Page 46 of The Wedding Run (The Wedding Letter #1)

Libby

E lle’s eyes widen. “Is that Momma’s…?”

I yank the dripping teabag out of Charlie’s teacup and hurry toward the kitchen. I gently place the teabag in a saucer. A pale, golden tea seeps out of it.

“Oh, Lib!” Charlie follows me. “I saw the teabag on the table, and I thought… I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left it out.”

Charlie and Elle wrap their arms around me. For a long moment, we hug.

“It’s only a teabag.” I sniff back tears. “Which probably tastes terrible.”

“It’s not great.” Charlie pushes the teacup toward me. “Try it.”

The porcelain feels warm against my palms. I wonder if it will smell of fish, but instead, there’s a delicate, minty, organic scent. I sample it, allowing the hot, earthy flavor to roll over my tongue and down my throat. Then, I hand it to Charlie.

“It’s expired,” Elle warns.

“It’s from Momma,” I say.

Charlie sips more, licking her lips. "I already had some.”

Elle grabs the cup and takes a longer, deeper gulp. Making a face, she sticks her tongue out. “Does this mean I can read the letter now?”

I laugh. “When you get engaged.”

“Not on our wedding day?” Charlie asks.

“We can probably make that an exception. Personally, I wish I’d read it months ago. Maybe I would have spared all of us the humiliation and expense. But then again, maybe Momma knew best.”

“I think Momma would want us to read the letter whenever we feel ready.”

Charlie shakes her head.

Elle ignores her. “What do you think the teabag means?”

I shrug. “Different teas have different health benefits. Or maybe it’s that all the pieces of tea leaves are like memories in our heritage, and family holds them together. But I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” Charlie offers, “it was an accident for it to be in the envelope.”

As I study the teabag in the saucer, with the tea’s color deepening, an idea hits me. “You need hot water.”

“Duh,” Charlie says. “Lukewarm doesn’t work.”

“Exactly!” Realization takes shape in my mind. “A teabag is only dried, withered leaves. But with hot water…”

“It makes tea,” Charlie finishes in a flat tone. “This is not a new concept.”

“Together,” Elle interprets, “they create something special.”

“But they both have to be all in,” I add. “They give their all and change to become something new. Together.”

A tremor ripples through me. That’s what Momma and Daddy did with their marriage. Dad was fully committed to being a husband and a father. He never wavered, never closed himself off from us, even when it was hard or seemed impossible.

“That’s so beautiful,” Elle says, handing me the cup. “So romantic.”

“It makes sense now,” I explain. “In her letter, Momma said she couldn’t give Dad or our family as much as she wanted because she was so ill. Daddy had to take up the slack. But that’s how marriage is: all in.”

“One hundred percent,” Charlie says.

“Maybe if we read the letter,” Elle suggests, “we could help you interpret it.”

Charlie’s look says, ‘ Enough already. ’

“Fine.” Elle pinches her lips. “I guess if you’re both all in, then no matter what happens, you’re covered.”

I hug them both. “If you only give fifty percent, meeting the other halfway, then it isn’t enough when you go through difficult times.”

“Full commitment makes the union complete,” Elle declares.

“Right,” Charlie says. “And Derek wasn’t fully committed. We could all see that.”

“He gave what he could,” I defend him, “but I was holding back too. Momma helped me see that.” A longing for something more rises within me.

“You think it’s possible to find a partner, like what Momma and Daddy found?” Elle asks, her tone reflective.

I touch the teabag’s label. It’s such a simple yet profound reminder of a deep truth. “I hope it’s possible.”

But I’m doubtful. Because I’ve lost Luke.