Tea For Two

1

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. These characters belong to me, as well as their lives. Do not steal them from me.

Thanks. Enjoy.

~~~

"Mom, where's the sugar?" I call to my mother from under the counter. I'm in to my ribcage looking for something to sweeten my tea with, and I'm not seeing anything.

I must sound funny, or muffled, or something, because she doesn't reply. Mom's a big believer in girls being ladylike and talking like ladies. It kills me, because I'm just about the least ladylike girl that has ever happened to our family, and that includes my aunt Roda who is 40 and still wears miniskirts. I know she only considers me unladylike because of my 'colorful' vocabulary and my habit of wearing boys' clothes. And if anyone asks me, aunt Roda's miniskirts are far worse than my knee-length cargo shorts.

I sigh and pull myself out of the cabinet. I walk over to where my mom is sitting in our living room, fanning herself and reading Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

"Mom, where's the sugar? I can't find it."

She takes her time, licking her finger to turn the page, and then looks up before pretending to only just notice me.

"Oh, hello, August. Sit down dear," she says breathily, motioning to the couch cushion beside her own.

Obediently, I perch on the end of the sofa.

"Now, what is it, sweetie?" she says, her syrupy voice dripping all over the pages of her magazine, which she has placed on her lap, giving me her attention.

"Mom. Where is the sugar. I can't find it," I say, pressing her for the answer. If you're not straightforward with my mom, she can talk in circles for ages.

Honestly, I would rather be asking my dad about this, and he doesn't even know where we keep the sugar, much less if there's any in the house to begin with. But of course, he's at work today, so I'm out of luck. It's Saturday, and the auction house he runs is having a big auction tonight, so he's helping get everything ready.

"It's under the counter in the corner, August. Where it always is," she says simply with a smile. She picks her magazine up again, already starting to forget about me again.

I put my hand on top of the magazine and push it back on to her lap. "No, it's not, mom. I was just staring at where it's supposed to be, and it's not there."

She stares at me as if she's wearing a pair of heavily tinted glasses, and the edges of me are blurred.

"Well, that's where I last saw it, so that's all I can tell you," she pulls her magazine up, signaling that our conversation is over.

I walk back to the kitchen and crawl back into the cabinet where we usually keep the sugar.

"Ha!" I say as I find the container with 'SUGAR' written on the side in block letters. It's not where we usually keep it- it's lying on its side in the farthest corner of the cabinet. I'm instantly disappointed, though. It's empty. Of course.

Three weeks ago, my mother's Canasta club came over and she made cookies. She must have used all of the sugar, I realize. And she never wrote sugar on the grocery list, so it was never bought again.

Great.

I sit on the counter, staring out of the window toward our neighbor's house. For the last week, a small moving truck has been sitting in the driveway, a small family walking in and out of the house, carrying boxes and such.

I know, I should be excited to have a new neighbor. This only happens once or twice to the average teen who lives in the same place their entire life. But for me, it's nothing new. The words 'new neighbors' are as common in everyday conversation in my house as 'think it'll rain?' : we only say it every few months, but no one is surprised by it.