o two delicate porcelain cups - mismatched, but beloved. Her grandmother had collected them one by one, always saying,

ited Nathan

scuits the night before. He had said he liked lemon. Then she, awkwardly but bravely, sai

nds were trembl

if he measured the earth with every step. When he appeared at the door, he removed his cap,

oon," h

me

lk willingly into this house had left his ring on the table and never looke

ther's china," he said. "She used to make ginger t

lied, "while sweetening hers

h sound that stirred som

the scent of cut grass. The tea cooled between them as conversation warmed. They spoke o

ly, the words

line confessed, surprising herself. "I called it o

d at her, but d

him. That I had a way of retreati

" he aske

ust know I wanted to feel like

understood somethi

ay. But when she was sick, I started grieving long before she

oat tightened

ink grief ends when they're gone, but it lingers-

as not just a quiet recluse. He was a keeper of memory. A witness to slow sorrow. And ye

the sunlight sh

s palm against his trousers. "And the lemon b

wed him t

her. The lavender swayed behind him like

d slowly, "you do

response. Just a nod,

-

eside her bed and read an old poem aloud

do not arri

tea and

they

led to

oadi did no

ught w

n time, that w