Tea with Aphrodite

*Sensitive Content - Story Discusses Death, Depression and Grief*

The table sat untouched. A layer of dust blanketed the glass topper, and its upholstered chair anchored to the floor. Yet there were still signs of wear. Bits of white cotton peeked out of the seat’s fabric, and there on the table’s right-hand side was a circle, etched into the glass from relentless friction. It looked like the circle of a saucer.

Amelie trailed her finger around that scratched up ring, her eyes boring into the glass as if she could carve into it with her eyes. The floral tablecloth glowed beneath the glass – bright and cheery. And wrong.

Soft harp music trickled through the tea shop, but no one heard. A daffodil in a small vase wilted, releasing a sweet rotten scent into the air. She would change it out. She would. She really would. Amelie just had to clean the vases, go to the florist, buy more flowers, cut the flowers, put them in the vases again, add more water ….

Impossible weariness pressed against her heart, even in the morning sun.

With a sigh, she took a seat near the untouched table. She cradled a mug of heartbreak tea to her chest. It sloshed in her mother’s favorite mug- chamomile, lemon balm and mint – all meant to soothe and calm. It was all she drank for a year, an unflavored mixture which was all she could stomach.

There was a ding as someone entered the tea shop. Amelie straightened, as if she were not the owner of a once-successful business, and had simply broken in. A young woman with chestnut hair and bright eyes walked in. Her hand clutched a piece of paper, and the other held a cardboard box.

“Good morning!” she chimed, as bright as the bell.

“Good morning, Gemma.”

Gemma’s engagement ring sparkled as she passed Amelie the flyer. Across the glossy page, there were smiling couples, laughing as if their lives depended on it. Frankly, it looked painful. Amelie worried they would get lockjaw.

“State Street Sweetheart Festival!!!” the flyer proclaimed. “This Valentine’s Day, explore and support our local businesses with the ones you love!”

It was decorated with red and pink hearts and dusted with glitter. Amelie wiped her glitter-encrusted fingers on her cardigan, snorted, and shoved the thing away.

Gemma pushed it back. “Don’t you see? On Valentine’s Day, the city of Sunnyvale is hosting a festival, and people can go from business to business to pick up a Valentine’s Day treat. This will get our name out there and show them what the tea shop is all about!”

Amelie was going to be sick; she just knew it. “Gemma – this is in a week! I don’t have time to develop a new recipe for tea and a pastry before then!”

“Sure, you can! And I brought over Valentine’s Day decorations, you should put those up!”

“I don’t want to. This place is built on mom’s recipes, and her teas. Everyone loved her. I don’t want to change what made this place special,” said Amelie.

“Well – “ Gemma flashed a nervous grin. “I already signed us up.”

“You what?”

Dread fell like an anchor in her belly. For once, she was glad there weren’t customers to see. “Gemma, you can’t do that without asking me!”

“I had to!” Gemma threw out her arms. “This place is empty! The same tea, the same pastries, the same décor – you act like no time has gone by. Mom passed away over a year ago!”

Amelie cradled her tea to her chest. “It’s only been one week over a year.”

Gemma’s eyes widened and grew bright. She set her chin, as if holding back tears. “Please, Amelie. We already lost mom. Do you want to lose the tea shop too?”

Amelie narrowed her eyes. “I think you should go, Gemma.”

Gemma raised her chin. “No, I’m not leaving.”

“Fine,” said Amelie. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Fine! It’s not like there is anyone to serve anyway!” Gemma bellowed after her.

Amelie flipped the sign over to “closed” and stormed out. Her feet led her down the sidewalk, until she ended up in the gardens by the art museum down the street. White alabaster statues and busts of Greek gods, goddesses and heroes lined the rose garden, which was in full bloom.

In the middle of the garden was a small pond. An outbreak of stone jutted out of the water, and on top, the statue of a woman stood: Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

She had gentle eyes, full lips and hair which billowed out behind her. Even in stone she looked soft and graceful, as if she could dance and sway at any moment. Since they were near Valentine’s Day, there were offerings tossed on the little island– a tube of red lipstick, a string of plastic pearls, short love notes scribbled on parchment. Someone had taken a rose and strung petals around the goddess. People had come to ask for true love. Amelie snorted again.

How was it already February? Coastal Southern California didn’t have seasons. Every day was the same - warm and bright. She could pretend time didn’t pass here. But then – something just had to pull her out from under that peaceful rock she lived under.

Valentine’s Day last year had been a couple weeks after mom passed – the hearts, the roses, the chocolates. Amelie remembered how the world continued to celebrate while the pain burned inside. It didn’t matter how many cups of heartbreak tea she drank, the hurt never quenched.

Gemma got engaged. Dad moved to Florida. And Amelie still resisted every passing second, because it was another second her mother was not alive.

Every time she walked into her tea shop – she thought she’d see her mother sitting at her favorite table, filling out another crossword. Every day she had to remember, re-remember, and remember again.

Her mother was gone.

Aphrodite stood in the center of the pond and watched Amelie as she sipped her tasteless tea. It was nice to have company. The breeze smelt slightly of sea spray. Amelie crouched down to the water and swirled her fingers in the cool clear pool. The freshness surged up her fingers and zapped up her arm.

“I don’t want to lose the business, but I can hardly bring myself to go in there sometimes,” said Amelie quietly. “I know I should advertise. Do that silly Sweetheart Festival. Come up with new drinks and foods. But how can I?” she sighed. “Sometimes I just want to lose the whole business, so I don’t have to see anymore. But more than anything … I wish I had someone to drink tea with again.”

Amelie looked up, and returned Aphrodite’s gentle smile. The expression was so rare for her, she swore she heard a rusty creak.

Aphrodite winked back.

Amelie jumped to her feet, spilling lukewarm tea all over herself. Her heart jumped straight out of her throat and fell out on the sidewalk.

It was just a statue. A non-moving, non-living statue. Amelie laughed. Maybe she needed to get out of the tea shop more often.

When she returned, wetter than a tea towel, Gemma was gone. On the front counter sat a burgundy red bag that subtly shimmered in the light. Looped around the top were ribbons bound to swirling silver heart pendants. “Love Spell” the bag said in golden calligraphy.

Amelie rolled her eyes. Probably something ridiculous Gemma dropped off for the festival. A clear plastic pane exposed rose and hibiscus petals, vanilla bean and cocoa nibs. Amelie tossed out the remnants of her cold tea. She boiled fresh water and steeped herself a cup of Love Spell. The water darkened into a deep fuchsia. Pink shimmer spun through the cup like a whirlpool to another world.

She took a sip – and closed her eyes. It tasted floral, chocolatey and a tiny bit tart. Something unknowable popped along her tongue, as if static had collected in her taste buds. Warmth infused her entire body.

She took another sip. When she opened her eyes – she remembered.

Amelie used to drink tea with her mother every morning before their school and work. They would chat while the sun peeked over the horizon, listening in. So many of those conversations were gone to her, like steam into the air, but she remembered laughing until her vision blurred. What she wanted had been so clear. Later, she told her parents she was opening a tea shop, her new business degree still clasped in her hands.

Her mother was natural at greeting customers at the door. Gemma would serve them their drinks and food. Amelie came up with the recipes and tea blends, based on her mother’s of course.

She remembered how the town circled the shop the day they opened. She thought of the bright summer and spring teas, the “mommy and bring your daughter” teas ….

And now every day was the same. The customers stopped trickling in.

Tears brimmed in Amelie’s eyes. She loved this place. She truly loved this place. And the memories – one side sliced into her like a knife, the other held a healing balm.

She had to try.

Amelie racked her brain. The tea for the festival was already chosen – Love Spell proved to be delicious. She just had to think of a pastry. Strawberries and cream scones? Champagne and raspberry cupcakes?

Her eyes fell on the moldering flowers. Those would need to go first. Amelie slammed the sign “closed” and raced to the florist shop next door.

“Bill, I need a dozen red roses for the shop, my old flowers are so molded they might as well be sold as cheese- “

A young woman stood in the center of the florist shop, gently watering and tending flowers.

Amelie stopped. “You’re not Bill.”

The young woman released a tinkling laugh. Her nose crinkled and the freckles on her nose kissed one another. She had a smile that felt like light.

Amelie just barely managed to close her mouth. The woman yanked off her glove and extended a hand. Her nails were painted with pink gingham.

“No, I’m not. I’m Hazel, I bought this place from my uncle a couple weeks ago.”

Amelie shook her hand. “I’m Amelie.”

“So, a dozen roses?”

“Yes.”

“Are they for someone special?” Hazel asked.

Amelie was thankful Bill was not there but also wished he would walk in and take over. She never felt this flustered when the senior with coke-bottle glasses and overalls took her order.

“They’re for my tea shop.”

Hazel brightened. “So that’s who you are! I’ve been dying to pop in, but I’ve been so busy adjusting to the new shop.”

“We’ll be at the Sweetheart Festival next week, you should stop by!”

“I’d just love to!” She had small gap in her front teeth.

Hazel grabbed some long-stemmed red roses and wrapped them in clear plastic. She finished by trying them all with a red bow.

“Well, if you need help with anything, or would like any extra arrangements, just let me know.”

“I will, thank you. And I’ll see you at the festival!”

“Yes, I will be there! Good-bye!”

Amelie walked out of the shop, dozen roses in hand, heart thumping in her chest. She took a deep, stabilizing breath. There was work to do if they wanted the shop to be ready for Valentine’s Day.

After a week of prepping and hair ripping, Gemma and Amelie finally set up a tray of chocolate cherry tarts and Love Spell tea. Their booth was decorated with red paper hearts and pink streamers. They had floral teacups and tea pots on their table for décor.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Gemma said.

“Thank you for helping,” said Amelie. The hole in her chest expanded a centimeter. “I just wish mom were here.”

“She’d be proud. You’re still here fighting.”

Amelie jabbed her arm. “And you’re here too.”

“I’m just glad we still have this,” said Gemma.

They finished last touches on the booth and prepared themselves for the crowd of customers growing larger down the street. After a few minutes, the visitors began to stream in. Amelie had forgotten how it had felt to be around people again – grandparents, parents, children and couples. People on first dates, people who have been married for 50 years, and each with their own special story.

A teenage couple came up to the booth, the boy gangly and tall, the girl short. The boy drank their Love Spell tea.

Moments later, he whirled to his date. “Mia, I really like you.”

Mia’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You do?”

The two moved off to the lawn where the boy continued passionately, waving his arms around.

“Ahh, young love,” Gemma sighed and pretended to swoon.

Two of their old regulars meandered up to the booth. Their eyes crinkled when they drank the tea and tasted their tarts. Amelie grinned when they asked for more.

Meanwhile, there was a roar of applause coming from the stage area.

A man bent down on one knee. “Jerry, will you marry me?”

The other man nodded excitedly. The crowd erupted in cheers and whoops.

They both went off stage – to finish their tea.

“It almost seems like people who drink our love spell tea seem a bit more – affectionate than normal.” Amelie narrowed her eyes. “What was in that tea, Gemma?”

“I don’t know, you bought it,” said Gemma.

“When I came back from the garden last week, it was on the counter.”

They stared at each other.

Hazel arrived, still wearing her rubber florist boots. “Your booth looks amazing!”

She reached for some tea.

“Hazel, no!” Amelie cried.

Hazel sipped. “Oh my goodness, this is incredible!” said Hazel, going for another gulp. She looked down at her cup, long and hard. “Amelie, would you like to hang out after this?”

The scent of sea salt and roses blew strong from the rose garden by the museum.

“Hazel, I would love to hang out with you, but- just one moment.” She grabbed Gemma, and the two spun their backs toward Hazel.

“We need to hide this tea, Gemma,” Amelie whispered. “I think this tea really is a love spell.”

“But that’s insane.”

“Don’t you think I know how insane I sound?” Amelie hissed. “Just get rid of it!”

Amelie raced to the garden down the street. The garden was empty. Everyone else was at the festival.

“Aphrodite you need to take back what you did! The tea is making people act… strange!”

Even though she was alabaster, Aphrodite’s skin looked soft as velvet and the folds of her dress caught mid-flutter in an invisible breeze. The statue’s eyes blinked.

Amelie gasped and clutched her chest, breath ragged. Aphrodite grew until she was taller than Amelie herself, then stepped out of the swirling pool.

“I opened their hearts to how they truly feel,” said Aphrodite, in a voice that seemed to sing.

“But it’s painful to feel.”

“You are not alone in this pain. You are not alone in this joy either.”

Aphrodite gestured behind her.

Amelie walked back to the garden entrance to peer at the festival.

The memory of her mother, still sat at her table through the shop glass.

Amelie turned, but she was met with only a lifeless statue where Aphrodite had stood.

Amelie resumed her watch from the garden. Her sister was at the booth, handing over plates of tarts to excited families. Toddlers laughed with chocolate and cherry juice streaked along their cheeks. Couples looped arms, Valentine’s Day treats clutched in their hands. Hazel chatted with two of the tea shop’s old regulars, pointing excitedly at her own roses in the tea shop window. Amelie wanted to stretch out this second, she knew how precious and impermanent each could be. Warmth bloomed in her chest.

They still came. She had turned a “closed” sign on her store, and on her life. And yet they were here all the same. And now, there were so many people to share a cup of tea with.

“I love you,” she whispered to it all.