Interlude
When I was a child, I’d loved to play tea party with Gran. Not the British stuff that would have made me posh, but good, cold, sweet tea made with buckets of sugar. I’d pour it into our plastic cups and hold a pinkie out and beam, speaking in some fake British accent that was definitely more Scarlett O’Hara than Queen Elizabeth.
Then one day, I decided I was too old for the plastic tea set. Gran wasn’t around, but I wanted to play. And I wanted to use her porcelain set. The one she’d gotten as a wedding gift. Passed down from one generation to the next. It had a blue floral design and was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. Also one of the few things I’d been explicitly told not to touch. Though I was sure they would one day be mine.
Since I knew how important it was, I took ou
