Chapter 17 #2
"She drinks tea?" He looks to the ceramic pot.
I nod.
"No wonder she didn't want to stay for breakfast. You can't make tea to save your life," he says.
"It's the same as coffee," I say.
He shakes his head no, it's not. "Let me."
He wants to help me? That's hard to believe. But I give him the room to prove himself. I step aside.
He tests the tea in the pot and shakes his head. "You can't serve it the way they do at coffee shops." He pulls the bag from the small pot and pours the liquid down the drain. "You need to brew it for her, the way you would with coffee. Loose leaf."
"Where did you learn that?" I ask.
"Cynthia tried to give up coffee." He turns the electric kettle to two-hundred degrees and finds a small tin of English Breakfast in the pantry.
A more expensive brand of loose leaf. "She missed the robustness, so she was always brewing it too long.
It was astringent. Disgusting. We tested it every way we could.
Until we found the right mix. More leaves, same time, warm milk. Is that how she takes it?"
"Milk and honey," I say.
He motions to the carafe of cream. "Warm it. Like you would for a cafe au lait."
"Who drinks cafe au lait?" I ask.
"People with taste."
I don't have an espresso machine here, so I warm the milk in the microwave. I pour honey into one of those tiny, single-serving jars. I add a teaspoon. "I suppose I need to learn this. For Amor y Coffee."
He makes that same hmmm noise.
"It would mean a lot to Mom," I say.
"Mom doesn't care," he says. "And Dad's dead."
That's not true. Well, yes, it is true Dad is dead, but does the guy have to be so heartless about it? "It was one of his dying wishes."
"He was indulging you," Daniel says.
That isn't true. He wanted to see it. He thought it was beautiful. I want to do this with him. Why doesn’t he? "If you're not interested—"
"I'm busy, Rome. That's all."
"What time did you get up today?" I ask.
"Six. Why?" he asks.
Of course. He's still an early riser. "”Did you look at the proposal?”
"Not in depth.”
He looks to the table where Ivy and Cynthia are chatting outside. They laugh at something Mom says.
They're an odd trio, but they're working together well.
"But, okay, I'll look if I have time," he says.
"Perfect."
He looks to the tea. "Four minutes. Not a second longer."
"You sound like Sasha," I say.
Again, that hmm noise, though, this time, I don't hear you're a fuck up.
I see the possibility of something else.
And yes, one of those possibilities is why don't you admit you're dating her, or I know she goes by Mistress Sasha online, or your business partner sure is good at selling her number one product: you.
But I also hear you do have half a business degree.
I also hear you have had one long relationship with a woman, so why not another.
I hear possibility.
My brother brings out his breakfast first. After all, you can't wait for eggs to go cold. Mom would never allow such a thing.
Food needs to be eaten when it’s best. Daniel may not understand the push for pleasure, but he understands the attempt at excellence.
I make mine next. Meet him outside.
"Finally." Ivy's eyes light up as she spots the tea. "I need this." She motions to Mom's giant mug of coffee. "I don't even like coffee, and I've been staring longing at that cup all morning."
"Is that really going to work?" Cynthia teases. "If you don't like coffee and your boyfriend opens a coffee shop?" She shoots me a wink. An I'm working on this sort of wink.
Is Ivy working on her? I try to find some clue in her eyes.
She shrugs as if it's no big deal.
She knows what she's doing.
She's good at this.
"I'll advise on tea," Ivy says. "That could set you apart."
"The Mexican and Italian mix of flavors will do that," Cynthia says. "But it is always good to have a product for the friend, girlfriend, colleague. It's like a vegetarian option at a restaurant. It's not the focus, but it's necessary."
"You see? This is the life for us tea lovers." Ivy shakes her head with mock outrage, though, with her dry delivery, it comes across, well… deadpan, which somehow makes it seem more intense. "We're always the afterthought."
"Are you a vegetarian as well?" Cynthia asks. "Then you'd really be fucked."
"No, thankfully." She laughs.
"Okay, ladies, let's not bore ourselves with talk of business. Let’s score this thing. Ladies first.." Mom holds up a folded piece of paper. She asked them to guess and wrote it down. Not that she mentioned this part of the game to us. "What are your favorite breakfasts?"
"You know that answer, Mama." Daniel says.
She nods of course. "Still. For the record."
Daniel says his favorite breakfast. A vegetable omelet and a cafe au lait.
And I say mine. "Black coffee."
Ivy's lips curl into a smile.
"We have a winner." Mom unfolds the paper theatrically. "Miss Ivy Vaughn was right on the money. Black coffee." She looks to the breakfast. "You were close too, Daniel. Cynthia."
She named a cheddar omelet as her favorite. Guessed scrambled eggs with chorizo and salsa as his.
That's probably his favorite. She knows him better than he knows himself.
And I…
Wasn't close.
Oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon.
"Sorry, sweetheart." Mom takes a long sip of her coffee. "But I'll give you points for how high she rates it."
"It is good." Ivy digs into the omelet. "But a little dry for me. I like my eggs wet. We always argue about that." She continues the story.
"She likes them raw," I play into the supposed conflict. Maybe it's true. I like my eggs over medium.
"They're inedible the way he eats them," she says.
"And these?" Mom points to the plate.
"A compromise," she says. "I do love a caprese salad."
"Who doesn't?" Cynthia asks. I'm sure she's not trying to say you don't know shit, but it still fills the air.
"Okay, boys, dig in." Mom smiles. "You'll need your strength for our next exercise."
"What's that?" I ask.
"Oh, nothing too dramatic," Mom says. "Just a game where you share your deepest, darkest secrets."