The Extra Cup

She insisted on real cups and saucers for all of her guests. Each of her guests had a place: the teddy bear with a missing eye sat next to Mr. Giraffe, and Mrs. Penguin beside her new favorite doll, who didn’t have a name yet. Mr. Rabbit, whose ear she had tried to repair with tape, had a special place next to Lion; they were friends. One chair, though, was set a little apart, its cup carefully set expectantly, and next to her own place at the small table.

When asked about it, she only said, very matter-of-factly, “It's for the one who is sometimes late,” as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

The rest of her guests had arrived in the same wagon; she had only a hallway and three rooms to wheel through, stopping often to break up fights and resettle them. Mr. Giraffe couldn’t abide Mrs. Penguin for reasons unclear. Mr. Rabbit said it was Lion who had nearly ripped off his ear, but they were friends at least every other day.

Today was friend day.

Her tea party always happened in the side room with the big bay window seat. Its bright, soft yellow walls and hardwood floors had what she considered a special touch. She wanted her tea parties to mimic a coffee/tea shop as closely as possible, like the one her mother used to take her to.

“Order for Mrs. Penguin,” she called out. On a side table, all the makings were there, some clear to see and some a bit invisible. One “tea latte.” She added professionally.

Now that she was six, her Nana allowed “real” warm water and cream packets, sugar cubes, and several flavors of tea. No more loose sugar because her renegade kangaroo had tried to keep all of it in her pouch. An idea that had created a terrible mess when she tried to dole it out into cups, not to mention the ants that had arrived later. That wasn’t her best tea party, she admitted.

Nana entered the room with a tray of cookies, smelling of warm sugar and cinnamon. “Looks like a proper full party today, Olivia,” she observed. “I thought you might want these for your guests.”

Olivia had clasped her hands together, hopping up and down a bit, her curls bouncing like tiny black springs around her head, bow lips pursed into a mock stern look.

“Nana! My name is Barista today, just like at Starbucks, remember?”

“Oh my, why can’t I remember that? I’ll never know.” She laid the cookies on the side table, “Snicker-doodles.” She announced with a smile. “You could be Olivia, the barista. It’s a real job, you know.”

But Olivia was already carefully delivering a cup of tea to Mrs. Penguin, returning for a cookie, and placing it on a small napkin, deeply involved in conversation with her guests.

Nana left the room, standing just out of sight, watching her granddaughter. She had sewn a small apron for the girl that resembled the coffee shop ones, even embroidered the name on it. Not sure if she should encourage this obsession, but it seemed harmless enough.

These “parties” happened at least once every week, more if something seemed to upset Olivia, and God knows it didn’t take much.

She looked up at the sudden commotion in the room, stopping herself from entering.

Olivia was wiping up a spill in front of Lion and scolding his impropriety with a practiced adult voice that made the older woman put a hand to her heart. She had heard those words before.

The harsh scolding of a frayed single mother, trying to raise a child on her own. Her other hand drifted to her mouth, covering it, as she listened to the eerie words Olivia spoke.

“If you can’t try harder, I won’t bring you here anymore, I swear you just spill on purpose!”

The girl stood stiff before Lion, wagging a finger, “Now clean up this mess.”

Nana started, intending to scold her granddaughter for swearing, but placed her hand on the wall to steady herself instead.

The scent of cookies, cinnamon, and Earl Grey tea wafted from the small room. She saw the girl fill the teacup for the empty seat, carefully counting two sugar cubes, a cream packet, and a splash of the special lavender vanilla syrup that they had created together.

It was a London Fog, Olivia's mother's favorite drink. Suddenly, she understood.

It wasn’t just “play” she was watching, but a memory being carefully kept alive.

“You know who this is for,” she said to Mr. Rabbit, “She is a bit late as usual, but it will be properly cooled when she gets here.” All her prior anger evaporated as it often did.

Olivia took tiny bites from her cookie, teaching manners to her guest with alacrity and a generous smile. “There are lots of rules to good tea,” she told them.

Nana only half listened, her own grief pooling in her chest.

“What, what did you say?” Olivia hissed, her voice suddenly changing again, her powerful glare turned on Mr. Giraffe. “She will come back, you’ll see! We are going to name her,” she pointed to the doll, sitting next to Mrs. Penguin. Her tiny face darkened, her breath now short pants, her eyes darting around the room. “You’ll see,” she said, her voice filling with defeat rather than defiance, shoulders drooping. “She said we would pick a name together when she comes back.”

Before Nana could move, Olivia had taken the giraffe from its seat and flung it across the room. Her tiny mouth turned down, arms hanging limply at her sides.

She took off her apron and dropped it, then wandered to the window seat, noticing rain starting to fall outside. She scooped up the doll and climbed up, hugging it to herself as she gazed out the window, her guests ignored.

Nana, unable to restrain herself any longer, wandered over to sit near, but not too close, she knew her granddaughter's mercurial temper in these moments.

Instead, she picked up a small pillow, hugging it to herself, catching Olivia’s look of permission.

She said nothing as both of them watched the raindrops slide down the window, breathing in the sweet scent of London Fog tea and cooling cookies.

For now, that was enough.