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laugh.”
    “Okay,
okay, I will give you the benefit of the doubt.  But keep your clothes on from
now on, will you?”
    Just
then, Babs returned with a large pot of tea, cream, scones, and whip cream. 
Scones topped with whip cream was a British tradition for afternoon tea,
apparently.  I reached for the pot to pour myself a cup. 
     
    “Whoa,
whoa, whoa.  Stop right there, Rose!  Has no one ever taught you how to make a
proper cup of tea?” he asked with the most baffled and appalled look on his
face.
    I
put the pot down immediately and held my hands up innocently.  “Huh?  Yes, I
pour the tea into my cup, add cream, and stir it.  Simple,” I shrugged.
    “No,
no, no, my little lamb,” he scoffed, while grabbing the cream. “Let me teach
you how to make a proper cup of tea.  First, you add the cream,” he lectured.
“You must always, always add the cream to your cup before pouring the tea.”
    He
gestured with his hand for me to follow his instructions.  I poured the thick
white cream into my tea cup, and looked back at him, waiting for the next
steps.
    “Next,
you must slowly pour the brewed tea into the cup.  Now, the trick here is that
you must stir constantly whilst pouring.  Nobody really knows why, but it will,
without fail, make the best cup of tea.”
    I
grabbed the full tea pot and my spoon.  “Okay, I am ready for this!”  I poured
in the hot liquid while quickly swirling the mixture until the cup was full. 
    “Now,
the best part of all.  You must sit here and wait until the temperature is just
right.  If you drink it right away, you will burn your tongue and taste buds,
and the whole cup of tea will be ruined.  You just have to sit here, in sheer
excitement and anticipation of your cuppa.”
     “This
is actually pretty exciting.” I replied.  “It does look creamier this way. 
Thank you for sharing your British secrets.”
    “Ah,
it isn’t much of a secret.  It’s the way…” he started to slow down and stumble
on his words. “It’s the way… my mum taught me.”  He smiled weakly and looked
down at the table.
    I
averted my eyes and looked at my cup of tea, still slightly swirling from my
stirring.  Of course.  He lost his mom at a very young age.  Very tragically.  She
was a strong woman who was known for her high profile charity work around the
world, and she was the absolute center of the world for Rex and his father.  I
looked back at Rex.  His smile had disappeared and his eyes were glossy.  I
completely understood now.  He was still grieving the loss of his mom.  He
looked a bit like a wounded child at that moment.  Didn’t we all have a
wounded, suffering child inside of us?
    Just
as I was about to look back at him and speak, his hand was suddenly in front of
my face, and he dabbed whip cream on my nose.
    “And
whip cream for dessert!” he exclaimed.
    “Rex!!!”
I yelled, wiping it off my nose.  How quickly he could turn from happy to sad
and sad to happy.
    We
spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories and laughing.  I actually
enjoyed myself.  Rex was surprisingly easy, and almost fascinating, to talk
to.  He had a spark; that was for sure.  A little light inside that lit him up,
and it was infectious.  Soon, I was lit up too.  That day marked the beginning
of a new friendship and forever changed the way I made a cup of tea.

TEN
    Later
that night, I returned to my condominium.  It was a modern, one bedroom
apartment that I tried to make as peaceful and relaxing as possible.  The walls
were the color of warm toasted pastries, and my furniture was frosted white.  I
had candles, flowers, and photos of me and my mom dispersed throughout my
place.  I lived minimally, as I tried to keep my apartment and my mind free of
clutter.
    I
went into my kitchen and made myself dinner.  Or rather, I heated up a frozen
meal suspiciously named “Spinach Muffins” that I purchased from Natural
Grocers, the closest grocery store with relatively