We've finished cleaning up, Angèle and I. Julien has torn himself away from the soccer match long enough to retrieve the tiny charcoal stove from the bedroom.
He sets it on the living room floor and gathers up the tea-making supplies. We Fayes love our tea - any and all kinds.
"Which tea should we make tonight?" It's always our question. Julien has tea from Kenya, tea his boss has given him, tea from other places he's traveled. I, for my part, try to find good deals on tea whenever I shop. There's a nice collection in that drawer under the TV.
Tonight we settle on a berry tea. Fruits rouges, it's called in French (literally "red fruits").
Julien fills up the flowered teakettle with water from the drip filter in the kitchen. He brings the canister of sugar, three spoons, and three cups back.
The water boils. He pours into each of the teacups while Angèle and I fend off little hands wanting to be in on the action. No matter how many times we tell them it's hot, they seem to forget in their excitement.
We stir in spoonfuls of sugar and watch the tiny whirlpools in the cups. It's too hot to drink right now, but the smell alone is enjoyable.
He returns the box of tea to the drawer, carries the sugar canister back, and rakes the ashes over the coals.
The tea cools to a more reasonable temperature. We watch TV and enjoy our tea down to the last drop.
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