Grandmother

I open up the vintage tea box from the cabinet. One bag left. Peppermint Tea. I boiled tthe water. It rushed in the kettle like the ocean. I got out a mug from my grandmother. Fine china. Inscribed it said, "Save me a seat at your wedding". I was single still. Twenty-five, and my grandmother had passed three years ago. I pour the tea and set out an empty up next to mine. I like to think she is sitting beside me sometimes, but the glass is always empty. The lights dim in my apartment as a storm brews outside. The peppermint sharpens my senses and for an instant I felt I could see her, reaching for me. But it vanishes as the phone rings. I answer to the sound of her breathing. Grandmother. I hang up, startled. I go to the cabinet where my empty tea box is, and reach for it. I open it up and gasp. The once empty tea box was now filled with my peppermint tea. There was a note. It read, "Don't forget the honey." Next to the tea bags there was a jar of clover honey. Peppermint tea, what else can you do?