Peppermint Tea

Simi huddled in their borrowed coat and tried not to shiver as they reached for the stuffed roll their housemate had set out for them. No matter how many down coats and thick woolen sweaters Kari lent them, they couldn’t shake the chill from their bones. They ached to be back home, where winter never got this cold.

But home meant Gran, and Gran was gone now. Had it really been six weeks since she died?

At least the roll was fresh from the oven, blessedly hot. The soft, spongy bread compressed between their teeth, releasing a burst of rosemary and olive. The savory beef filling warmed them from the inside out.

As they ate, they watched Kari flit around the kitchen, murmuring to herself about this measurement or that flavor. Kari had served Simi so many new foods, but it was her process that fascinated them the most.

Culinary alchemy. That was what Kari called it. Mix a pinch of this with a dash of that, ingredients that bore only the vaguest resemblance to the desired outcome, one for each significant trait: color, texture, flavor. Kari made hot cocoa from stale breadcrumbs and brown sugar, or ground beef from mushrooms, cherries and oats.

And she was quick about it too. Five minutes of prep, then into the oven or frying pan it went. Back home, the same dishes would have taken hours.

Kari set out a row of glass prep bowls. “There’s real mint this time,” she said. “I found some at the market.”

 Simi stared intently at the wisps of steam curling up from inside their roll. “Okay.”

“For the tea,” Kari added, as if that weren’t obvious. 

“Sure.”

Ever since Simi got the news six weeks ago, Kari had been trying to replicate Gran’s tea. As if getting it just right might somehow heal the gaping wound in Simi’s heart.

“Whole or crushed?” Kari asked.

 “How should I know?” Simi had enjoyed Gran’s tea countless times, but they’d never paid attention to how Gran made it. Not the way they paid attention when Kari cooked.

Kari sighed. “I really wish she’d written down the recipe.”

“She never liked to make things easy.” If she had, she wouldn’t have been Gran. Simi dared to glance back up. “I wish you could’ve met her, though. She would’ve liked you.”

 Kari’s pale cheeks flushed a vivid red. “Liked me enough to teach me how to make this tea?”

Simi barked out a single startled laugh. “As if.”

“Well, let’s try whole leaves this time.” She lifted a shopping crate onto the counter. “No fresh ginger today. No lemons either. But I found some mandarins.” She held up the bumpy orange fruit like a prize, then grabbed a microplane and started zesting. Next came a bulbous yellow root vegetable. Kari scraped at it with a peeler, and shavings tumbled into the bowl. And…was that brine she’d just opened?

“Color, acid, tang,” Kari murmured as she sprinkled in the liquid. She grabbed a clean mixing wand from the holder by the sink and tapped it on the edge of the bowl three times, then started stirring. Her quiet murmur shifted into her usual wordless chant, and static prickled at the roots of Simi’s hair.

Something popped as the spell coalesced, and Simi blinked. When they looked again, the bowl contained a heap of yellow powder, nearly as bright as Gran’s finest lemons.

As Kari set to work on the ginger, anticipation squeezed at Simi’s chest. Would this be the time she finally got it right? Was that even possible without fresh mint from the corner of Gran’s garden? Without a lemon from the tree in the yard?

Was it possible to make Gran’s tea without being Gran?

Still, Simi watched intently as Kari set a kettle on the stovetop and pulled out two ceramic mugs and lined up two ceramic mugs on the counter to her right. She measured powder into each of them, then added a few mint leaves. The kettle whistled and she filled both mugs to the rim, then brought them to the table.

As Simi wrapped their hands around a mug, the familiar aroma caught them off-guard, enveloping them like one of Gran’s giant hugs. Even so, they hesitated, not sure they could face the inevitable let-down when the flavor once again fell short.

But this was Kari sitting across from them. Kari, who always tried so hard. 

They took a single cautious sip, and… 

It was home.

The tea was Gran’s kitchen, brewed and distilled into this plain white mug, and tears ran down their cheeks as they swallowed. Was it exactly right? No. But it was so very, very close. It was the freshness of the mint that Gran grew in her garden. The tartness of the lemons she picked from the yard.

It was Gran’s arms, wrapped around them, squeezing too tightly. Gran’s voice insisting that yes, they should leave home. “Go. You deserve a proper education.” And never mind that Gran didn’t tell them she was dying. Never mind that they couldn’t make it back to say goodbye.

It was…

No.

It was just a cup of tea.

It was magic powder and a couple of mint leaves and it had no right to make them so upset.

They wiped their eyes on the sleeve of their borrowed jacket.

“Simi? What’s wrong? Is it really that bad?”

“No. It’s good. It’s…just right.” They forced down one more sip, as slow and deliberate as a careful goodbye, then pushed the mug away. “Please don’t make it again.”

Kari opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind. She reached across the table to squeeze Simi’s hand. “Want some hot cocoa instead?”

Simi nodded gratefully, and even managed a watery smile. “That sounds perfect.” 

They polished off the last of the stuffed roll, licking crumbs from their fingers as Kari grabbed a fresh wand and some scraps of stale bread. Soon enough, the smell of cocoa mingled with the peppermint and lemon, soothing away the last of their tears. Hot cocoa was Kari’s drink, as much as tea was Gran’s. It was a drink for this home, and as Simi breathed it in, they settled deeper into their seat, relaxing into the aroma’s warm embrace.

© 2024 Rachel Gutin

About the Author

Rachel Gutin is a writer and special education teacher. Her short fiction has appeared in publications such as Escape Pod and khōréō. She lives in Brooklyn, NY, and is a member of the organizing team for Brooklyn Speculative Fiction Writers. You can find her online at rachelgutin.wordpress.com.