Morning Tea on the Loch

The silent room was punctured with the screech of a kettle.

Genevieve crossed to the stove quickly, lowering the temperature to keep the water warm while she poured the kettle into a pair of teacups.

“Sugar?” Her voice was light, dancing on the air between us as if the warmth from the steam was enough to ease the tension.

I simply nodded in response.

She brought the two porcelain cups to the small table only a few steps away, a stack of sugar cubes precariously balanced on the saucer of the tea meant for me. There was a wobble and I couldn’t tell if it was from her trembling hands, still unrecovered from months of radiation, or the weight of what the cups meant at the table together.

“Thank you,” my voice was hoarse from days of not speaking. I let my gaze linger past Gen’s shoulder, through the window above the sink that was now behind her.

The sun was just beginning to rise, the water in the distance sparkling with promise. The hill slopes looked steeper today; the sky clouded, but not heavy. Hopeful. I was impressed by the easy view of the loch given the haze that still clung to the top of the long grass. It was as breathtaking as any early morning in Scotland would be.

“Matt?” Her voice was irritated already, like I’d managed to shatter the panes of false reality in the single moment I’d taken to enjoy the view.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I was distracted—” I stopped myself. It didn’t matter what distracted me, it only mattered that I had been distracted. So I locked my eyes on my darling wife, who in turn closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. I dropped a couple of sugar cubes into my drink and stirred mindlessly, clinging to the words she had to say.

I wasn’t prepared for what was coming.

“I was thinking,” she paused, glancing down from my face to stare at the pattern in the tablecloth.

Not something I would have chosen—too floral, too feminine—for my taste, but I’m not sure it’s something Genevieve would’ve wanted either, given we were only here temporarily. A short weekend away to an old family cabin.

Trying to restore a marriage that’d been left broken for too long.

“Maybe I could go out by myself today. Wander about town, maybe do some shopping. Just take time alone, yeah? You could spend some time out there—” she gestured to the back door with one hand, the other still white-knuckled around the handle of her cup as if it was the only thing steadying her. The hilled lands lay just beyond the door, beautiful nature surrounding us that she wanted nothing to do with, but she knew it called to me. “We could both get our heads back on straight before we leave in the morning. Try talking again tonight?”

“Gen,” I said her name softly. A plea. I wanted to see her fierce green eyes, the fire that burned from within her so deeply it’d colored her hair in her mother’s womb.

She always laughed when I said that—one of the reasons she fell in love with me.

Instead, I watched as a tear descended to the table, splattering against an embroidered pink rose, turning it deep red.

“We can fix this. I know we can.” I mustered every ounce of confidence, but I knew that she’d given up hope long before I begged for this weekend together.

Long before I’d realized we were broken, she’d already admitted defeat.

“Matt, I love you,” her voice wobbled, the words coming out sideways, like she wasn’t even sure she believed them. “Traveling halfway across the world for a few short days together is not going to undo what you did.”

My heart shattered at that.

The way she said it, “What you did,” like I’d brought someone into our bed.

Like I’d tossed aside our marriage as a pile of rubbish.

Ignoring the years of heartache I endured at her bedside. The time I spent carrying her through the pain of loss and illness.

One time. I flirted with a chemo nurse one time.

But apparently that was enough for my darling Genevieve.

It was enough to tear apart everything we’d built over the last thirteen years.

The conversation played in my mind again, like it did every time she brought it up.

“Who are you texting?” Genevieve’s voice was almost demanding. It didn’t matter that she was laying in a hospital bed. It didn’t matter that she needed me more than ever—her voice shocked me to the core. A version of my tender wife that I’d never heard before.

“What?” I was stunned.

“Who are you texting?”

“It’s no one.” A lie.

If only she’d never taken the phone from my hands.

If she’d never seen the conversation, we wouldn’t be here for repair—we’d be here for celebration.

Instead, that one text thread determined our future. She got better, and only then decided I wasn’t meant for her anymore.

I blinked tears from my own eyes, willing myself to be strong for us both.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to come shopping, too. Maybe I could help you find a pair of shoes or a dress you’ve been wanting.” It was an effort.

She’d always complained that I didn’t pay enough attention, but I remember only a month ago her wanting to celebrate her recovery with something she could wear to make her feel beautiful again.

She sighed a heavy, pained sigh.

“Matt—”

“Genevieve. Please. I love you. This doesn’t have to be the end.” I wouldn’t let her say the words. I wouldn’t let this go any further. I reached out and grabbed her hands firmly in mine. She looked up at me then, her fierceness shining through her eyes. Just like I’d always adored about her.

“Let me show you how much I love you. Let me remind you what we’ve been through with each other. I know I made a mistake, but—” I gestured around with one hand. “I wanted us to have a space away. A space together.” I stood, gently pulling for her to stand with me. When she was up from her seat, I cupped her face in my hands and laid my lips on hers, reminding her of 13 years married.

She quickly leaned her head back to look at me.

“Fine. We can go to town together. But don’t let it mean more than it does. I’m willing to give you one more chance.” The words were hopeful, but in the small smile she offered, it didn’t reach her eyes.

So we dumped out the tea that neither of us drank and left out that back door, taking a stroll across the rising land in view of the morning sun before the long car ride down to the closest town on the other side of the mountain.

If only it had been enough to change her mind.