Page 34 of Safety Net
“This one? Maybe. But there are plenty that include strainers or keep the tea warm—that reminds me, you could knit a cozy for this, Finn,” Henrik said. “It’ll keep the tea warm for a bit longer.”
“Noted,” Finn said.
“So, what are we thinking? Ready to give it a try?” Henrik asked us.
I rubbed my hands together, enthusiastic to finally be in the hands-on portion of this lesson. Finn seemed a bit nervous, but willing nonetheless.
While I buzzed through making my cup, Finn was meticulous, starting over twice when he wasn’t sure he got the right portion of leaves into the strainer.
When I placed my finished cup in front of Henrik, he scrutinized it with a single brow raised.
“Had a little problem with straining, but otherwise, it was a breeze,” I said and gestured for him to taste.
“Little?” Henrik murmured.
“Did you strain at all?” Finn asked.
“I did,” I promised. “Don’t be so dramatic, there are only a few leaves.”
“Did you give it a taste?” Henrik asked.
“Nope, that’s all you.” I smiled and nodded for him to sip. I didn’t like tea, no matter how many times Henrik gave me a different cup to try. For most of the first year, he’d practiced his skills on me, bringing me different variations of what I could have sworn were the same, lightly flavored water. It wasn’t until he started giving the cups to others I realized he was actually good at it.
Henrik took a tentative sip, remained quiet for a second to feel it out, and then took another.
“Yeah, as expected.” Henrik nodded.
I raised my hands in celebration.
“Horrible,” he finished.
Finn tried to hide his chuckle, and I stopped in mid-celebration.
“Oh, fuck. Seriously?” My shoulders sagged, heart dropping along with them. “It’s not even a little good. Like an after kick that shows promise?”
I'd actually tried to slow down. Do everything right. This was something simple I could do to support Celeste. I needed to get it right.
“The aftertaste is the worst part,” Henrik said point-blank.
Finn picked up the cup and took a sip. The wrinkle of his nose and immediate cough and curse were as expressive as I've seen him in almost a year.
“I think I poisoned him,” I murmured in horror as Finn went to the sink to drink from the tap.
“I’m fine,” he said after a while. “Just have a sensitive gag reflex.”
“So, I’m at risk of making her lose her lunch now? Great.”
Henrik laughed and gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You have a lot to learn. Can’t rush it. But you’re on the right track. I promise, I’ll have you making Celeste the perfect cup in no time. Now, let’s try it again. This time…a little less leaves, yeah?”
I nodded and shook out my shoulders, committing to the lesson. “A little less leaves. "
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CELESTE
The playhouse was booked up this weekend, so we scheduled our first musical practice outside at Mendell's amphitheater. It was a small, half-oval stage that was only used a couple of times a year for indie artists' concerts and open markets. The tiered, stoned seating that curved around the stage was covered in grass, perfect for blankets in the summer and lawn chairs in the winter. The greenery and floral carvings framing the stone seating made the theatre reminiscent of something stumbled upon in a fairytale set deep in some mystic forest.
Lincoln did all the prep work to ensure we could practice here without violating any campus rules. I was the first to arrive. I'd changed my outfit six times and my hair twice. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and I considered taking something before remembering I'd stopped my anxiety medication last month because of how exhausted it'd made me. And since then, I'd been trying to find another psychiatrist who didn't make me feel like I was lying when I talked about how speaking to people physically hurt.
