He Comes to Tea

Should you serve him green tea or something non-caffeinated, like chamomile?

You could serve hot chocolate - you used to drink it often as a child, and it might invoke some nostalgia. You could serve coffee - he used to drink a lot of coffee, back in the day. You remembered sometimes surprising him with a mug on your way back from class. You could just offer a glass of water and call it good.

Green tea, chamomile, hot chocolate, coffee, water. You ran through the list in your head, obsessively.

Green tea, definitely green tea. It was simple, didn’t have anything unexpected in it like rose hips or orange peel. Nothing weird. Nothing controversial. Nothing too caffeinated.

You debated over which mugs to pull out, going back and forth between matching mugs or your mismatched old reliables. Matched mugs would give the appearance that you had your life together. Mismatched would give the sense that your house was a home. You went with the mismatched mugs.

You debated whether or not to put out honey, or sugar, or both.

It was only when you began to debate if you needed to locate your tea stirring spoons that you realized you might just be overthinking things.

It was just a quick visit. You had your night shift in two hours and he knew that. You made sure that he knew. There was a cutoff time.

You went about filling the kettle and clicking on the gas stovetop. It was so quiet you could hear the gusty woosh as the flames lit. The tap of the mugs as you set them down next to the stove. The tearing open of the new tea box. The soft pad of the sachets on the bottoms of the mugs, waiting to be filled. 

You’d been staring at the kettle for several minutes when you heard a car door shut and a few seconds later, there was knocking at your door. 

A deep breath in, and then you made your way to the door, just as the kettle began whistling.

“Hey!” You said, noting how you were using your customer service voice, “Come in, come in. Let me just grab the kettle.” You were moving back towards the enclosure of the kitchen even as you said it.

He asked if he needed to take off his shoes.

You shouted back, a little too loudly: “No! We’re getting rid of the carpet eventually anyway!”

He came straight into the kitchen and sat himself down at the table and watched as you poured the boiling water into the two mugs.

“Honey? Sugar?” You asked, holding up each in turn.

He shook his head and said that he was trying to stay away from sweeteners.

Once the steaming mugs were in your hands you asked if he wanted to move to the living room. “You’d be more comfortable there.” You said.

He said he was comfortable where he was, he was only here for a minute - where did you get the kitchen set, anyways?

“We went thrifting when I moved in, and Parker refurbished it.” And there it was. The reason for this whole awkward situation: moving in with Parker. There would have been no debates over beverage choices and tea stirring spoons otherwise.

In a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, you asked if he’d like a tour of the house. “Parker has put a lot of work into it - the upstairs has the most significant changes.”

He shook his head and you weren’t surprised. You knew he’d only come for one purpose. He didn’t want to see the house, he shouldn’t even be inside the house. His beliefs prevented him from approving of anything related to your relationship with Parker, especially things related to living with him. He wasn’t happy for you, and he wasn’t going to pretend.

And really, did you want him to pretend? Did you want to watch him struggle to walk up and down the stairs, only to give false admiration, only to engage in small talk about trim and wainscoting and paint colors?

No.

You’d much rather sit at the dimly lit kitchen table, fiddle with the handle of your mug of tea, and get it overweigh than to show off the house you’ve been working so hard to renovate, than to discuss the life that you’ve been working so hard to begin.

He cleared his throat, and you knew it was about to begin. The disappointment, the frustration, the anger, the manipulation. You could hear it coming from a mile away, and you were only a few feet away from him, across the table. Your kitchen table. 

You heard him clear his throat and all your walls went right back up. They’d slipped down, just a little. You hadn’t meant for them to - you didn’t even realize you’d been hoping for more until you felt them go right back up, hard.

He made it brief, more brief than you’d expected. He was disappointed that you chose to move in with Parker before marriage. He was frustrated that everything he’d taught you from the time you were a child was somehow thrown out the window. He was angry that you could walk away from a way of life so easily. He said he understood the temptation, he had experiences with people before he’d met you mother, too. He said he wished you’d reconsider. If it was because of money, he’d help you.

You sipped your green tea throughout. You added honey. It sank to the bottom of your mug and stayed there because you didn’t have a spoon. You said conciliatory things like “I understand how you feel” and “I appreciate you sharing this” and “We didn’t intend to hurt you” and “Just because I’m choosing something different, doesn’t mean you’re a bad dad”.

When he left without asking you any questions, or for your input, or how you were feeling, you decided your walls would stay up. They weren’t keeping him out - they were keeping you safe.