Tea Dates with Mom

I stood watching the small bubbles begin to form in the water signaling the rising temperature. I sighed as I leaned one elbow onto the counter and placed my chin in my hand waiting for the boil to start. She always wanted tea when she came over. I threw my eyes over my shoulder for only a second to try and discern if she was frustrated yet. 

            “You know I have a kettle that only takes thirty seconds to heat,” she called out from behind her phone screen.

I rolled my eyes and responded with, “Oh wow.”

            I looked back at the kettle willing it to heat faster as she went on with the many features of her new kettle. Finally, the bubbles grew larger and more insistent. I spun toward the cabinet and grabbed two mugs. I spun back around and placed them next to the kettle which was moments away from screaming. 

            “Ma, green or jasmine?”

            “Oh, you don’t have ginger?” 

            I actively quieted my mind, “Just ran out.”

            “You know it’s really good for you, right?”

            “Yeah, I think I heard that.”

            I dropped a jasmine tea bag in one cup and the green tea in the other. Finally, the kettle signaled it was done and I quickly poured the hot water over the tea bags. I knew I still had about seven minutes before the tea was ready. I pulled the bags out and dipped them back in a few times, then turned on my heel toward the living room leaving them to steep. 

            “They gotta steep,” I shrugged as I walked back toward her. 

            She smiled insincerely, “Of course.”

            I sat in the chair across from my couch, “So what have you been up to?”

            I adjusted in the chair as she began talking. I got comfortable. I watched her mouth move noticing the lines beginning to form around the corners of her lips. I ran my eyes over her freckles and up to her eyes as she rolled them. My eyes flickered to her forehead, those wrinkles were new. 

            “What is it?” She snapped.

            “Huh?” I was surprised. 

            “Is something wrong with my hair?”

            She saw me looking at the wrinkles, “Oh no, I was just noticing you dyed your hair.”

            She smiled, “Oh yeah, it’s my natural color.”

            Actually grey was, but I didn’t say that. Instead I said, “It suits you.”

            She went on with her story and I went back to noticing the age that finally found its way to her face. She seemed frozen in time for so much of my life, but now I could see the years on her face. Every time she adjusted I could hear the age in her groans and cracking bones. However, the words she used were the same and the tone was the same; her age was absent there. She was just a little girl trapped in the body of a woman who had lived half a life already. 

            Suddenly, I wondered what that must really be like. What if I had woken up one day when I was in high school, but my body was achy and my vision blurred? What if I woke up to see the face of an old man who promised to love me, but didn’t do it so well? What if I woke up and all the potential I saw ahead of me was actually behind me? My heart sank at that thought. I looked at her face, few signs of age, and wondered if the youth that remained was simply the hope that was left for what could have been.

            “Is the tea done?” She asked. 

            “Huh,” I snapped out of my musings, “Oh yeah.”

            I walked to the kitchen as she continued to re-cap the most recent drama of her life. I listened, but the thoughts of her wasted youth stuck with me. I squeezed the tea bags and put them to the side.

            “Oh, I want honey,” she called. 

            I nodded as if she could see me and grabbed the honey. I watched myself stir as I contemplated who my mom could have been if life had perhaps been gentle with her or rather if she had been more gentle with it. Your life is what you make of it, but what child doesn’t make a mess? 

            “Have you seen your father?” She asked abruptly. 

            I grabbed the mugs and turned back to the living room, “Not that long ago, yeah.”

            “Mmm,” she didn’t believe me. 

            “Why?” I asked as I sat her tea down before returning to my seat. 

            “He looks bad, you should see him more,” her reprimand was not subtle. 

            “I try,” I sighed. 

            As I listened to her launch into the familiar speech, I thought about how she used to talk about him. I thought about the look of disdain she would wear as his truck pulled into the driveway. I thought about how badly she tried to convince me to leave with her once. Now, I watched as whatever affection that managed to grow in their tumultuous relationship over the last thirty years managed to take center stage. If love could grow there…where couldn’t it grow?

            “Did you give me jasmine?” She asked.

            “Oh yeah…I have green do you want to switch?” I held my mug up to her.

            She smiled, “No baby, its fine, I really like this.”

            Her compliment was noted. I nodded for her to continue. 

            “Well, anyway, how are you?” 

            “Oh, I’m good,” I smiled.

            “Oh yeah?” She wanted some detail.

            “Work has been good. My students are crazy, but they are fun,” I tried.

            “How is Keith?”          

            I smiled a real smile, “He is really good.”

            She smiled her own real smile, “Good! Keep it that way.”

            I laughed.

            For a moment we were both quiet. I sipped my tea again and her smile faded, but remained. I knew she saw what I saw. There I sat on the precipice of the potential she had long lost. Hope was beginning to build in me, but the same hope lived unsatisfied in her. Yet, it was that same hope that allowed her to look at me fondly. There I was, afraid to live and pursue the potential she lost.

            She saw my smooth skin and my bright eyes. She saw a man for me that had the potential to love me well. She saw a career starting that she could have been at the end of. Yet, she looked at me fondly. The pity I held started to die and in its ashes hope was born. 

            “Well, this was really good,” she was done with the conversation.

            “Oh, good!” I cheered…I think about the tea.

            We both stood and moved slowly toward the door. She turned and gave me her usual warnings. Then, she gave me the same quick, stiff hug as if she was afraid something would rub off. I pulled her closer for a moment so she could feel the love I couldn’t verbalize and she wouldn’t understand if I could. Then, she was gone leaving behind a half drank cup of tea.