Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,64
I turned to Mr. Edwards. “Be right there.”
I mopped the spill up, and then helped break down some boxes for recycling. I was headed to the tasting room again when Kerry said, “Darius. I need some Uva. And New Vithanakande.”
“Tins?”
“Packs.”
“Okay.”
“It’ll be a second,” she said to this tall, beardy person with a trucker hat waiting at the register.
To be honest, they were the last person in the quadrant I would have expected to be looking for fine teas from Sri Lanka.
“Thanks,” Kerry said when I handed off the packs.
“Sure. I’m gonna catch this tasting if it’s okay.”
“Have fun.”
Mr. Edwards and Landon had already steeped four different cups of Darjeeling, and were dipping their spoons into the third when I knocked on the tasting room door.
“Just in time,” Mr. Edwards said. “Grab a spoon.”
I sat next to Landon and dipped my spoon into the first tea.
“Mm,” I said. “It’s good.”
“First or second flush?” Mr. Edwards asked.
“Um.”
I smelled the tea, studied the liquor, took another sip. It was lighter and smoother.
“First?”
“Good. What else?”
“Floral?”
“Hm.” His lips pursed for a second. “More spicy than floral, I think. Cardamom.”
“Oh.”
It didn’t taste like cardamom to me at all, and I drank cardamom all the time.
I tried number two. “Um. Tropical?”
“Yes, guava and passionfruit. Be more specific when you taste.”
That burning in my chest came back: this weird, kind of fluttery feeling, like I had a pulsar lodged behind my sternum, spinning and flinging electromagnetic radiation outward in rapid intervals.
I wished I could just drink the tea and enjoy it.
Next to me, Landon’s pen scratched against his notebook.
Mr. Edwards cleared his throat. “How about this third one?”
“Kind of nutty? Like almonds?”
“Better. And number four?”
I felt like I was back in Algebra II. And there was no Chip to help me study either.
I sniffed and sipped and thought.
“Fruity.”
“Grapefruit,” Landon added.
“Right. You’ve got to work on that palate, Darius.”
The pulsar spun faster.
And I had that ridiculous feeling again, stronger than ever.
Like I didn’t like working here anymore.
Like sooner or later, tea was just going to be another test for me to fail.
“All right. Better get cleaned up. Good work.”
“You mind taking care of it?” Landon asked. “I’ve gotta do some stocking.”
I cleared my throat. “Sure.”
I emptied the cups and put them in the dishwasher, wiped off the table, and told myself everything was okay.
Really.
* * *
I was going to go home after work, but Landon invited me over.
Landon almost never invited me over. For some reason, we usually hung out at my house.
So when he asked me to come over, I knew I had to say yes.
Landon and his dad lived in a condo downtown, just a couple streetcar stops away from Rose City. It was in a remodeled art-deco office building, on the eighth floor. Landon punched in the code to the front door and led me up in the elevator. He grabbed a paper notice wedged into the door frame and let us in.
Every time I saw Landon’s home, I was kind of amazed. Their living room had these big windows that looked out over downtown—you could even see Rose City Teas, if you were tall enough, like me—and everything was white and chrome and sleek.
Landon led me to the angular black couch. “You want anything?”
“I’m good.”
He sat down and rested his head against my shoulder.
“You okay? You were awfully quiet today.”
“I don’t know. I just . . .” I played with the hem of my shirt. “I don’t know.”
Landon snaked his arm behind me to hold my waist. “Talk to me.”
I didn’t know how to tell him how tired I was of never having the right answer at tastings.
How I just wanted to drink tea and share it with people.
How I wasn’t happy at Rose City.
I didn’t know how to say any of that out loud.
So instead I said, “I’m just worried about my dad, I guess.”
“He still depressed?”
“Yeah. Plus I’m still sad about my grandfather.”
“I get that.”
“Babou loved tea. Now, every time I make a pot, drink a cup, it’s like . . . it hits me. I don’t have a grandfather anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
I took his free hand in mine and twined our fingers together. “It’s okay.”
Landon kissed my shoulder.
I sighed.
He smiled at me, and then leaned in closer to press his lips against mine, warm and soft and lingering.
It was gentle and nice. His hand moved from my waist to the back of my neck, fingers playing along my hairline before moving up my head and twisting into my curls.