Mom’s face twists in confusion. “It’s tea. You’re looking at it like it’s a pile of moon rocks.”

“I just thought tea came in bags.” I open the second container. It smells spicy, like pepper and something else I can’t put my finger on. It doesn’t smell like something I’d want to drink. I put the lid back on and open the third. It smells like what I expect tea to smell like … sort of earthy and warm; there’s just a hint of orange. Mom is next to me, filling a yellow teapot—I didn’t know we had a yellow teapot—with water. I push the container toward her. “I’ll try this one.” I suppose if my mother and I are going to live together for the next two months, her being my barista isn’t the worst thing that could happen.

She sets the teapot on the stove and turns the silver knob. The burner clicks as the flame flickers to life, and it seems so loud in the silence of the kitchen.

“Aunt Sarah leaves tonight, right?” I know when Aunt Sarah leaves. I already said my goodbyes last night, in case we don’t cross paths today before her flight. It just seems like the most innocuous thing we can talk about.

My mom nods. “I’m taking her to the airport this afternoon.”

The teapot is softly whistling, and Mom sets a little silver ball in front of me. It’s connected to a chain, and full of tiny holes. I give her a questioning look.

She nods to the canister in front of me. “Put that GPA I’m always hearing about to work and fill it up,” she says. She sets a little spoon next to it.

I twist open the canister and scoop the tea into one side of the ball, then twist it shut. Mom sets a mug of hot water in front of me and lifts the little silver ball by its chain, lowering it into the mug. She twirls it around in the mug, bobbing it up and down until the water is dark.

“How long do you do it for?” I ask.

She holds the chain out to me and I take it, doing the same motion my mom was. “Just depends how strong you want it,” she says. She reaches into the cupboard again and pulls down a little glass jar. “You can add some rock sugar if it’s not sweet enough,” she says, setting the jar of brown crystals in front of me. “Just play around with it.”

I dip the ball a few more times before pulling it out and setting it on the little ceramic spoon rest next to the oven. It’s pretty bitter, so I tip in a few sugar crystals and stir it with the spoon. I take another sip, and the hot liquid fills my mouth with delicious flavor. “Mm.”