Tea Room

“Agatha,” my best friend Johnathan began, “when will you get a husband or for that matter a wife, or an anyone?” I roll my eyes.

“How about never?” I look down into my tea cup, “dating is a hassle and my standards are to,” I trail off waving my hand in the air, “specific.”

“Then make a list or something,” Jonathan leans forward, brown eyes glistening, “just do something!” It was one of those times where I loved Jonathan but hated him because he was a happy new wed and he wanted the same for me. I think twenty five is too young to settle down but apparently I’m of the minority.

“A list,” I say finally glancing up from my tea.

“Yes,” he shoves a piece of paper and cheap black pen across the table, “what are your standards?”

I pause, staring distrustfully at the paper. I know as soon as I write I’ll be trapped into some kind of social experience with another human being that isn’t my friend. I look over at Jonathan typing at the speed of light on his phone. He looks up at me and then down at the paper meaning fully before smiling.

“Fine,” I say, and I begin to write.

Subject 1:
I want intimate conversation over tea but you just want to fuck me. I can see it in your clear grey eyes.
My eye’s slide away to hide from your leer, I look out the window.
Why am I here?
I sip the rose chamomile down my throat.
Why am I here?

I had been right on that Tuesday last week when Jonathan had made me write the list. He had set up a Tinder account and lo and behold I had my first blind date. His name had been Nathan or Nate as he had asked me to call him. He’d seemed like a pretty ok guy until I noticed him blatantly staring at me. This was why I didn’t date. The first thing on my list was ‘conversation’. Was it so hard to ask for a decent sit down with someone? No.

I cursed Jonathan in my head. On top of it all my day at the C.U.S. Quip hadn’t been that great either. Some mother had called yelling about her son’s funds for college or some crap.

Mom called. Dad’s apparently going through another life crisis. This is like the eighth one. There’s supposed to be a family dinner since Chell just graduated from college.

What a fucking day.

Subject 2:

Chell called today. Said something about moving to where I am. Why the fuck would you want to come to Vista? She proceeded to talk my ear off about missing me. She reminded me about the family dinner. Bring someone nice she said. Riiiiighht.

It was a good thing the restaurant I had my date set at was close to work otherwise I would have been late. My boss, Dalilah, had gone on and on about the new data systems that would be installed next week (the week of that god forsaken family dinner). As I hurried down the street I wondered once again why I had gone into administration instead of philosophy. Breaking my brain to the point of exhaustion was what I enjoyed most.

I shook my head to dislodge the thought. Ten minutes later I was sitting across from Casey.

White cream from the shrimp carbonara peaks teasingly from the corner of his mouth. It wiggles at me, dancing.

He asked a question but I was too busy being seduced into disgust by his mouth friend.

I nod.

He continues to speak, satisfied. Another bite, another friend to seduce me, another test failed.

D-8 to dinner. fml

Subject 3:

I feel my face relax into a smile. Today is green tea with a lemon poppy seed muffin.

“What do you think of the God Particle?” he asks. I think you’re perfect; the thought swims through my mind.

I open my moth to reply but am rendered frozen. I watch his hand float up from the table and brush his face. A single finger, his index, flexes.

“So?” he asks, waiting for my reply. I clear my throat, gathering myself, but my eyes are glued to that finger as it dives into his left nostril, as if a starved man presented with a feast.

Oh.

Eww.

It wasn’t long after that that I walked home. Thank God I only lived three blocks from my favorite tea shop, The Plentiful Green. I felt like I had been so close to finding a match in Mark this morning it was disappointing he had no manners whatsoever.

I thought back to my list. It had only been filled with five items. Mark had the ‘passion’ for science but none of the cultural awareness that I needed in a partner. I frowned as I searched for the key to my lonely one bedroom apartment.

“Damn you Jonathan,” I muttered as I shut the door and threw my keys down, “dating is fucking troublesome as fuck.”

Subject 4:

Dad called today. Says dinner is at 5 and to wear something nice. I was tempted to say sweats can be nice but thought better of it. “Bring someone with you,” he said, “and not your sister Michelle.” I was late, running out the door to meet Matthew.

Marriage is just as interesting as one night stands, I muse. I remember dad saying, in his rotund voice, “Your mother never did casual sex, only serious endeavors.”

Sharing a bed is not my thing, I think. The sound of a stuck pig fights its way from the body next to mine. Snoring is not my thing. I glance out of the corner of my eye to watch his chest rise and fall.

How can it be so loud? Squealing, snorting like the back of a butchers shop.

I turn to face the window. Perhaps one night stands aren’t as interesting.

I had two days till D-day.

New systems are in at work. Delilah is having a field day. A mental hydrogen bomb field day. Fuck programming.

Subject 5:

The devil had farted, which was an understatement if the yellow smog and sulfuric smell were anything to go by.

Iced tea today. Black, unsweetened.

Dark hair this time, clean shaven, button up white shirt, nice.

“The weather is nice today,” he follows my gaze, smiling. No, I think, it’s not. I hide my frown and sip my tea.

Fail.

The dinner had been super uneventful. I hadn’t brought anyone like requested and the two and half drive up to Pasadena had been shit. The only good part hand been my and Chell laughing at Dad’s new hobby, book binding. Chell had also told me to change my braids to twists because that was the “new fashion.”

Why the hell had he chosen that? I don’t know. Mom had been super pushy. “Isn’t there anyone Aggy?” she had sighed.
NO.

Jesus, dating was a hassle. If anyone looked at my track record for dating guys (or not dating) they would see that no one fit my standards. Joshua this morning had been fake as fuck. But did dudes like him ever have an original thought?

Tomorrow, Jonathan’s gonna get an earful at work.

Subject 6:

“I’ll take jasmine tea, please,” he says. I raise a brow and order the same. Actually ordering tea, huh? That was new.

“So,” he says, turning to face me, “what do you know about the “Interpretation of Dreams”?”

Oh, I think, this ought to be good.

My date this morning had been pretty ok. Daniel was a pretty stand-up guy. I mean he liked coffee more than tea, and was in the middle of doing his dissertation so I guess that made sense. He was getting a Doctorate in Modern Surrealist Dream Literature. I don’t know what the fuck that is but he knows Freud and he likes reading.

Chelle called to tell me dad’s finally calmed down and that he would be sending me a handmade journal. Que me rolling my eyes. Ah well, at least this time his binge was shorter than last time. Three years ago had been wood carving. Ugh.

I worked out all the kinks at work for our new system, WebBang. Maybe Dalilah will give me a raise.

Subject 6:

Johnathan came by early today only to walk in on Daniel and I having a heated conversation about music appropriation over bagels and eggs. We’d been going steady–to my happy disgust– for about a month, our hair pulled out of the way with matching jeungpyeon patterned bandannas.

Dating is a whole other animal.

A kiss is best when left hanging with no push to drop. A smile of Dreams had led to a whisper of Oedipus and a frown of Othello.

Rose tea stood cold and forgotten, Shakespeare shoved into a corner by his lips on mine.

A pause strode forward.

“Ugh,” Jonathan retched, “You two were made for each other.” I pull away from Daniel to give my best friend the finger.

“Thank you,” Daniel said, lips curled, showing a hint of teeth. No, thank you.

Conversation, check.