Heart's Home

He took a long time to decide to walk up the quaint house that was settled neatly by the bend on the road. It took him a few minutes to remain standing before the closed doorway and longer still to raise the finger and ring the bell.

That the door opened almost immediately made him choke on his spit.

 “Oh, hi there!” the woman called up to him.

She was a small woman, petite in stature and bent with age, but her smile was as wide and youthful as his sister’s. Age spots riddled her face and arms, and sparse black hair colored a full head of greyed ones, strands of which escaping from the loose bun it was tied into. He couldn’t help but notice how much he towered over her.

“I’ve not seen you before,” the woman continued. “Do you need something?”

He tried to smile, but it may have come off as a grimace instead. “Well, you see—”

“Oh, wait! I have a batch of cookies I just baked. Would you like to come in and try some?”

“Ah.”

“It won’t take long,” she persuaded when she saw him begin to decline. “I made much too much, you see, and I don’t really have anyone to share it with.” She laughed. “Do come in, you must be tired if you had to come by here. My house’s too far out, no?”

He hesitated, but seeing the beginnings of a crestfallen expression spread her face, he quickly said, “I’ll have to catch the last train in a bit, but I can come in. I just won’t take long.”

“Wonderful!” she grinned. She opened the door wider and turned around to make her way further inside. “Hang your coat over there and come in. The wind’s getting cooler nowadays, see? You’d do well with a scarf if you intend to stay around these parts near winter.”

Seeing no hesitance in the readiness with which she trustingly left, he stood dazedly by the doorway. He only shook out of it after a few seconds, and when he stepped through the threshold, he made sure to close the door. Pausing, he locked it in good measure.

The short corridor led to a small living room, bright from the streaming light that passed through large glass windows. A few potted plants lined the windowpane, and a larger one stood at the corner like a green sentinel. Cushions were neatly arranged around a small wooden coffee table, upon which a conch shell was placed as a centerpiece amidst open magazines pertaining to kitchen designs.

He didn’t know how long he stood staring at the shell until the woman called out to him.

“Sit, dear, sit! I’ll bring out the cookies, but what would you like? Water, coffee?”

She was already in the kitchen, which was a short distance to his left. She put down the plateful of cookies as she looked at him in expectation.

“I’m fine,” he managed to answer, discomfited as he was with how warmly he had been received despite being a stranger. Tentatively, he lowered himself to one of the cushions and only managed to prevent an undignified squeak from how much he underestimated its softness, quite literally being swallowed by the thing, when the woman started speaking again.

“Well, I think you look like a tea person. Sugar or milk? I don’t have lemon, though.” She looked very disappointed.

“I—yes,” he stuttered. “I’d like two sugars with mine, please. Thank you.”

“Two sugars!” she exclaimed gleefully. “Why, just like my grandson!”

He paused.

“See that conch shell? Doesn’t quite fit the room, no? But that was a gift from him, just last year.” She put an open palm by her waist. “Tiny thing he is, you wouldn’t know he was already twelve!”

“Of course,” he managed to say as she set down the tray that had the cookies and two cups of steaming black tea.

“Here you are,” she told him whilst handing him one of the cups, and he tried not to fumble with his hands lest the hot beverage spill.

“Thank you,” he said again, and the scent of tea let the clamminess he felt die down.

“You’re very much welcome,” she told him with another wide smile. Seating herself across him, she continued, “It’s good that you came at this time.”

He swallowed the sip of tea he had just taken. “Oh?”

“Quite so,” she said nodding. “See, I’ve just made tea, but I forgot that I was the only one here, and a full pot would be sending me to the bathroom for hours, don’t you think? And let’s not talk about the cookies—I’ve more if you want to bring home some?”

He smiled helplessly. “You needn’t trouble yourself. I just came by because of something your daughter would like to send you, and she found out I was coming by the village, so…” He shrugged.

She gasped in delight. “Truly? Oh, it’s been months since she came by, I was thinking of visiting her.”

He blinked in surprise, but seeing how serious she was, he yelped, “Alone?”

She looked at him askance. “Why, yes, alone. I’ve still strength on my bones to make the trip, especially when the train’s gotten that new platform nearby. I just have to sit tight, and I’ll be there, see?”

“Oh, but, ah, she told me that she was already planning to come by,” he said quickly. “It would be a shame if you missed each other on your way to hers.”

“Is that so?” A smile hooked up her lips, this time soft and fond rather than the wide and blinding ones she had been giving him. She hummed. “I’ll stay here then.”

The man held the sigh of relief from managing to halt the woman’s plans to board a train several miles out on foot. And he had a feeling she would go to the platform on foot, dragging her suitcase with her, if only because he neither saw a phone with which to call nor nearby neighbors to ask favors from.

“When did she say she’s coming?”

Pulled out of his thoughts, he fumbled for an answer. “Christmas is soon, she said, and as soon as she’s filed her leave, she’ll be coming.” Which were probably not far from her true plans, knowing her.

“With her family?”

He hesitated. “I’m… not sure.”

“Oh.”

He had avoided looking at her face, but he didn’t need to see her expression to hear the disappointment from the utterance.

And that was that.

At her insistence, he finished the tea and three of the cookies from the small mountain of it, and excusing himself, took the package from one of his coat pockets to give her.

At the sight of it, her eyes brightened, and her hands were already raised to reach for it.

 “She remembered,” she gushed as she hastily untied to knot of twine and unfolded the paper wrappings. Standing before her, she held up a red leather journal to show him, initials branded on a corner, and she smiled beatifically.

He stared.

“I’ve been having dreams about custom journals for a while now, but I could never remember the color, see? So I told her about it.” She stroked gold initials. “But I feel that this one’s the right one. Seems perfectly right, no?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he answered, for what else was he to say?

“It’s perfect,” she said to herself, tone much fonder than earlier.

He allowed a moment of sentimental silence before he cleared his throat. “I’ve given you the package now, so I won’t try to overstay.”

She blinked. “Oh, apologies,” she said, standing up from the seat. “You’ll need to catch the train, right? If you walk fast, there’ll be time to spare.”

He nodded.

“I’ll send you off—”

“That’s not necessary, ma’am,” he interrupted hastily.

“Then at least to the door,” she said laughingly.

The few steps to the door was filled with chatter, even while he was shrugging on his coat. He didn’t speak, but knowing that he was listening, the woman carried on.

“Thank you for delivering the package this far out.”

He shifted his gaze, “It was a favor, so there was no trouble.”

“My thanks all the same. You kept me company, too. I appreciated it.”

“It was no trouble,” he repeated.

“Well, goodbye then. Be careful on your way. Oh, would you like a snack to have with you as you wait for your train?”

“No, it’s fine—”

She took hasty steps back to the kitchen. “Oh, it’s no trouble! Wait a bit, I’ll ready a bag for you.”

A partially outstretched hand hung uselessly in the air until she came back with a small paper bag that appeared rather stuffed.

“This here is for you and whomever you might want to share it with. If you meet a person on the platform that’s all moody, be sure to give them some. Then you won’t be troubled by the—bad vibes, is that what it’s called—throughout the trip.”

“Alright,” he answered, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

“You’ll remember?”

“I—yes, ma’am. I’ll remember.”

“Good,” she nodded, satisfied, but a slight frown marred her forehead. “Oh, but I feel troubled having you go your way alone. Are you sure I can’t send you?”

He gave a slight smile. “I don’t want to make your daughter worry when I tell her I allowed you to go back alone.”

“Oh, that’s true.”

She paused and looked at him up and down appraisingly. He remained still under her observant eyes. She took note of his discomfited expression, before laughing and patting his arm good-naturedly.

She stepped around him to open the door. “I was just thinking that you remind me of my grandson. I sure hope he ends up as handsome as you.”

Startled, a small laugh escaped him. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that you’re thinking of him.” He passed through the open doorway. He smiled gently. “I’ll be going now. Please remember to lock the door afterwards.”

“Of course. Be careful on your way back.”

“Yes. Good day.”

He only left when he heard the lock catch.

His phone vibrated on his way to the station, and already knowing who it was, answered immediately. “Hello?”

“Hey. How was it?” A woman’s voice flowed from his phone, and there was uncharacteristic hesitance in it.

He paused for a while. “She opened the door immediately.”

“Oh dear. Not even a glance through the eye hole?”

“None,” he affirmed.

“And then?”

His eyes flicked upward to the darkening skies at the memory. “She made me go inside to drink tea. And eat cookies.”

The person on the other line chortled. “You? Cookies?”

“They were gingerbread.”

“Still, huh?” She hummed. “Not too sweet, then?”

“No.”

There was silence, and then, “She received the package?”

He paused. Trying to keep the note of accusation from his voice, he answered. “Yes.”

The woman heard it nonetheless, and she sighed. “I’m sorry I made you go. Your sister wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and we’ve just finally had her follow a schedule. You were with me when your dad missed a day. Remember how anxious she was?”

He said nothing, only concentrated on continuing his way. Gravel crunched under his shoes.

Realizing that he won’t be saying more, she asked. “But she was happy, right? With the gift? It’s been years since you gave it. She only just remembered.”

He ignored the last bit and how it made his breath catch and his chest clench painfully. “Much too happy to see a stranger,” he grumbled instead.

The woman clicked her tongue, and he could already see the scowl that she was probably sporting. “Don’t say that.” She attempted another subject. “Was the tea good?”

He could tell when he was being coaxed, so he sighed in resignation. “It was… grandmother’s tea.”

“Ah.”

He hummed. “You didn’t tell me she kept the shell.”

“Even if she forgot about you, she didn’t forget about you.”

And wasn’t it something to be forgotten as an adult but remembered as a kid. “Of course,” he said in a nonchalance he did not feel.

“Just as it wasn’t your fault to begin with.”

“Of course,” he repeated.

The woman sighed. “She’s been looking for you.”

“She’d forget.”

“She will, huh,” The hundreds of miles and a phone call couldn’t disguise the sad tinge her voice got.

“She remembers you,” he comforted half-heartedly.

“I appear older and older every time I visit. She thinks I overwork myself.”

“You do.”

“She meets your dad and sister, and she’d say the same thing.”

“They look old because they overwork, too.”

“But when she sees you…”

“I’ve not seen you before. Do you need something?”

“It’s fine,” he told her.

“If you want to cry…”

He remained silent, but the woman knew that the silence was one of thoughtfulness. She did not hurry him.

When he spoke again, he chose to say, “The tea was good.”

“…What?” she asked, confused at the sudden change of topic.

“She told me that her grandson likes two sugars with his tea, too.”

“Yes?”

“I only started drinking tea when I was seventeen.”

Silence reigned on the other side of the line.

He lowered the phone to check the screen. The call was still ongoing. When he put the phone back to his ear, he caught the sound of his mother sobbing.

“Truly?” The word was almost incomprehensible with the intensity of her weeping.

He smiled, wearily yet not without a small amount of relief. “Mhmm.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yes.”

“Can you visit her again?”

He pondered. “In two weeks,” he said finally. “Have dad come next week, but I can go in two weeks.” He felt the thrill of anticipation at his words.

His mother sniffed. “Okay,” she told him. “Okay.”

********

Friday afternoon arrived, and the doorbell resounded across the house.

She had been preparing tea that was once again too much for a single person. Hearing the doorbell and feeling the vague sense of expecting the visitor, she quickly rushed to open the door.

“Oh.” She blinked when she realized that the man before her was not one she knew. “Hi there,” she said brightly instead she had a feeling the man would be good company. “I haven’t seen you before, do you need something?”

The man swallowed and gave slight smile. It did not quite reach his eyes, but his visage softened. He held up a bag of apples. “You told your son-in-law that you were craving apples last week, so he sent me to give these to you.”

She gasped delightedly. “Is that so? That’s great! Oh, then won’t you come inside to share these with me? As thanks, for bringing them this far out.”

The man stood unmoving before her, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Ah!” She realized. “You’ll need to catch the last train, no? So, you might not have enough time if you stay.” She tried not to seem too disappointed.

He shook his head. “I’ll need to leave in a bit, but a few apple slices would be greatly appreciated,” he said tentatively.

She laughed then grinned and opened the door wider. “Well, then. Come in, child.” She took the bag from his hands and turned towards the kitchen, leaving the guest to hang up his coat. “It’s been so cold lately you might turn blue.”

Seeing him in the living room, she smilingly asked, “Were you cold out?”

The man paused, then gave a small grin. It was a boyish and infectious as her grandson’s, even if it wasn’t as wide or exuberant.

“Not anymore,” he told her sincerely. “It’s plenty warm here.”