It was a simple cup of tea. But it wasn’t. It was so much more than the teabag, boiled water and splash of milk. Not to mention the accompanying sensible teaspoon of sugar. And the milk had been added last, she could tell. All it took was him watching her make a cup of tea for herself on one of their first dates, and the process of how she liked hers was instantly memorised by his brain.
When their relationship transcended from only cafe or restaurant visits to the comfort of each other’s homes, then he began asking to make one for her. She remembers that first time, even though he was within her environment. “Of course,”, she had said, and stood there watching him glide around her kitchen with a relative ease. She shook her head in a slight disbelief. Here he was, a fully grown man who was pushing on in his years, after a long day of work with a genuine smile over his face while making her a cup of tea. How was something so mundane being of such entertainment for him? Of course, he had had past partners, which she didn’t care to know about. This man had also experienced a decent part of the earth, travelling through time zones, seeing wonders of the world before his physical eyes, yet here he was taking a great thrill in making her a cup of tea. But to be fair, she was of near equal years of age, as with experience of past partners and world travel, and she too was taking great thrill here amongst the tea-making. When he walked over to her and gave her a forehead kiss as he presented the cup to her, had he any idea what he had done in that moment? Had he been aware of the gravity behind his actions? She kissed him passionately after that tea, which soon turned into her straddling him on the couch. And it was just the start.
Perhaps a blemished part of her mind was expecting the teas to stop. That once he had locked her down into commitment, for all gestures of love and affection to stop. But she knew that wasn’t true, that it wouldn’t be true. Not with him. Because there was such an authenticity within him, especially within his acts towards her. They didn’t stop in the slightest. They then varied from small to bold, from simplistic to something of deeper planning. And it was all so… effortless, for him. There was never reluctance within his aura. It was never a ‘to-do’ or ‘must’.
He had guessed from that look on her face that day, just before he had kissed her forehead, that she might not be so used to such acts from a partner. So, even though he was a man to debate the theory of telepathy, he had put a telepathic thought into that forehead kiss — ‘this won’t stop, because I love doing this for you. And I always will’. It didn’t stop. None of it did.
And as said, it wasn’t about the tea. It was the way he would wish her a good morning and night when apart. It was the way he would beam at her in public. It was how his body would move faster towards her when they met for lunch, the way his hands would glue to her cheeks and hold her face still as he bent down to kiss her hello. It was the way that his act would make her not care who was watching and passing by the loved-up couple that was them. It was the way he would suggest that she try to get a bit more sleep before a busy following day. It was the holding of every door. It was the way he remembered her current favourite series and would send her articles with the latest interviews and gossip about the show. It was the way how he would always put on music they both equally loved when they got into his car. It was all of the ‘just because‘ flowers and little cakes. It was the way he would look up the plot of a book she was reading, so he could ask her about it. It was the way he loved her. And the way he continued to love her.
At one point, she had to sit him down one day after contemplating much throughout that past week. She had to formalise the words about how all that he does for her was not expected —loved and appreciated, most definitely— but not expected. He made his polite chuckle where most of the sound echoed within his throat, whilst smiling at her.
‘You better expect it’, he had said, to which she had no reply, only further bewilderment. She also wondered if he felt that she showed her appreciation enough for him. Yes, her appreciation for him and all his acts of love was often more displayed in a more intimate and sexual manner, but it was completely honest, because the more he did for her, the more she felt seen by him, the further her arousal would collect, and the further her need for him would drive. And even in those times of the month where her drive would lessen, it didn’t affect his care for her in the slightest. If anything, he would become more attentive. ‘I am happier than ever. Come here’, he simply stated, because it was that simple.
Just as it was that simple to love her.
