For sixty-three years, she’s taken her afternoon tea the same way. The simple china with the 14K gold trim. Always with a saucer. A full cup of her rooibos tea. The maids mumbled words they thought she couldn’t hear, criticizing her choice. She should drink a more dignified Earl Grey or English Breakfast. But those teas weren’t for her. They didn’t understand her choice. They never would. And the single raspberry. There must always be a single raspberry–upside down on the saucer–next to her cup. Finally, there were the two wafers. She expects it on the same wooden tray lined with a floral napkin she chooses each morning.
For sixty-three years, she’s taken her afternoon tea this way. And today will be her last.
