Ashes

Caroline spent a lot of time getting ready for her once a month tea party. Her grandmother had shown her the proper way to make tea when she was a little girl. First to weed the garden, next to prepare the room, to always select the art with your guest in mind, to choose your tea based on the season. She knelt next to the old paper box (letter, not legal) she kept all her stuff in as she sorted through. The thick and mottle glaze of her grandmother’s favorite bowl? Or the delicate one? So thin her fingers shadowed through the sides, but painted in a thousand colorful flowers.

“Oh, honey,” her grandmother would have whispered, “Remember that in the end, the hostess must be most satisfied of all.” 

The delicate one it is.  

She has no garden, not now. She had to give it up, along with what seemed like most of her friends, her reputation and the possibility of making rent payments on anything except this piece of crap. 

Her grandmother would have understood, she thinks. She had sat in her grandmother’s garden one day after school, she had texted her mom and taken the bus direct from across town. Her grandmother had handed her a digger and said, “Here, we’ll get the rest of the row and then go in.” She hadn’t dug much, but it gave her hands something to hold while she cried over the lost boyfriend. 

That was eight years ago now. The high school boyfriends were a long ago memory, obscured by trying to escape her ex-husband.

She set out the bowl and her whisks. The tea was her favorite but the sugar cookies from the bakery down the street had been her grandmother’s. They had given her two of her grandmother’s scrolls after she died; she chose the one with flowers to match the bowl. No point in the waste water bowls or the little charcoal hibachi: she has a kettle on the stove already and this is just a little informal tea of her very own.

She rolled the little straw picnic mat out over the matted carpet and set out her choices. She lit the incense cone and watched the smoke wisp through the slots of the little round burner: one more thing she rescued when she ran.

She fetched the tea kettle from the stovetop and sat down on her pillow to rest a little while the water cooled to temperature. The walls were still stained and blank, and the car traffic loud but the sandalwood of the incense made it smell just right. “Grandmother, I miss you.”

Her grandmother smiled, “I miss you too honey. How are you doing?”

Caroline gave her best smile. “I managed to find a place. It’s not too far from work, so I can take the subway in.”

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow, she always had that look that Caroline suspected could see into your soul. But never judging. At least not her.

Caroline tried again. “And really, I was in the way at Mark and Megan’s house. You know how it is.”

“Mark and Megan of the five bedrooms, five and a half baths, two kitchens and so many square feet that you pray they tell each other their destinations and return times lest they be injured and lost for days?” Her grandmother had a slight grin and the wrinkles that disguised dimples were deeper.

She was so lost in the ache in the pit of her stomach that the tears dripping down her face were a surprise. They dripped hot off her chin, to land cold on her hands where they sat on her knees. She gasped for a breath. “They wanted me to apologize and go make up with him. It wasn’t a big deal they said.”

The twinkle had disappeared from her grandmother’s eyes. A tear dripped down her cheek and she pulled a handkerchief out of her sweater sleeve to dab at her eyes. 

Caroline folded herself up so her face was buried in her knees. “They told him I was there and he told them he would come pick me up.” Her voice rose, “They said every marriage has problems and I was being selfish for not giving him another chance.”

Caroline sobbed. 

Her grandmother sat and watched her, even as her voice rose to a near shriek, the tone breaking in ragged distress. The fingers tying her handkerchief into knots looked papery, the knuckles swollen. The pinky finger on the right was still crooked. The result, she had told Caroline once, of not thinking carefully before she acted. As the tears tapered off, her grandmother silently pushed the box of tissues closer to her.

She had tears in her eyes too as she said, “This place is not too far from your office?”

Caroline dabbed at her eyes and stood to walk over to the sink. Her grandmother watched her with a slight smile. She splashed water over her face and scrubbed at it haphazardly with a paper towel before sitting down again. She sucked air into her lungs and raised her chin. Tea was a special occasion, it would be sad to waste it crying. “The terminal is over two blocks, then it is four stops down to the office. I think my entire commute is 30 minutes.”

Her grandmother smiled. The twinkle was back brighter and slightly feral this time. There was approval in her voice as she said, “And no one can tell you here that you should go back.” She selected a thin, decorated sugar cookie and held it up to examine in the dingy light. “And there is a good bakery close by.”

The snicker that burst out of Caroline surprised her, and made her grandmother’s smile wider. She selected a cookie and popped it into her mouth before she said, “I was surprised, it’s this funny little market with ads all over the windows and one of those loud door alarms.”

She told her grandmother of the little things at the office as she prepared tea. The motions of measuring the powder and whisking it properly were soothing: first gracefully around, then with vigor to a froth. 

Her job hadn’t cared about her moving house. And so far her husband hadn’t appeared there. But that worried her more than she wanted to actually tell her grandmother. 

The tea was a thick, bright foaming green when she handed the bowl across with both hands. She bowed, “Please Grandmother, have the first sip.”

Her grandmother laughed, “Breathe, honey. Remember that tea is all about the moment.” She lifted the bowl to her face. “Smell the tea and savor your company.” She sipped and nodded with approval, ceremonially wiping the lip, she handed the bowl back.

Caroline bowed and took the bowl, turning it in her hands and sipping the other half. Her grandmother took another cookie and smiled at the bowl in Caroline’s hands. “Lovely choices today. I think the flowers of spring are perfect.”

“Even if it is late fall?” The autumn leaves bowl had been a colorful storm of red and orange with highlights of gold. It had not survived. 

“Flowers are for new beginnings and you are embarking on yours.” Her grandmother looked up, and stared straight into her eyes for the first time that tea. This time the look was cold and clear. “Do not forget how brave you are, honey.”

Her grandmother brushed a bent finger along the tea caddy and said more softly, “My little sister was not so brave, so you never got to meet her.” She looked at the incense burner. “Not long now.”

“What if he comes to my office? Or follows me here?” Those terrors had lurked, but she couldn’t afford to leave the city or find a new job. 

The warm touch was gentle as it brushed her cheek and cupped her chin. Her grandmother leaned over so their foreheads could almost touch. This close, there was a flare of bright white at the back of her eyes. “I do not think that man will be a problem much longer.”

She leaned back as the incense faded. The smile had gentled. “Be brave, honey. And I will see you next month.”

In the empty room, Caroline ate the last cookie. She should go to bed soon, tomorrow starts early and she needs to get another set of sheets for the futon in order to do laundry.