Until the box runs out

The doorbell rings just as I am settling in to read a new book. I quickly put the book down, kick some trash under the sofa, and hurry to open the door. On my porch I find my friend, Maria, bloodshot and sopping wet. Her expression reminds me of a puppy from an animal shelter ad. “Sorry I’m so early.” She sputters, shivering. I hadn’t even realized it was raining, since I normally work remotely from inside my home. I offer her a blanket and usher her inside, assuring her it’s no problem. “Are you okay? Have you been crying?” I ask. “No, don't worry about it, I’m fine! Just excited to catch up.” I scooch some stuff aside so she can sit on the couch. “Please, sit. I have some scones cooling on the stove and I just made some tea. I want to know how you’ve been.” I say, shutting the bedroom door before plopping down on the sofa. “I’ve been…busy. But good, mostly. My husband is working nights again so it’s been lonely. That’s why I’m so excited to catch up.” She grins, showing off her perfect teeth and dimples. Her raven curls bounce softly with every movement she makes. When we were kids going to high school together, I would braid my hair on the bus and unbraid it during lunch to try and get curls like hers. It never did anything but make my hair look frizzy. 

I pour her a cup of rosehip tea. “I’m sorry I don't have any honey today, I usually do. Would you like cream or sugar?” I ask. “Both please!” She answers with a chuckle, “I never drink anything unless it’s sweet. Maybe that’s why I’m gaining weight.” Her face falls and her eyes look past me, towards my overstuffed bookshelves. “Gaining weight? You always look perfect.” I argue. 

We both sit quietly. It’s getting dark, so I switch on the old beaded lamp on the side table beside us. The glass beads tint the light with warm shades of burgundy and burnt orange. 

“I wish I were a tea person” Maria blurts out.  She glances away, then offers a weak smile. “If I were, I think I’d feel…more peaceful.” She adds, sipping on her cup of rosehip tea. 

“You can always take some of my tea home with you. I have too much.” I say with a laugh, gesturing to my tea collection. “Thank you for the offer, I’ll have to try some. Whatever flavors are your favorite. But I’ve always been more of a coffee person, partly from habit and partly to keep up my energy. That last double shift almost killed me.” Her eyes are staring past me again and I realize she looks sleepy. “I was thinking of brewing some chai too, something with a bit more caffeine.” “That would be nice.” She looks me in the eye and sets her teacup down on its matching saucer. The entire set is antique bone china. Normally, I regale my guests with the tale of how my aunt acquired the set by gambling during her travels years ago, before leaving it to me in her will. But today I decided to hold back on rambling about my china, even as I watched Maria study the floral pattern.

She drains the rest of her tea, which is mostly cream in her case. “My husband and I mainly play video games and watch movies. Everything else is just…so expensive.” She leans back, placing her hands in her hoodie pockets. “Have you been able to see each other much, with how busy you are?” I ask. “Not really.” She sighs. “Anyways, I like your sweater,” She fidgets her feet and nods towards my wool cardigan. “Oh, this? I was worried I looked like a boring old professor.” I laugh, “You really like it?” “I do. And there’s nothing wrong with looking boring or old.” She insists. 

Her phone buzzes and she glances down to read a text. She glances back up, her expression making her look years older. “He says he’ll be working late tonight. This is the third time this week, but at least he’ll get the overtime. That’s fine.” She grumbles. She shakes her head and forces a laugh, “We always joke around and say he basically runs the store at this point. It’s really fine. How have you been?” She asks, dabbing her eyes with a napkin and looking at me expectantly. “Me? Mostly I work, then I come home and read. Yesterday, I visited my neighbor and she offered to set me up with a friend. I told her I’d think about it.” Maria leans forward and rests her arm on the back of the sofa, her nose close to my face. “Well what did she say about him? Is he cute?” I laugh and wave the idea away. “She said he spends most of his time at the gym. But that may not be such a bad thing.” I admit, staring into my teacup. She smirks at me and sips her tea, “I never thought you were the type to go after a gym rat.” I blush and reach for a book that is resting on my coffee table. “Well, she also said he just finished this book. I told her I’d like to read it before going out with him. So we have something to talk about. It will be nice to get out.” I splutter, handing her the book. My neighbor told me the story is about a man who works in a meat factory to support his family or something like that. Maria quickly flips through it. I refill her teacup while she reads. “I’ve actually read this,” She says, then stops flipping to trace a page with her finger, her eyes bright and focused. “I remember this part in particular.” I reach for the book and she snaps it shut. “I won’t let you spoil it for yourself, you have a date to impress after all.” She chastises, handing the book back. 

“I didn’t know you enjoyed books so much. You never talked about reading when we were in high school. We would have had so much to talk about.” I comment, sipping my tea. She frowns. “We didn’t start hanging out until junior year. I didn’t read much after I turned 15 or 16. Too much going on to be relaxing with a book.  It’s not like the TV, which I can just pause. Books take you into another world entirely, and it sucks to be ripped back out. And some of us just don’t have time for that.” She trails off, then drains her tea again. 

“Perhaps I should start the chai.” I suggest. “I’ll come help! I want to hear more about this new potential boyfriend.” She winks. I nod uncomfortably, planning to sweep some trash off the counter before she sees it. I say, “Well he’s certainly not a boyfriend yet. And she didn’t tell me much else. But it will be nice to get out of the house for once…” I trail off, pouring some loose-leaf chai into a diffuser, and take the kettle off the stove. “Do you use loose-leaf tea?” Maria exclaims, “The only times I’ve made tea I used the little bags.” I dangle the infuser in front of her “This is so much better. Trust me.” “But it’s so much extra work. I barely have time to load the dishwasher at the end of the day. I don’t understand how you keep such a perfect home and have time to be extra with your tea and baking.” She says in a bitter tone, then gestures to the scones that are cooling on the stove. “That's all I do after work, so I have time.” “It must be taxing to always bake and prepare and read so much, mentally taxing I mean. Don’t you ever unwind?” She comments. I tilt my head. “Reading does that for me, usually at least. But I have watched some movies too, you know” I snap. She plops down beside me, chewing on a scone. “I think if I slow down I’ll just burst or something. I think I’ve forgotten how to read. Not literally of course.” She says, her voice breaking. She eyes my book. 

I grab the box of chai and toss it to her, “I think you would like this one best. Keep it.”

Maria carries the filled teapot back to the coffee table and we sit down. “I could find some books for you to read if you want to get back into it.” I suggest. 

She bursts into tears. 

“Maria, I’m sorry what did I–” “--Nothing, nothing, it’s just hard right now. I’m just being pulled in a thousand directions and I can’t even see where I started out. I don’t have time to read or anything. I just feel like some ghost.” I pull her into my arms and hold her tight. “It’s okay.” I assure her, struggling for better words to say. She sniffles, “I’m at the bottom of my company and when I look in the mirror I see a failure. We barely get by as it is and if this keeps up we won’t get by. All I want is to be making tea and scones and reading and…” She starts crying harder. “No matter how hard I work, someone’s kid always gets promoted above me, or someone lies or kisses up or–” She sobs into my shoulder.

I push her away and grab her hands. “Listen. You are so special, Maria. It's okay to be tired. I think you’re doing well.” She stops crying for a second to look at me. “Special doesn’t pay the bills. That’s the problem.” I reach for my tea and take a sip. “Maria, I don’t know what to say. We all have problems and it might suck forever. I don’t know. I’m lonely, but I don’t dwell on that. You deserve peace, in whatever small moments you find it.” She pulls away from me and crosses her arms. I fidget with my hands for a minute, then hand her her teacup full of cream. She takes a few sips, choking slightly. “I know, it’s just so hard.” She looks at me, her eyes puffy and asks, “How do you keep up this perfect, organized lifestyle and baking and loose leaf tea and–-""I’m not perfect Maria!” I snap. She stares at me. “I’m pathetic and alone! At least you have someone who loves you.” “I love you.” She tells me softly. She pulls me into a hug. “I’m really not perfect.” I sniffle, a tear dripping down my cheek. “I’m not perfect. You sure come close.” She sniffles. “Come with me, I’ll prove I’m not.” I retort, getting up and walking to my bedroom door. I let my hair fall in front of my face as I usher her in and towards my closet. She opens the closet door, revealing the two loads of unfolded laundry I had hidden. I shake my head.  

Maria leans against the door frame and raises an eyebrow. “You put off folding your laundry? In high school you used to re-fold your boyfriend's laundry so it would fit in his drawers better.” We both chuckle. “Well, I didn’t have as many responsibilities then. Life has been overwhelming for me too. It’s not easy to pay the bills alone.” 

“We could both be doing better. But at least we have each other.” She decides. She wanders back to the living room and pours another cup of cream with some tea. “Do you think people become stuck in their ways forever?” She asks, lounging on my sofa. I run my hand through the dangling beads on my lamp and shrug. “The best paths are winding ones, Maria. They lead to unexpected places.” I say, trying to be comforting. “I think we’re both in unexpected places right now.” She says, heaping more sugar into her teacup and stirring it slowly. Neither of us looks at the other for a few minutes. Finally, Maria breaks the silence, “Maybe I will become a tea person. Until the box runs out at least. I feel ready for a change.”