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Coffee was better than tea. It wasn’t even a question. Eggs have yolks, the sky is blue, and coffee is better than tea. If you needed to sleep, hot chocolate beat out both. In a pinch, hot apple cider would do as well. Tea was the bottom of the barrel. So when the steaming mug was thrust into his hands, Stan braced for disappointment.
“I’m fine.” he growled. The harshness of his tone was blunted by the fact that the target of his words was Mrs. Ramirez, Soos’ Abuelita. He couldn’t be quite as gruff with her as others. Something to do with the fact that she managed to be as unfailingly kind as her grandson while also being inexplicably terrifying. He glared mildly at her as she fussed over the blanket she’d tucked around his legs and his lip curled when she rested the back of her fingers on his forehead like he was a child.
She tisked at him. “No fever. Yet.” there was too much force behind that last word.
Stan rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to fuss over me like this.” he insisted. “I’ve been out in worse storms. Recently!”
Abuelita, because that might as well be her name, shook her head at him. “You’re lucky.” she said slowly, deliberately, with a slight tremble in her voice that didn’t come from fear or age. For a moment she met his eyes, and Stan shrank away from her a little. Then she turned away. “Drink your tea.” she said over her shoulder before starting up the stairs.
Stan grumbled and shifted in his armchair under the blanket. Apparently, coming home soaked to the bone from a late spring thunderstorm wasn’t an option anymore. He supposed he should be grateful Abuelita had just pushed him into the bathroom and shoved a fuzzy bathrobe at him. Although, now that he thought of it, Stan wasn’t sure he could place who the bathrobe he currently wore actually belonged to.
The rain had been nice though. Fat droplets on his face, soaking his clothes and hair and leaving a layer of water over his glasses that left him almost totally blind. Rain in Oregon in May was warmer than rain in the arctic in November, but not so warm it didn’t leave his skin pleasantly chilled. Now the hair on his arms and legs was standing up as the rainwater evaporated in the warm room. A little too warm, if he was honest. Someone must’ve turned on the central heating. Stan might ask Soos about that. No way the kid could build a savings on pay from the Mystery Shack if he ran the heat this far into spring.
The TV was off, the remote not in its place on the armrest. Between the hot tea in his hands and the slight ache in his joints, he wouldn’t be turning the TV on any time soon. So, it seemed silence would have to do. Or, near silence. It was still raining hard enough to drum audibly against the shack. A little howl of wind through places the weatherstripping had started to peel up. If Soos was gonna run the heat he’d want to fix that.
Warm and comfortable, Stan let his head fall against the back of the armchair and relax. After a moment, he was floating near the edge of sleep. A sweet little disconnected place he enjoyed but rarely got the chance to indulge. He jerked back just before going over the edge, remembering the hot beverage in his hands. Grimacing, he lifted the cup and took a sip.
Ginger.
The familiar, warm spice settled on Stan’s tongue and something in him melted. There were other flavors, but he recognized that one instantly. He took another sip of the tea and relaxed against the back of the chair again. This, he concluded, somewhat distantly, was unfair. How had Abuelita known exactly what kind of tea would get him? Or had it been dumb luck? He lifted his head to sip the tea again.
So now here he was. Warm and cozy in a fuzzy bathrobe with an equally fuzzy blanket tucked around his lap by someone’s grandma and sipping a mug of hot tea that he had to, grudgingly, admit was delicious. Well wasn’t he just living the cliche? And for a moment, he waited. The ghost of the feeling that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop passed through him. Then it was gone, and all was well.
Ford was safe downstairs. The kids would be up next month. For the moment, Stan was by himself; but not alone. It was a strange moment. Two years ago a moment like this, realistically would never have come, but if it had it’d be underscored by urgency. The feeling he’s wasting time. Needed to get back to work. It was hard to break out of that mindset. Here he was though, resting when he wasn’t particularly tired, drinking tea of all things. Accepting the comfort given by someone he technically barely knew but who had somehow become part of his family.
He sipped again at his tea, and listened to the wind and rain in silence.