by G. P. Ching
Chapter 11
Moon Tea And Somali
As agreed, Jacob met with Dr. Silva the following Saturday to discuss his new responsibilities. He dreaded the encounter to the point he had to force himself up each of the inlaid stone steps, his shaking knees betraying his fear as he knocked tentatively on the heavy wooden door. But the Victorian was full of surprises. For one, the inside was as warm and cozy as the outside was cold and foreboding. Dr. Silva had welcomed him into a room she called a parlor near the rear of the house, decorated in honey-brown leather and burgundy plaid with a lively fire burning beneath a gold mantel. Dr. Silva’s cat, a large red Somali that looked like a fox, took an unnatural interest in Jacob, following at his heels and guarding his every move. Dr. Silva said it was the breed; Somalis were known for their loyalty and Gideon, as the cat was called, was not accustomed to strangers.
But perhaps the greatest surprise was that despite Dr. Silva’s casual manner and that she’d forgone her black coat for a sweatshirt and khaki pants, Jacob remained horrified by her presence. The touch of her hand when they greeted one another was enough to send a charge of electric current coursing through his body, and set every hair on end. It was embarrassing, but Jacob felt powerless to fight it.
“Before we get started, I think it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other.” Dr. Silva lowered her chin and stared at Jacob until he felt a bead of sweat drip down his temple. “Would you like some tea?”
He nodded. As if he had any other choice but to say yes. She moved like grace personified, practically gliding to the kitchen. In less time than it would’ve taken him to walk there and back, she returned with two steaming cups. He took a sip with shaky hands, trying his best not to spill any on himself. Around the flavor of oolong tea, he could make out a trace of mango twisted with cinnamon and coconut. The aftertaste was—what was it? Pumpkin. Clearly, pumpkin.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s really good,” he said honestly.
“It’s my own secret recipe. It has over seventeen distinct ingredients. I call it moon tea because it takes a month to make, a full cycle of the moon. I use pumpkins from my garden. Imparts a unique flavor, wouldn’t you agree?”
Jacob nodded. Something about the warm tea and the way the light of the fire flickered across the wood grain coffee table was helping him feel more like himself. Dr. Silva looked him directly in the eye and smiled, but he didn’t feel the same electric tingle as before. He felt … normal, like he might have felt around any adult. She was still stunning but her beauty wasn’t overwhelming.
“That’s better,” she said, but Jacob didn’t know what she meant. She couldn’t possibly know how attracted he’d been to her before.
“You look tired, Jacob. We don’t have to start in the garden right away. Why don’t you just rest awhile and tell me about yourself?”
“Well, I am a little tired,” he replied. To Jacob’s surprise, he began to speak, more openly than ever before. The words poured out of him as if he were a bag of sand that she had slit open, releasing every grain of thought he’d ever had. Jacob told her about his parents and growing up in the little house on Oahu. He told her about his father’s death in the war and then about living with his mother in the family car. He described in detail the public housing apartment he eventually moved into. Jacob admitted that Malini was the only friend he’d had in a long time. But what would upset him the most, later when he’d had the chance to think about their talk, was that Jacob admitted to her that his living situation had cost him friends, and how he wondered, somewhere deep inside, if his mother had meant to abandon him. It was a private thought, not meant to be shared with anyone, but he’d said it just the same.
It didn’t bother him while he said it. Every word was a weight, rolling off his tongue, leaving him lighter than before. It was so easy, to cast the weight aside. When every event his brain could remember was laid out on the table, he leaned back in his chair, feeling as light as a feather, and closed his eyes. If she minded, Dr. Silva did not say so or anything about the silence that ensued.
It was warm here, relaxing. Jacob didn’t care if he ever started work, or if he ever left.
He was on the edge of an irresistible sleep. But just as the feeling threatened to overpower him, he forced his eyes open one last time. He looked across the coffee table at Dr. Silva, her empty cup in hand, and suddenly felt rude for doing all of the talking and none of the listening.
“What about you, Dr. Silva? Tell me about yourself.”
Dr. Silva sat up straighter, her eyebrows arched in surprise. She shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable.
“Well there’s not much to tell really,” she began. Her eyes flicked from her cup to Jacob. “My father kicked me out of his house a long, long time ago, and I have been trying to get back home ever since.”
She may have continued but Jacob didn’t hear. He was fast asleep.