Warm Tea but Odd after Taste

The overgrown azaleas, camellias, and kudzu covered trees engulf my grandmother’s old country house with its petite porch and large windows. Perfume from the spring garden swirls around in the late morning air. After knocking on the door, my Aunt Arliene opens it slowly and the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls escapes from the faint teal door. By the looks of the house, Arliene has not kept up appearances nor simple maintenance. The paint’s peeling, boards broken on porch and even shingles missing from the roof are major issues I calculate in my first five minutes here. My aunt inherits the house after Nan, my Grandmother, who died under questionable circumstances. 

“Come in my sweet boy,” Aunt Arliene says as she waves me in. “I’m so glad you came.” I haven’t seen my Aunt Arliene since my father’s service. She hardly spoke to anyone there. And her reasoning is it’s her only bother and losing him meant she is all alone now; even though I’m still here. It causes her such ‘great pain’ she didn’t even come to the reading of his will. For Christ sakes, it was just me! For my mother passed away from breast cancer three years ago, and my grandparents died about fifteen years ago. So I am the only other family she has. 

She shuffles across the vestibule towards the front sitting room. The morning sun bakes the overly stuff room. “Please have a seat, my dear,” she motions towards a chair near a coffee table. Then she sits across from me on a satin love-seat. Underneath the sugary sweet smell of rolls lies a stale almost mildew stank that stings my nose. The coffee table has stacks of mail and smut novels along with a sterling silver tray with tiny tea cups, sugar dish and dessert plates. Over the fireplace, cobwebs blanket the matching pair of candelabras. With a trail leading to dancing figurines, which are broken in this place and that. “I’m sorry about your father,” she says while her jowls jiggle among a slit mouth. She brings up a handkerchief to the corner of her lips. Her head and hands shake a bit as if she’s strung up by marionette threads and the puppeteer isn’t paying attention. 

“I’m sorry as well. I know you and Dad were so close,” I add. When I adjust my khakis pants a loud pop comes from the chair cushion. So I gently lean back with my hands on my knees to avoid moving again just waiting for the chair to cave in. Aunt Arliene straightens her lace collar on her well-pressed dress like she didn’t hear the my ass braking the chair. “You know your parents always wanted to give you a little sister. But I believe your mother only wanted a girl she could dress up in fancy little dresses,” Arliene sighs. She tinkers her dainty gold watch on her wrist. It’s so small I doubt she could even read it. This place seems to have paused the minute my Grand-pap died. Even the grandfather clock in the corner, which keeps eternal hands at ten and two.  

I don’t know how old my Aunt is but when I was little I would pretend that she was like one hundred and ten! She carries herself all hunched over with gnarled hands that look like they don’t even open anymore. The hair she keeps in perfect curls tight to her head with a the typical old lady hat adorning the top with the matching gloves. She is defiantly older than my father by twenty years at least because the endless griping over his birth. Aunt Arliene would have been a only child if it wasn’t for him. Then being a boy, my grandparents adore him and spoiled him to no end. When they became adults, he was given the family cattle ranch along with the larger homestead. But as I said before, they didn’t completely write out Arliene, I just don’t think they trusted her to manage the business. Her anger got the better of her one time and she threaten my Dad that she would get her share by any means.

“So how are things going?”

“Good I guess, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to take over the ranch though,” I said.

“Well, I can understand that. You’re still so immature to have such a large responsibility over so many people and money,” she says with tight lips. My eyes about popped out of my head and how can she sit there staring at me as if that’s not an insult. 

“You know that I’ve graduate with a master’s in Agricultural Sciences with a B.S. in Business. And not only that, I’ve worked for Dad since I could walk. I’ve spent the last three years working on networking and research to increase production.” I can feel my face boiling red for Aunt Arliene knows all of this. She constantly interferes with my Dad’s decisions to include me in any of the family business. 

She clears her throat, “It’s one thing to wrangle calves down in front of a crowd to impress young farm girls. It’s another to manage a million dollar cattle ranch with trucks and employees. I’m still not sure why your father didn’t place me on the executive committee. I mean at least until you’re old enough to make managerial decisions. The ranch hands don’t even trust you yet. And some bits of paper isn’t going to get you respect in this field,” She claps her mouth shut. 

My chest tightens and I feel like my head is about to explode all over this ugly antique rug. Deep breaths. Take deep breaths. I run my hands down my face and squeeze my eyes shut. My Aunt Arliene has always been like this though. She’s believes we didn’t run the ranch how Grand pap wanted and he would be disappointed in my Dad. I just want to tell her ‘then why the hell didn’t he give you the ranch instead..’ The grudge she holds against my Dad seems to have gone to the grave, which is a damn shame.  

“Well, Arliene, my Dad has already proven…” ringing came from the kitchen. She promptly stood up, “I’ve baked us some goodies, my dear boy.” She gave me the oddest smile. She locks her heavily wrinkle eyes to mine which appear to be shiny then smiles with every single tooth. Her stare sets into my soul but breaks when a whistle from a kettle starts. As she turns to walk toward the door, she twirls on her toes as if she is floating across the maple floor and disappears. I hear clanking of china and spoons coming from the dark hallway, then oven door opens and closes.

“Why don’t you help me for a second,” she bellows. As I get up from the chair the spring bounces back into place with a crack. I shake my head, ‘I’m not sure why I came.’ I wonder down the damp hallway towards a swinging kitchen door that looks like a portal to another world. 

“Here, “ she hands me a small carafe, “could you please add some milk to this.” She plates the pan of hot rolls onto a floral china platter. “Can you carry the milk and teapot for me? There’s too much to juggle here,” she turns and vanishes from the kitchen. I try to follow her but my knuckles are burning just a bit from the side of hot teapot. So by the time I make it back to the sitting room, she is ready to hand me a place with a cinnamon roll on it.  

“How do you like your tea?” she asks. But before I can say she starts humming “Old Rugged Cross”. I decide to change seats for I am certain that the chair is on the edge of collapse. “I like a little sugar. No milk,” I answer while dropping into the love seat. She clinks around the serving tray mixing the teas. “Here you go my dear,” she smiles again, passing me the cup and saucer. 

“Is there reason you asked me here? I’m kind of busy dealing with all this stuff with Dad,” I said while taking a sip of dark tea. It hit really strong and bitter almost like eating soap. I couldn’t help but to screw up my face and swallow hard. Well then, down the hatch, I held my breath and suck the rest of the cup. I didn’t think you could screw up tea but there’s always a first. So here’s to the cinnamon rolls for being better. I hold it up as if I’m toasting my Dad. The first bite proves it to be edible. 

“Oh, no real reason, I just wanted to see my only nephew,” Arliene answers with a blow and sip of tea. She takes a deep breath of tea in and continues to sip her tea. “To my understanding, its just the two of us now, no other relatives,” she says. “Is there a young lady in the picture?”

“Uh, no,” I say. Cough. Another bite. I put the teacup on the table. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“You need more tea,” she says but before I could answer ‘no’ she snatches the cup and fills it with more and adds more sugar. “Here I added more sugar to it,” she hands the cup back. And I take a sip. Nope just as bitter as before. Another cough. “I made a new flavor of tea. Its a bit darker than my usual but I didn’t think it was that strong. Want me to add some milk?” she reaches out for my cup again. I wave my hand to decline and chug the remaining. Cough. A pain in my stomach slams in to my ribs and the cinnamon roll tries to run up my throat. “I’m not feeling too…,” but before I could get the words out, the world blurs and my head feels like its full of lead. And I feel my body slide down the love seat to the floor.

“Well my darling nephew, I’ve grown tired of you and your father taking from me, and now I’m finally getting what is rightfully mine. I hope you enjoy your last meal. I really do think the oleander tea tastes better with some milk.” 

Aunt Arliene’s large smile fades to black.