Chai

I held the tray with both hands and stepped into the living room. I tried to focus my eyes on my grandfather and my ears on the delicate clinking of the china. As much as I wanted to see Jayan for the first time I had to be mindful to not trip on my overflowing sari. I stepped one foot in front of the other and walked to the coffee table and set down the tray. One by one, I served piping hot cups of chai to the men in the room. First to my grandfather who smiled at me and gave a slight encouraging nod. Then, to Jayan's grandfather who I assumed was the other gray haired man and then down the line by silently guessing their age and position within the family. My father, his father, my uncle, his uncle, my brothers, his brother. I didn't speak, just handed them out, eyes lowered, face flushed knowing that all eyes were on me. Was my sari on correctly? Why didn't I take that extra safety pin my aunt offered me? Once everyone was served, I hurried back into the kitchen to retrieve a stack of napkins and the crystal bowl of sugar and tiny spoon. I reentered the living room and my father asked if anyone wanted sugar in their tea. I obliged as needed. Then I retreated back into the kitchen and sat on a barstool with my aunts and my mom and waited.