A Perfect Cup of Tea

 

                                                          A Perfect Cup of tea

 
       She was getting old.  Samantha was nearing sixty years of age when she collapsed on the cushions of an overly ornate sofa.  It was a well deserved rest from house cleaning all day.  She surveyed the room and happened to glance upwards.  Cobwebs were hanging obtrusively from the corbels and moldings of the ceiling.  How could she have missed that!  Abruptly, she struggled out of her prone position, braced her aching hip, and navigated toward a broom closet.  She took out a long handle duster and began sweeping the ceiling in slow, lengthy arcs.  She felt angry that she had not caught this provincial housekeeping error sooner.  Her younger sister would be arriving soon, and she would hate greeting her wearing an apron.  That would reinforce the low self-esteem presumption of another flaw in her character.  And that would have been unacceptable.  

        Her husband, John, will not be on the welcoming committee.  They separated three years ago and have yet to file for a divorce.  It seemed ridiculous to get divorced when both had no intention of remarrying,  They had no children, so what little they possessed would eventually be consumed by nursing homes anyway.  Neither one was against separating, so John graciously left without comment.  She has done little house cleaning since. 

        Pity, it took away the one thing she thought she did better than her sister, who was never married.  Since John’s departure, Samantha had gradually became despondent and have left things alone, like the spiders weaving its webs in nooks and crannies, or the black mole growing fuzzily along the window sills, or the dust settling everywhere.  Perhaps it was out of spite to let the place decay.  It wasn’t that she missed John.  It was his inattention that she missed.  It was no longer there to justify her fervent self-righteousness.

       The front yard was a mangled growth of green and brown, and the façade of the house was in genteel decline.  One day, she received a notification from the city asking her to clean up the front property or be cited.  A gardener was hired just for the day and she had to haggle over price.  She hated that.  To haggle was a reminder that she lived on a very limited income.  She has always lived on a very limited income and she hated that too.  John wasn't much of a provider.  But then, she wasn't much of a housekeeper.

        Her sister, Michelle, did not live on a limited income.  No sir. Three years younger and “Mike”, as she was called, was the lucky one, the prettier one, the popular one.  “Sam” and “Mike” were the nicknames given by a father disappointed in having sired only daughters.  When Michelle was born, Samantha was asked if she would welcome this newcomer into the family.  “No, I hate her,” was her reply.  Samantha felt the beginning of a subtle distancing from her parents that grew as the years passed.  No, Michelle was the Apple.  And Samantha was the core.

       The dull sound of an automobile door closing startled Samantha from her reverie.  She quickly took off her apron and shoved it beneath the cushions.  Pushing the white wooden shutters aside, she peeked out.  A smartly dressed, middle aged, woman stood beside an expensive looking car.  The woman looked at the house as if gauging the amount paid and the resale value.  Hesitating for just a moment, the woman held her hat and, with her head down, headed for the front door.  It opened and a smiling face appeared.

        “Mike, oh, it’s so good to see you.  I’m so glad you’re here.” And they both gave each other a hug.  Michelle was much the taller of the two.

        “Sam, what a charming place this is.   I just don’t believe it.  You know, I’ve never been here.  You just look amazing.  You haven’t aged a bit.  Oh, how long has it been…?” They mutually hugged again and she crossed the threshold.  While pulling off her gloves, she inspected the interior and stepped into what she presumed was the family room.  She gingerly sat on the overly ornate sofa and set aside her black veiled hat.  She fluffed her hair nervously. 

       “Sixteen years.” said Samantha.

       “What?” replied Michelle, puzzled.

       “You asked how long has it been…and I said sixteen years.” And Samantha slowly sat down across from her.

       “Has it been that long?  My God, how time flies.  But I can see you’ve done well for yourself.” She arched her neck, looked around, and again inspected the room.  "The last time I saw you, John was struggling with his….what, an accounting business, and you were both living in that god awful duplex?  Lucky mom was your landlord.  Of course, I didn’t envy you with her living next door, but at least you didn’t have to pay rent.  You didn’t, did you?”

       “No…but I had rather paid the rent and lived elsewhere.”

       “I’m with you there, sis.  She was a handful.  Sorry I couldn’t have been more help.  But what with the real estate market the way it is…well, I didn’t have two minutes to rub together.   Mom got my letters, right?  I just don’t know why she never cash the checks I sent.”

       “You sent checks?”

       “Well…yes.  I guess she didn't tell you?   I thought as much.  I was...uh, doing very well financially and I thought she could use the extra money.  But I guess she didn’t.  Forget that, I’m just so happy to see you.  I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to mom’s bedside.  Was it hard? Did she suffer much?”

       “You mean her dying?” asked Samantha.  Michelle nodded.  Samantha thought for a moment, “Can’t really say, but I suffered a lot just watching her.  The dying went slow; I mean it wasn’t quick like dad’s.”

       “Yea, one day out running, next day in a pine box, that was dad, alright” agreed Michelle.  “When you told me about mom, I thought she would be going that same route and not hang around as long as she did.   She was such a tough old...well, anyway, I should’ve come immediately.  I had no idea the cancer would spread so slowly and then go so quickly, but I was right in the middle…”

       “It’s just real estate,” interrupted Samantha, annoyingly. “You should've been here.  What would you have lost, huh, Mike? Commissions on a two bedroom suburbia, or a fixer upper with possibilities?  You could have, at least, called and talked to her.” She shut her eyes and tightened her lips.  Then she held up her hand, “No, no, please forgive me. I don't really mean that.  It’s been a tough week.  I’m just glad you’re here.  I really am,” and Samantha reached over and touched her sister’s arm. “The funeral arrangements are being taken care of….and the services will be in the morning.  If I ride with you, I could show you how to get there.  You are staying here for the night, aren't you?  I wish you would.  I’ve got a room all prepared.”

       “It’s not where mom…?

        “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, no.  You’ve got John’s old bedroom.”

       Samantha rose from her chair and followed Michelle who went outside to the trunk of her car, pushed aside some of her for sale placards and sold signs, and produced her night bag.  "You drove all the way?" asked Samantha. "Why didn't you fly?  It's what?  Three hundred miles?"

      "I had a lot on my mind, Sam.  I though the drive would do me good."

      Samantha showed her sister the way to a room and communal bath.  She parceled out some towels to Michelle and said it was all one hundred percent cotton.  She showed her the toilet, with directions on how to hold down the lever so it flushes properly.  Michelle inspected the room and saw the twin bed, “That’s right, you two weren't sleeping together.  Sorry to hear about the separation.  Any chance of you and John getting back together again?  Not that it’s any of my business.”

       “No, thirty six years was enough, I'm afraid.  And living with mom wasn’t easy for either of us…To be honest, it just wasn’t easy for me.  I don't think it bothered John at all.  I think he really enjoyed her company.  Mom could put up such a front with people.  She could be so pleasant when she wants to be, especially with men.  The way she behaved in front of John, you wouldn’t believe it's the same person.  In case you’re wondering, mom was definitely not the cause of our breakup.”

       Michelle was silent for a moment.  Then she said, “It was a multi-million dollar deal...on a shopping mall.  My commission would’ve been three percent.”

       “Oh, is that the deal you were right in the middle of?  Well.  I guess it's as good an excuse as any.  Knowing you, the money would’ve been pretty hard to pass up.  I know, damn well, I wouldn't have.  Did you close?”

       “No, they had second thoughts.  I’m still pissed thinking of the time wasted, or where I might have gone wrong in my presentation.  But that’s under the bridge.  The important thing is I wasn’t here for you.  You had to do all this by yourself.”

       “I wasn’t doing it by myself.  John helped.  He came over and did most of the arrangements, contacting the insurance company and the mortuary, all that sort of details.  No, John was a big help. He's always been a big help.” They both came down the staircase and entered the kitchen. “Have you had dinner?  Would you like some coffee or tea?” asked Samantha.

       “Then why, after all this time, why the separation?  Why not just stick it out?  Last I remember, John was a pretty nice guy.  Good looking, too.  And, no, I had dinner before I drove up, but tea would be fine…..He didn’t beat you, did he?  Jesus, after thirty six years being together, everything should've been smoothed out between any married couples, even between enemies,”

       “You would think.”  Samantha paused for a long moment.  Then said, “I guess we just lost interest in each other, and got bored.  It happened so gradually that we didn’t see it coming.  There were days when we hardly spoke.  We even reached a point where we were avoiding each other, and felt embarrassed when we were sitting together in the same room.  In fact, I think the only reason John stayed as long as he did was because of mother.  Strange, isn’t it.  He got along better with mom than with me.  Okay, the water’s boiling.  Will Earl Grey do…with a lemon vodka?”

       They both laughed.  Michelle fingered a spoon and began lightly tapping it against the tea cup.  Then she said, “I still remember the first day you slip me that concoction.  It was my birthday and you wanted to get me in trouble with mom and dad.  I was only twelve.  I remember, it was right after I blew out the candles and cut the cake.  You took me aside when the folks were busy, and poured me a full mug of tea.  You said it was a magic potion, and I would feel wonderful after drinking it.  I trusted you because you were my older sister.  But you were right on both counts.  It was magical, and mom smelled it on my breath and grounded me.”

       “And I said you would feel wonderful and you did!" said Samantha. "You even stuck your tongue out at dad and he slapped you…and you didn’t care.  Here, Mike, let me spice it up some more with my secret ingredient.”

       “And what would that be?”

       “Gin,” shouted Samantha with a flourish.

       “Now that, truly, would be a perfect cup of tea,” said Michelle.   And they both sat at the kitchen table sipping tea until the pot was empty.  Then they made more tea, deciding that no one was driving anywhere that night and the tea seemed to make connections a little easier.
 

       “Are there any expensive I could help you out with, Sam?  My share of the cost?”  Michelle reached for her purse that was lying on the counter and knocked it to the floor.

       “No, no, mom had this insurance policy that she’s kept active, for God knows how long.  It would just about cover everything.  Do you know that the last thing on her mind was that damn insurance policy?  No, really.  She was so afraid that I would forget it, even when she was on the verge of dying.  That was all she talked about.”  Samantha paused, and took a breath.  “Nothing about loving you, nothing about loving me, nothing about God, nothing about dad...just a goddamn insurance policy she’s been paying for, for God knows how long."  She stopped for a moment, and then said, "She did have a lot of pain killers in her... a lot.  But I know she was conscious of what she was saying.”

       “Well, that's mom for you.” said Michelle, on the floor, picking up items dropped out of her purse and feeling a bit inebriated, “Devious to the end, no matter what.  That was her defense mechanism, to misdirect, to belittle us even in her death bed.  You know, of course, what she was trying to do?”  Samantha looked puzzle.  Michelle continued, ”Oh, come on…why do you think I'm not around to visit when she was still alive?  She’s always judging me and subtly putting me down as if I wasn’t deserving.  She played us both against each other just so we don't stop trying to please her.  I bet she treated those checks I sent her as oblations to her ungodly motherhood, and I bet that's why she never cashed them.  It was her way of saying she didn't need me, and thanks all the same, and fuck you.  She constantly hinted that she was in better hands, more loving hands, than mine...…

       “I don’t believe it!” said Samantha.  “ Mom always favored you over me.  Even dad said you were the apple of his eye, right in front of me he said it.  Right in front of me.  You always had the new dresses.  I had the hand-me-downs.  You were always being fretted upon, and I remember mom rocking you to sleep every night...every night.  I remember when we moved to the bigger house, and the bedroom with the window facing north, it was the best room in the house…and they gave it to you.  They gave it to you, and I was the older one.  I should’ve gotten it, but, no, they didn't think of me.  They thought of you first.” She began to sniffle.

       Michelle rolled her eyes and said, quietly, “First off, you had the hand-me-downs because you were a lot smaller, and the clothes fitted you just fine after I grew out of them.  As for the bedroom, well, you might think it was the better room, but did you know that the windows never could shut properly, and the north wind blew against it constantly?  It caused a god-damned freezing draft that circulated around the floor forever.  I had nothing but cold feet half my adolescent years.  I was sick all the time because of it.  That is why I got all that attention.  I was always sick!…and you know what?  Mom kept saying that she wished I was as healthy as you and how perfect you turned out to be.  So, please, don’t tell me I’m her favorite……God!"

     There was a long pause as they both stared at their tea cups.  Breaking the silence, Michelle continued, "Well, here we are, two middle age old biddies sniping at each other.  Look at us. Our minds still poisoned by things that took place, what, forty to fifty years ago?   Things fostered on us by our own well-meaning parents.   Will we ever grow up?  Funny, isn't it?  She's still making us feel guilty even after she's dead.  Mom was so manipulative.  Speaking as a professional, I have to admire her for that.”

        Michelle looked at her sister as if waiting to hear if she had any revealing incidents to add to  their past acrimonious relationship.  When none seemed to be forthcoming, she declared, “Well, mom’s gone and we’re what’s left.  Let's say the past is the past, and let it be buried with mom.  We can drink to that, can't we?”  They clinked their tea cups together.  They were relaxed now; the tensions of first meeting were dissipating down their spines.  They drank some more cups of laced tea and, after a few more verbal exchanges, it hit a lull.   They became pensive and decided they should call it a day.  That night Samantha did not hear any snoring coming from Michelle's room, and was sorely disappointed by that.   John and her mother snored a lot.

       After morning breakfast and small talk, they drove to the church where several dozen people were congregating.  John, wearing a proper black suit and serious demeanor, was there to greet them.  After introductions, services were brief, followed by the few mourners paying their respect.  Then they drove to the cemetery following the hearse.  Again, prayers were offered and, after a decent modicum of time, the small group dispersed.  That was the end of that, thought Samantha. 

      By mid-noon the sisters were back at the house and Michelle was packed up and ready to leave.  Standing there on the foyer, she glanced around the hallway and said, “Well, I guess we won’t be seeing each other again for awhile."  She got into her car, started the engine, and rolled down the window.  Poking her head out, she yelled, "You've got more free time, now that mom's gone.  You should come out to visit.  Really, you should.  My cat is dying to meet you.”
 

       “I was never keen on pets,” replied Samantha.  And they waved each other off.