Before they unlock the doors, I loiter outside the tea house. It’s a new feeling, this arriving early, beating the traffic instead of sitting frantic in the middle of it. Inside, every table is set with white napkins. Plates are stacked, teapots in their shiny stainless steel lined up and waiting. Scones, so many scones. And spoons, and ramekins of jam, and rice paper soaking for spring rolls. The diners will come. The time will come for me to head to a doctor’s appointment then meetings then emails I don’t feel like sending. The week will begin. And my omelet—mushroom, tarragon, goat cheese—will be the first they make for the day.

May 26, 2015