《Steeping Love》


 chapter one: lemongrass ginger

    The slow, breezy French song that spilled out of the speaker to Annabelle''s right didn''t really match the energy of the rest of the shop. Or perhaps, it just didn''t match the energy of Annabelle.


    She had seven drink orders to fill and undoubtedly more on the way. And such a chaotic situation required a delicate balance¡ª only six brew-pots, only one employee present, only so many minutes before tea became over-steeped, frothed creamer for iced lattes began to warm, and customers became irritated. A flurry of nervous activity that nonetheless demanded never-faltering grace. No spills, no broken pots, no burns. Or everything would be thrown into further chaos, not to mention if her boss found out. Lesa wasn''t exactly a kindly woman.


    And so, Annabelle performed an intricate dance that had become a part of her daily routine. Balancing on the balls of her feet, always light, always quick. Smile, and never forget to say "thank you." Admittedly, it was exhausting.


    When the flow of customers finally ebbed around 4 pm, she retreated to the shop''s large supply closet with a cup of tea she had re-steeped from a customer''s order. Today''s second cup of tea was Lemongrass Ginger Green. She slumped into a chair and breathed in the scent of a moment of rest. Today, rest smelled like lemongrass.


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    Closing an entire shop by yourself, even if the shop is small, is no easy feat. Annabelle was sweating and panting by the time she heaved the bag of that day''s trash into the dumpster and sunk into the driver''s seat of her nearby car. She blew a damp strand of hair out of her face with a frustrated gust of breath. She reeked of bleach. Rather than sit and lament her situation, she turned the key in the ignition and drove silently back to campus.


    She avoided eye contact with the desk worker as she checked in to the lobby''s fob system, hyper-aware of how she must look and smell after a long day''s work. She was thankful that she managed to catch an empty elevator ride up to the sixteenth floor, and even more thankful that the showers were nearly empty when she trod in wearily, flip-flops punctuating her every step with a loud snap-snap. She let her long, dark hair fall from the neat little coil at the nape of her neck, and it swung down and tickled her back through her robe. She really hated communal showers, even though she was used to them by now. But a shower was a shower, and the water was warm, at least. Humming a tune, an old song from a black and white movie she had seen once, she let the warm water wash away the sharp, sterile smell of cleaning supplies and replace it with something softer.


    After her shower, Annabelle sought the comfort of her bed. The achingly soft sheets and comforter formed an inky black void that swallowed her whole, and she was more than happy to accept the embrace. She gazed out the window as she wrapped herself up in the dark swathes of cloth. The only source of light besides her tiny desk lamp came in the form of the city lights, twinkling below the dorm that towered over much of the buildings nearby. She watched a few cars zip by, and searched for stars she knew she wouldn''t find here. Through her window up high, she could nearly watch the whole city meander about its night life. She checked her phone, but it was devoid of any notifications. She set her alarms, and flicked out the light.

 chapter two: jump start

    Annabelle''s feet thudded rhythmically against the pavement, and she willed her tired body to stay coherent enough to keep from tripping or spilling her tea. She slowed her somewhat hurried pace to check her wristwatch. 10:27. She had three minutes to get to class. It seemed like she was always cutting it close, whether it was to class, to work, or anything else. She sighed and trod on.


    Mondays and Wednesdays began with painting class. As she blustered in a minute late, she lamented sarcastically, At least it''s only my major. She retreated over to one of the several wooden cabinets in the studio and undid a combination lock, retrieving her materials.Once set up in her little corner with her canvas, easel, cart, and supplies, she finally heaved a sigh of relief. Annabelle really, really hated mornings.


    After arranging her paints, brushes, and water jar, she grabbed her portable ceramic cup, lifting off the little rubber lid and taking in a deep breath through her nose. The earthy smell of the Yerba Mat¨¦ blended with the less noticeable but slightly sharper scent of black tea, and afterwards the blend of nuts, cinnamon, and just barely, cocoa, filled her nose and then her mind. "Jump Start" tea wasn''t exactly her favorite, but with three different types of caffeine and sans the jitters of coffee, it was perfect for dragging herself through mornings.


    Not much later, she was painstakingly blending the value of the model''s lower arm, trying to create a perfectly smooth transition from the highlight on the top to the deep shadow on the bottom, all without washing out the colors of her skin. Her professor wandered near, peering thoughtfully at her canvas. She turned to him worriedly, grimacing self-consciously as he lifted his arm to rest his thumb and forefinger under his chin.


    The few seconds of silence felt like years, and Annabelle found herself growing more and more nauseous with every passing moment. Just as she had resigned herself to painting until he voiced his thoughts, (if he was going to at all) Ivan finally spoke. "Technically, it''s perfect."


    Annabelle processed his statement. "Oh, uh, thank you," she managed, unsure if she fully understood what he meant.


    Luckily, Ivan continued. "I mean, your technique is great. You have a great eye for detail, the value and the colors are spot-on¡ª" He paused. Annabelle watched him like a hawk as he moved his hand to clasp his shoulder, right above where his left arm would have begun. She was desperate to know his thoughts.


    "It''s just, it''s missing...passion." Finally having come to some sort of conclusion, he turned his gaze to Annabelle. She immediately tore her eyes away. Heat was rising in her body, and she felt panic and shame take over. "It''s beautifully done, but I don''t see you anywhere. I see a painting that looks like a photograph, not a painting that tells me, ''Annabelle Yun made this.''"


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    She forced herself to meet his gaze. Her heart was pounding and she wished she could fold in on herself until she was as small as a beetle. She wanted to say, But it''s a study! It''s supposed to help us get better at painting the body. How can I make that passionate? How can I make that ''me''? But instead she ground her teeth, fighting back the waves of emotions to tell him, "Okay, thank you. I''ll try to do better."


    Judging by the look on his face, that wasn''t the response he had wanted. Nevertheless, he wandered off to one of the other students, and Annabelle released a shaky breath. She couldn''t help but think, I''m never good enough.


    At the end of class, she began to pack up her things. The student model had already dressed and left, and students were milling about, chatting and cleaning, some leaving. One of Annabelle''s classmates, a junior named Wren, stopped on their way to the sink to wash out their brushes. They examined her painting for a moment. "This looks great!" they exclaimed.


    "Oh, thank you," Annabelle replied, pausing her cleanup and beating back nervousness at their comment. "It obviously still needs work, um, her skin tone is really hard to uh, pin down," she rambled anxiously, motioning with the paint-stained apron in her hand and barely daring to look up at them through her eyelashes.


    "No, I think it looks right," Wren encouraged, smiling. "Better than mine, at least. I really suck at painting," they added with a laugh.


    "Same." Annabelle forced a small, nervous laugh, looking down at her flats. She glanced back up as Wren began towards the sink again.


    "No way, you''re too hard on yourself," they insisted, dumping out their small bucket of paint water.


    Annabelle was just beginning to search for a reply when another student called from across the room. "Wren!" It was a boy named Jacob, his hand entangled with his boyfriend''s, whose name currently escaped her. They were standing next to two others, a girl named Alice and another person Annabelle couldn''t name. "You still coming to Davis with us?"


    The Davis building was the campus dining hall, and it was lunchtime. Jacob had reminded Annabelle just how hungry she was. She hadn''t had time for breakfast.


    "Yeah!" Wren answered, raising their voice just a little over the sound of the running sink as they cleaned their brushes. Annabelle remembered that she, too, ought to be cleaning up and heading out, and resumed her routine. Just as she was about to walk over to the sink, Wren finished, wiping their hands on a paper towel and turning to their friends. "Meet me at my locker."


    Wren''s friends headed out the door closest to them, and Annabelle passed Wren on her way to the sink. They quickly scooped up the rest of their supplies and started for the other door on their side of the room. "See ya!" Wren called without a glance.


    "Bye," Annabelle answered, barely above a whisper. But the door had already closed. She watched through the door''s window as Wren met up with their friends, opening their locker and putting away their painting materials before heading off to the dining hall. Annabelle stared at their retreating forms wistfully until they disappeared from view. She felt a longing tugging at her. She looked around the room. Somehow, in the time it had taken her to get halfway through her cleanup, the studio had emptied. She was alone.


    She silently scrubbed her brushes, put away her supplies, and left.

 chapter three: earl grey (moonlight)

    Slow days at the tea shop were Annabelle''s favorite.


    True, they could get a tad boring at times. But the shop was such a peaceful place when it was empty. The few windows were stained glass, in various shades of pink, orange, brown, and white, and they filtered the sun so that it entered the rooms with a subdued, warm light. Along all of the walls of the tea room were jars and jars of loose-leaf tea, organized by type. Annabelle had stopped counting one day at seventy-six. The smell of tea and coffee always seemed to fill the place, even before the first cup of the morning was brewed, and a stick of incense was usually burning somewhere in the small building, giving off its smoky-sweet scent. Stepping inside the building smelled like tranquility.


    Annabelle sipped a cup of Earl Grey tea, a specific blend called "Moonlight," known for its creaminess. She was using her favorite cup at the shop, a dainty porcelain tea cup with little alpine strawberries vining along the side, and it sat on top of a glass tea warmer with a tea candle that flickered within. Small as the candle was, the heat was enough to keep her tea warm as she folded napkins and read the book she had propped up in front of her. If she wanted to get anything done at this shop, work-related or otherwise, she had to be able to multi-task.


    She was nearly finished folding napkins when the bell above the front door rang. Startled, she jumped to her feet and scooped up her tea, stashing it on the drink counter behind a bag of coffee beans. She wasn''t technically supposed to eat or drink out where customers could see, but on slow days, she tended to break that rule when she was by herself.


    She blew out the candle in the tea warmer and swiveled to greet the incoming customers. "Hi, welcome to The Jewelweed Tea Room," she said, having memorized that greeting months ago. She had learned to have the perfect inflection and volume: calm, and yet bright. Clear, but never loud. She smiled and clasped her hands in front of her without even thinking.


    The customers were two young women, probably students at the university like Annabelle. They had strolled in slowly, laughing and chatting softly. Their eyes scanned the large collection of tea cups in the foyer, arranged across tables and on shelves, some for sale, and some collected by the owner. From Victorian antiques¡ª paper-thin bone china cups with dainty floral designs ¡ªto hand-thrown cups from local artists, sturdier mugs made of stoneware clay, with warm, dappled glazes. At Annabelle''s greeting, their gazes slowly turned to her.


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    "Hi," they said in unison, smiling at her.


    "Is this your first time visiting us?" Annabelle asked, though she knew that the answer was almost certainly yes. They were timid, unsure; and they were taking in their surroundings with the type of awe that usually comes with newness. Not to mention, Annabelle knew all of the regulars.


    "Yes," answered the one with light brown hair, cropped short above her shoulders. "Kendra loves tea, and she saw you guys on Instagram." She motioned to her friend, a small woman with long, dark hair. Kendra offered a small smile.


    "That''s great to hear!" Annabelle chirped. "Please follow me."


    Annabelle lead them through the foyer and into the tea room, grabbing two menus as she went. She heard murmur about the many tea jars lining the walls. She quickly strode over to the two-seat table and arranged their menus standing up and open in front of their chairs, then lifted her tea warmer and the napkins away, leaning over to place them out of the way on the drink counter.


    "How does this work for you?" Annabelle asked of the small antique table seated near the fireplace.


    The two girls glanced at each other briefly, and Kendra replied, "It''s great, thank you."


    Annabelle gave them a smile and a nod. "Wonderful. Our latte of the week is the Peach Cobbler. All of our teas can be served hot or iced, and all but a few of the reds can be served as lattes. You''re more than welcome to smell some of the teas if you''re unsure of what you''d like. Any questions?"


    The girls once again shared a quick look of query. "Not yet, at least," answered the girl with short hair, laughter in her voice.


    "Alright, then," Annabelle said brightly. "The soup of the day is chicken tortilla. I''ll be back for your drink order soon." She turned to leave, but the girl''s voice rang out before she got very far.


    "Oh, there''s a book." Annabelle swung around to see the girl picking up her battered paperback, which must have fallen to the floor in Annabelle''s panic. The girl studied the cover. "Pride and Prejudice."


    Dismayed, Annabelle blurted, "Oh, sorry, sorry, that''s mine, I¡ª" She grabbed for the book, her fingers overlapping with those of the girl in front of her. Annabelle''s gaze jerked up, heat rising to her face. For the first time, she noticed the girl''s eyes. They were a deep green, like a shaded forest, with little hazel rings around her irises. Pretty.


    Annabelle snatched the book away. "Sorry," she said again, clutching the book to her chest before shoving it into the largest pocket of her apron. Her head felt hot, and panic began to aggravate her breathing.


    "Oh, uh, it''s okay," the girl replied, seeming confused but smiling nonetheless.


    "Um, I''ll be back for your drink order. Please let me know if you have any questions," she managed, forcing an awkward, close-mouthed smile. The girl sat back down in her chair, and both customers smiled back and nodded.


    Annabelle couldn''t have scurried away to the kitchen fast enough.

 chapter four: hazelnut honeybush

    Annabelle balled her fists at her sides as she retreated to the kitchen, her head light and hot and her heart beating too fast. When she could hide behind scripted interactions, she could fool customers into thinking she wasn''t cripplingly anxious. But as soon as she wasn''t sure how to respond? Everything fell apart.


    It didn''t help, of course, that she had touched the girl''s hand, and that the girl had been cute. Stupid green eyes. Stupid freckles. Stupid smile.


    Shaking the silly thoughts away, she willed herself to calm down. She shouldn''t have been reading in the tea room. Breaking the rules started this whole mess. Maybe, just this once, Lesa''s stupid rules were right.


    In any case, the time for freaking out was over. She smoothed her apron and patted her face, checking for any excess sweat and oil. She tamed a few flyaway hairs, breathed deeply, and strode out of the kitchen. Annabelle wasn''t confident, but she could at least fake it. And that had to count for something, right?


    When she exited the kitchen, heading back into the tea room, the two girls were up from their seats, studying the jars on the shelf opposite the drink counter. Annabelle slipped behind the counter with her patent Pleasant Smile, feigning ease.


    "Need any help?" she asked.


    "There are so many choices!" the green-eyed girl exclaimed with a little laugh. Kendra nodded in agreement.


    Annabelle returned the laugh with a fake one of her own. "Have you ever tried tea before?" she offered.


    "Does sweet tea count?" the girl asked, turning to Annabelle.


    Annabelle wrinkled her nose. "No, not really," she answered, with a laugh that was slightly more genuine this time.


    The girl seemed amused by Annabelle''s clear disdain for the ubiquitous Southern drink. "Well, I guess that''s good, because I don''t really like it very much."


    "Of course you don''t!" Annabelle replied, letting a bit too much of her own personal bias shine through. "It''s made from the scraps of leaves at processing plants, and pumped full of so much sweetener that you can barely taste anything else. I''ll never understand the obsession with it."


    Annabelle noticed the girl''s intent smile at her mini-harangue, and her face reddened. She dropped her gaze, and redirected herself. "But, anyway, um, are you in the mood for a hot or cold drink?"


    "Oh, uh, hot drink is fine," she replied.


    "Okay, and are you wanting tea or a tea latte?"


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    "Tea latte?" the girl repeated curiously.


    "Kinda like dessert in a cup," Annabelle clarified with a smile. "Tea, frothed creamer, whipped cream, and a pinch of drizzle and nutmeg. It''s a great place to start out trying tea. No one can hate a latte."


    "That sounds amazing," said the girl, and she turned to her friend who nodded enthusiastically.


    "Great," Annabelle replied, clasping her hands. "Now, which tea would you like it to be made with? I can use anything except the fruity red teas, but the rest of the reds and anything else are on the table."


    The two girls began to study the shelf in front of them, which held all the red teas available at the shop. It was the most accessible shelf in the room, and this was purposeful: these were the teas that were most likely to be liked by newcomers. Without a true "tea" base, they lacked any bitterness found in black, green, and chai teas, and were much sweeter than any herbal blend. While a repeat customer was likely to be bold enough to peruse the other, more out-of-the-way shelves, and ask to be handed jars out of their reach, first-time customers were usually more nervous, and preferred to pick from the shelf most readily available to them. Though Annabelle didn''t like her boss very much, she had to admit that the woman was quite clever when it came to customers.


    "Ooh, ''Hazelnut Honeybush?''" the girl with green eyes said at last, peering at a jar near one end of the shelf.


    "That one makes a lovely latte," Annabelle confirmed. "It''s a very sweet, homey rooibos. The cream rounds it out very nicely."


    "It sounds delicious," the girl replied, turning back to give Annabelle a smile that made her flush just slightly.


    "You can smell it, if you like," Annabelle offered, pushing through her nervousness. She had to remember that when she was at work, she wasn''t Annabelle at all. She only knew how to smile and be helpful.


    The green-eyed girl turned back to the large glass jar, and carefully lifted it from its place, looking as though she was terrified she would break it. Annabelle couldn''t blame her. She used to feel that way, too, especially considering how clumsy she tended to be. The girl took a moment to figure out how to open the container, before successfully flipping up the metal piece that allowed the lid to pop open. She moved the lid back, inched her nose forward into the jar, and inhaled deeply.


    "Oh, my god," the girl exclaimed. She took another whiff. "That smells amazing. Smell!" She shoved the jar toward Kendra, who curiously leaned down to sniff, and Annabelle giggled in spite of herself. The one good thing she could count on at her job was that it always made her happy to share the joy of tea with others. Kendra smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "I''ll definitely take this one," said the girl. "Do you wanna try a different one?"


    Kendra thought for a moment, then turned back to the shelf and picked up a jar of a different rooibos, this one caramel flavored. She opened it and breathed the scent in deeply, then smiled and held the jar out to Annabelle. "I''ll take this one."


    "Perfect," Annabelle replied, taking the jar from her hands and lifting it over the counter. She set it in front of her, then turned back to the girl with green eyes. "I''ll have these ready in just a few minutes," she assured her.


    "Thank you," both of the customers replied. They smiled and returned to their seats, and Annabelle reached for the rack behind her, where the glass steeping pots sat upside-down to dry after they were washed. She grabbed two, and the metal lids, and sat them on the counter, one in front of each jar of tea. She filled the one-ounce scoop with one tea, then the other, pouring them into the pots. The kettle, which had been left on the "Keep Warm" setting, took only seconds to heat back up to two-hundred degrees after Annabelle pressed the button. She poured the filtered water into the pots, watching as the finely-ground rooibos swirled around in a beautiful, fiery flurry. The metal lids with their mesh inserts slid soundly into place atop the pots, with an assuring "clink."


    She set a timer for five minutes, a little plastic thing shaped like a classic kettle. It began its quick, sure ticking, and she set it in front of the two servings of tea before retrieving some vanilla creamer from the mini-fridge behind the counter. She would need four ounces, two for each latte, but she didn''t need to measure it out¡ª she counted off her pour, one ounce of creamer pooling into the frother each second. After four seconds, she knew she had enough. This lid also sat pleasingly snug atop the appliance, and she pressed the heated froth button.


    She retrieved two large, glass mugs from beneath the counter and set them in front of the brew-pots, with the timer snug between them. Perfect.


    She stood back from her work, having nothing now to do but wait. She glanced over at the girls by the fireplace, against her better judgement, but luckily they were too engrossed in their happy, hushed conversation to notice. She exhaled, large but quiet, and was grateful. There were so many things she didn''t know, so many situations she had not a clue how to handle. But she knew tea, knew it like one knows the scent of home, the footsteps of housemates. And that, she decided, was certainly something.