A Special Mug Of Tea

Agnes always made two cups of tea in the morning. She’d set out the matching mugs, one far more faded than the other, put a spoonful of sugar in each one, and add whichever flavour of tea she wanted. The kettle would boil while she potted around in the kitchen, dragging her tartan slippers on the tiles as she moved about the small room. The whistling would stop; she would add the boiled water and stir in a dash of milk when she was ready. The teabag would find its way to the bin, and she would take her own, faded mug with her as she started her morning routine.

The second mug of tea would sit there beside the kettle, all day, until Agnes finally returned her mug to the sink to clean. There, she would empty the second mug, wash it up, and put it back in the cupboard, on the second shelf, right beside her own.

“Why does she still do that?” asked Agnes’ neighbour, Sally, one afternoon. She was visiting the family to discuss arrangements for the local charity event, which Agnes’ daughter Ettie had run for years. They’d perched themselves on the small sofa beside the kitchen door, and Sally had noticed the extra mug sat out on the counter again. “Surely she knows it’s a good waste of tea.”

Ettie shrugged and dunked a biscuit into her own mug, still piping hot. Despite the fact she had moved out over a decade ago, she still had a stash of her own things hidden around her mother’s house: mugs, clothes, even her old prom dresses. The mug in question was the shape of Lucifer the cat from Disney’s Cinderella, a gift she’d gotten from her grandmother for Christmas when she was ten. Since then, at mum’s house, it was the only mug she would use.

“I’ve tried talking to her about it,” said Ettie solemnly. “She won’t listen- says there’s nothing wrong. I know she still struggles with being on her own, but we come around as much as we can with the kids, and she’s got her own group of old lady friends at the hall she sees every week now. Honestly, Sally, I’m just not sure what to do.”

Sally glanced out of the window at Agnes, who was in the garden watering her flowers. Such a beautiful garden she had, full of the most wonderful plants and selection of colours on the street. It always made people smile as they drove past, no matter the weather.

“Why don’t we just move his mug. You know, put it away in storage with the rest of his stuff. I’m sure it’s not healthy to keep doing what she’s doing- I mean, your dad’s been gone for how long now?” Sally thought for a moment, counting the years in her head. “It’s got to have been five years now, hasn’t it? Wasn’t your Georgie just turning two when he passed?”

Nodding, Ettie shuffled uncomfortably in the small seat. “She’s done this everyday for the twenty-three years they were married. I suppose she’s going to keep it up as long as she’s able.” She sighed, swirling the remnants of her drink around in the mug. A few biscuit crumbs had fallen off into the liquid, and she wasn’t about to drink lumpy tea. “I just wish she would talk to me about him. She’s not the only one struggling without dad around.”

The ladies heard the door swing open and hastily stopped their conversation. Agnes walked in, wiping her feet slowly on the door mat. She smiled at them and walked past into the kitchen, picked up her mug, and took a sip of tea.