, the sofa I couldn’t bear to donate. I help him spread out and push a pillow under his head.

His eyes are barely open. “Thank you, honey. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me all of a sudden.” He rests his hand on his chest. “I just feel so weak.”

“Mm.”

He reaches for my hand—I let him hold it. Time ticks on, and we sit like that. He twists and turns uncomfortably. I do not move. This affectionate physical touch should be filling my heart, reminding me of what it is to be loved by this man.

Instead, my chest is hollow.

I lose track of the ticks of the grandfather clock when he finally turns to me and licks his dry lips. His voice is weak. “Sammie, w-will you call someone? I don’t feel right.”

I grip his hand tighter and lean so close I can feel the heat of his sweet breath on my cheeks. My lips hover above his, but I do not let them touch. “Of course, you don’t, Ryan. You’ve been poisoned.”

And then I kiss him.