Author's note: Written for the Paint It Red July 2012 Monthly Challenge. Prompt: "Only fools carry on."
A taste for tea
He had never tasted tea before Angela.
One day the girl beckoned him to her trailer and he watched her slender figure in fascination as she moved gracefully around the kitchenette – putting the kettle on, and then pouring hot water into the teacups.
White china teacups and saucers, like he'd never seen before.
The beverage tasted of something unique – strong and warm, like Angela herself. He developed an immediate liking for it.
Later on, when they were married, they would sit in the living room of their beautiful house in Malibu and slowly sip their tea – then savor its flavor lingering on each other's lips again and again.
…
The first time Charlotte decided to try her hand at making tea was one of his fondest memories.
She almost scalded a couple of her fingers in the process, yet she looked so proud of herself when she presented him with a cup of his favorite beverage.
Since that day tea tasted slightly different to him – not only like Angela, but like Charlotte as well.
Rich and sweet and heartwarming. He simply couldn't do without it.
…
He should have stopped drinking tea after Red John. He really should.
For each cup tasted so bitter now – every small sip reminding him of the beloved ones he'd lost out of sheer foolishness.
Tea and grief. Such an intense flavor – he simply couldn't get enough of it. It hurt him and made him feel more alive at the same time.
He didn't give up on tea. It was the single thing that was left to him.
The fact that Red John was a tea lover himself both intrigued and disgusted him in equal parts.
He still held to his belief that tea is like a hug in a cup. No matter if it turned out to be an unfaithful mistress, cheating on him with his worst enemy.
…
He was actually having a belated cup of tea when Lisbon walked to the couch and informed him that Red John was dead.
The beverage tasted a bit salty after that – as his tears slowly dripped into the teacup and diluted its content.
Lisbon took the thing from his hands, poured the lukewarm liquid down the kitchenette sink and came back with some freshly brewed tea.
Her eyes never left him as he took small sips of it – his brain numbly registering the fact that his tea held a different flavor this time.
Soothing and comforting. Something unusual yet strangely familiar at the same time.
Like Lisbon herself.
…
It was the slight tremble of her hands as she poured his morning tea that gave Teresa away this time.
His wife looked nervous enough – her eyes plainly avoiding meeting his own.
He took the cup and brought it to his lips. The liquid was so hot it burned his tongue – the painful feeling couldn't quite spoil the delicious flavor of Earl Grey though.
When he finally placed the empty teacup on its saucer his fingers closed around Teresa's elbow and guided her to sit on his lap.
The skin of her neck tasted so good after his tea. She let out a soft moan as his fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt and gently grazed her belly.
He vaguely wondered whether their child was going to like tea as well.