We had a tea party. I’m sorry you weren’t invited, it was a simple affair. A table set for two, mother and daughter. A few minutes of the morning, a small moment in time. No boys allowed even, though it didn’t stop them from trying to intervene.
I’m afraid I forgot to dress up for the occasion. I’ll try to remember to wear my pearls next time. Abby adorned in striped pink pants and blue Flower Power shirt. Dainty ceramic teacups, her Fisher-Price musical teapot. A vessel in my lap with hers clinging against the table. Pinky extended.
She’d fill my cup then walk to hers. Pour. Again and again, I’d pretend to slurp the best tea I’ve ever tasted. If I believe it’s real, and she believes it’s real, then it must be.
“Mmmm… that’s good!”, I exclaimed.
“Some more?”, she asked in a knowing tone, my daughter’s vocabulary expanding every day. What she can say, what she understands.
“Oh, yes please!”, I declared.
Motioning to the pink play teapot, Jedi nudged his way through to ask, “Are you really drinking anything?”
It all depends on what you choose to believe. Love, air, happiness, forgiveness, imagination, even the most delicious tea for two. Some matters might seem mythical, but you don’t have to taste it to know what’s real.