Perfect Love and Perfect Trust

Lemon Balm

Lemon Balm is a mint-like plant with aromatherapeutic properties. One can find solace of the heart and peace of the soul within a sip of its tea or a whiff of its scent.

The air conditioning was broken. It had been since Tuesday, the week before. Faded purple curtains danced with dry wind seeping through the open windows. An elderly dog's panting was accompanied by three different fans. Despite the minimal cooling power of the wind, the ceiling fan, and the two portable fans scattered around the living room, a young woman's thighs were glued to the old, leather loveseat. It was late July. The time of the year has significance. For example, July is the worst time of year for someone's air-conditioning to break. It was 89 degrees inside the house. The young woman shifted. She propped up her left ankle on her right knee, minimizing skin-to-skin contact. She felt disgusting in her sweat-soaked tank top, and the stifling air made it difficult to keep her attention on the task at hand. She sipped from a glass of slightly watery iced tea.

In an effort to distract herself from the suffocating heat, she allowed her eyes to trail away from the pink cloth and white thread in her lap. She looked around the room where she took her first steps 21 years ago. The hardwood floor, once yellow, was now worn and gray. The walls needed attention from a paintbrush. On the shelf under the flatscreen TV once sat twin vases with blossoms aplenty. Now sat one empty vase accompanied by junk mail and bills. The different appearance wasn't the only thing causing discomfort to sit in her belly. There was a tension in the air, despite the calming incense burning silently by her side. To her right, a world away, beyond the empty seat beside her, sat her mother.

When Sophia was a child, it was a rare occurrence to see her mother without a full face of natural-looking makeup and a beautiful french-tip. Mrs. Charlotte Collins always wore her hair in a tight ballet bun. Now she wore it down, with a naked face. Her nails were bare and uneven. Her once golden brown hair, lay tangled and gray. She had black eyes. They sat on purple smears, trained on the TV. She watched the tart newswoman describe the weather.

And tomorrow, you can expect slightly cooler temperatures. The day after we expect thunderstorms, so plan ahead. You might want to reschedule that date to the park or invite them over for dinner instead.

"What do you want for dinner today?" Sophia ventured to no response. "Mom?"

"What?" Her mother turned her head to face Sophia, forehead dotted with sweat. "I didn't quite catch what you said."

"Don't strain yourself." She received only a scoff from the older woman. "I asked what you want for dinner. We have some leftover soup from lunch, or I can make something else. Takeout is always a viable option." She ended with a grin.

"Sophia, the day I eat takeout is the day I die."

"Alright. Do you want soup or should I look through the kitchen to see what we have? There's this new casserole recipe I've been really wanting to try making. "

"Soup."

"Um, okay."

An air of silence stretched between them. The right seat of the loveseat seemed to grow, the space between them stretching evermore. Wet sounds permeated the air followed by the clipping noise of Teddy's nails as he limped from his water bowl to Charlotte's wheelchair. Her frail right hand wiped water droplets from the fur around his mouth. He plopped down again by her feet, stretching out as best he could in the limited room. Sophia watched his tail twitch, poking herself with her needle on accident.

"Ow- Mom, I'd be happy to cook dinner for you if you wanted." Sophia ventured with a sigh.

"Sophia Marie, I said no and I meant it."