Shelbourne & Mattingly: Part 2
Part 2 of The Tea House
Welcome back to Aunt Leo’s Kentucky Tea Parlour in Rockland Springs, Kentucky. While the town prepares for its moment in the national spotlight, some truths can’t stay hidden behind festive facades and forced smiles.
Part 2 of Shelbourne & Mattingly, a winter novelette, invites you deeper into Erie and Seth’s story about friendship, family legacy, and finding authentic connection in a world that often demands performance over truth.
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December 21, 1992
THE TEA HOUSE: Part 2
I watched Seth’s hands settle in his lap, still stained with those same colors he’d just described. The danger in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by something distant and polite. Something that looked too much like acceptance.
Shannon quickly changed gears. “I have the best news.” She handed us each a flyer. “The TODAY show is filming here tomorrow morning! We’re competing in the Merriest Main Street in America contest. This could put Rockland Springs on the map—bring visitors from all over!" Her voice held a hint of desperation beneath the cheer.
“Will Bryant Gumbel be there?” Seth asked.
“Or Katie Couric?” I added.
“What if they’re both here?” Seth pressed his hands to his cheeks. “Together?”
“That’s right, Seth!” Shannon beamed, missing his sarcasm. “Think positive! We need everyone on the square at eight twenty-five sharp. Dress festive and make signs. We’ll provide reindeer antlers and Santa hats.”
“When does it end?” Seth asked.
“Eight thirty-five.”
“Only ten minutes to establish our world-dominating holiday cred?”
Shannon ignored him. “Tell your entire family. Bring your biggest smiles!” She gathered her things. “Can I count on you both?”
“You bet,” Seth said brightly.
I raised my eyebrows, while Shannon hustled Topher out to help her deliver more TODAY Show threats.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“I’m going to be the merriest citizen on TV tomorrow morning.” He pointed his spoon at me. “People all over the world will see me, huge smile on my face, thinking, ‘Look how delightfully well-adjusted that young man appears to be.’”
I took the dirty spoon away from him. “Shannon said we can make signs. Here’s our chance to overthrow the tourism regime.”
“I admire your ambition, but they’ll have the sign police on high alert. Any shenanigans will be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.”
“How about, ‘Of course we’re merry, we’re still drunk from yesterday.’”
“Or ‘Rockland Springs, where the tree isn’t the only thing getting lit this year.’”
Outside, the morning sun had surrendered to rain again. Seth checked his watch. “Ten o’clock. Ready for my news? You might want to sit down for this.”
My stomach clenched. “You know I hate when you say that.” But I lowered myself into my chair.
“I know.” He traced the rim of his teacup, each rotation precise. “It’s stage four now. In my lungs, maybe my liver. They’re not sure anymore.”
The world tilted. While I’d been playing at make-believe bliss, he’d been carrying this alone.
“They say I have a year. Tops.”
I stood abruptly, my chair scraping the floor. The sound seemed to come from very far away.
Seth stood too. I remained still, arms at my sides, afraid to move. One touch and I’d shatter. Meanwhile, inside me, his news was rapidly mutating from devastation into ways I could be of service. My superpower. My survival instinct.
He pulled on his red wool hat. “You get off at three, right?”
I nodded, grateful for the escape he was offering us both.
“I need to paint. Mom wants you to help make dinner. Gabe and Jess are bringing the kids.” We adored Riley and Macy, but our blue-eyed nephews embodied everything Seth and I had sworn to avoid—the perfect Shelbourne-Mattingly merger, their parents’ wedding immortalized in the Louisville society page as “A Bourbon Fairy Tale.”
He studied my face. “Stop by and pick me up on the way there?”
“Of course.” I tucked his scarf around his neck.
“Jesus, woman. I’m only walking three blocks.” He rolled his eyes but let me fuss. For a moment I saw him at thirteen again, balancing on the highest catwalk in Warehouse Five, showing off because I’d dared him to make it across.
“Leave,” I said, gently shoving his shoulder. “Go make something pretty.” It was an old joke between us. His art was never pretty—it was stunning, devastating, the kind that left marks.
“Pretty died with my teapot logo,” he said, a spark in his eyes. “Now I specialize in things wholly unsuitable for visitor centers.”
A strange calm settled over me. This was what I was made for—holding the beautiful, broken things. The ones that scared other people away.
His smile softened. “Glad you’re back, Shelbourne.”
The bell jingled as the door closed behind him.
It was the shortest day of the year, but every minute dragged. Three blocks had never felt so far away. Dirty teacups still waited in the sink. I straightened boxes, steadied ornaments, steeped pots of tea that no one would drink. The rain traced patterns down the windows until three, when I flipped the sign to “closed.”
In the Basilica of Saint Agnes, I slipped a quarter in the slot of the brass box. Another candle for Saint Anthony. Another wish. Through the stained-glass windows, I thought I saw snowflakes falling. But when I pushed open the heavy door, I realized it was just more rain.
TO BE CONTINUED in THE STUDIO
Need to catch up?
I just read parts one and two. Thankfully, there are new reveals on Sunday. I only need to wait one day....🙂✒️