The Tea, Mary Cassatt, about 1880; oil on water. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Suzanne and Terrence Murray Gallery (Gallery 226). M. Theresa B. Hopkins Fund
Over the next few tea parties I randomly selected different cups as Tenny eyed my selections with fascination. Sometimes she inquired why a certain cup caught my attention. Still a painfully shy introvert, I frequently was at a loss to articulate my thoughts. The solution to avoiding interrogation was to switch to a more methodical system; I decided to start at the top shelf and work my way through the collection, left to right, until I eventually tasted tea from each cup (with the exception of Pinky, of course).
It was through this process that I eventually came to a cup that I'm positive I would never have selected otherwise. Its exterior was solid black with a narrow gold trim around the lip, but the handle was white. Perched high above my line of vision, I had no way of knowing from my perspective why Tenny would ever purchase such a plain, dark piece. It didn't look like it belonged with all the other highly decorated and colorful ones. She must have suspected my train of thought as she lifted it down and looked forward to the moment when she gingerly handed it to me.
I was stunned by the unexpected, hidden beauty! The interior of the cup was ringed with deep magenta roses and green leaves against a stark white background. It was exquisite and instantly became my favorite cup.
While I continued working through the collection as planned, I frequently returned to that ebony cup as a special treat. Tenny always smiled when I chose it. I never tired of admiring the artistic contrast of its interior. And I swear that it even made that weak tea taste better!
Years later, Tenny had a surprise in store for us. Whether she had been reading those silly tea leaves again or not, I couldn't say. But she was a bit older than my mother and had apparently been contemplating her future. She informed us that she wanted us to each have one of her cups to remember her and all the tea parties we had shared together. I was a teenager by now and fully grasped the nature of this gesture.
Speechless, I looked to my mother for guidance. How does one respond to such an offer and the implications behind it? But these women, friends through so many of life’s ups and downs, had shared so much. They supported each other through each sorrow and celebration along their respective journeys, and everything in-between. There was no discomfort in this for them.
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