Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,31

staring at the ceiling, going over things in my head, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Why Landon had left so suddenly.

It was a restless night, and a worse morning, mowing the still-damp lawn before heading downtown for my shift.

I’d never been nervous going into Rose City Teas before.

“Hey, Darius.” Kerry was working the front register. She was a twenty-something white woman with piercings up and down both ears. She wore this garish, itchy-looking cardigan over her black Rose City T-shirt, the kind where you can see the fibers stretching upward like trees reaching for the sun.

“Hey.” I looked around. “Where do you need me?”

“Stock room. But later.” She cocked her head toward the tasting room. “Mr. Edwards has a tasting for you.”

“Cool.”

After missing the last tasting, I had been kind of worried, so it was a relief when I knocked on the tasting room door and Mr. Edwards swept me inside.

“You’re in for a treat today. We just got a new batch of Wuyis in.”

Wuyi rock tea is a kind of oolong from the Wuyi Mountains in China, known for its heavy minerality, smokiness, and stone fruit notes. The Wuyi Mountains are also, supposedly, the home of the original tea bushes in China, which they use to make a tea called Da Hong Pao, or Big Red Robe.

The finest leaves sell for something like $30,000 an ounce.

Mr. Edwards had only tasted the expensive stuff once, through sheer luck, on a visit to China a few years back.

He said it was the taste of a lifetime.

“Mind grabbing some gaiwans?”

“Okay.”

I pulled down the gaiwans from the top shelf of the cupboard.

“It’s nice to have a tall guy here to help. Don’t need the step stool as much.”

I rinsed each gaiwan in warm water and then dried them as carefully as I could with a soft towel. As I set the table, Landon poked his head in.

“Hey, Dad,” he said. “What’re we doing?”

“Da Hong Pao. Come on in.”

Landon nodded at me and took a seat at the long table, while I pulled out tasting cups and spoons for us. Mr. Edwards grabbed the kettle and started pouring while I picked up my notebook and sat next to Landon.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

My skin hummed.

I wasn’t sure if things were still weird between us or not.

But then Landon reached over and put his hand on mine. I rubbed the top of his hand with my thumb.

Mr. Edwards handed around each cup of leaves for us to smell before he poured the first steeping. We sipped, and took notes, while Mr. Edwards poured the second steeping.

“Kind of bashful,” Landon said. His dad slurped a spoonful and nodded. I took my own taste.

I didn’t even know what bashful tasted like.

“Um. Smoky?”

“Yes, it’s a roasted oolong, but what do you get beyond that?”

“Um.”

I swallowed and looked down at my scribbled notes.

I felt like I was back in Algebra II, trying to figure out the equation of a parabola.

“Good mouthfeel?”

Mr. Edwards nodded, but I could sense the disappointment hanging off his shoulders as he began a second steeping.

We did three more steepings, each longer than the last. The leaves unfurled their green splendor until there was barely room to pour water over them.

When we finished the last taste, Mr. Edwards set his spoon down.

“Okay. Which one would you buy?”

“Number four tasted best,” I said.

“Landon?”

He flipped through his own notes.

“Number two.”

“Why?”

“Better operation.”

“Right. They’ve got higher volume, better pricing, they’re investing in new equipment.”

I looked down at my mess of a tasting notebook.

I wondered if I was ever going to get this right.

What was the point and purpose of loving tea if you weren’t sharing the best taste with people?

Tea was love, not money.

I blinked away my frustration before I experienced a containment breach in the tasting room.

“Good tasting, both of you.” Mr. Edwards stood and pushed his chair in. “Can you handle cleanup and then hit the stock room?”

“Sure,” Landon said.

Mr. Edwards squeezed Landon’s shoulder on the way out the door.

I took the gaiwans to the dishwasher.

“Hey.” Landon brought the spoons over. “Sorry about last night.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. It’s just, I felt out of place, and then that guy was such an asshole when he interrupted us.”

“Trent?”

“Yeah. I didn’t like seeing him treat you that way.”

“I’m used to it.”

Landon stepped closer to me, so our hips were touching. He rested his hands on my waist.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Thanks.”

“I was having a good time, though.”

“Me too.”

“I could tell.”

My ears burned, and Landon’s cheeks flushed. He bit his