The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane(113)
“She’ll be twenty-one—”
“In the fall. I know. But—”
“Look, you two, I’d better get through security,” I say. “I don’t want to miss my flight.”
Dad sighs. “Are you really going to fly off to China with some random Chinese man none of us have met?”
“Oh, Dad, you’re such a dad! And I love you for it.”
He gives me a weak smile, but truly, why didn’t I introduce everyone when I had the chance? Because I wanted to do this on my own. Prove I was capable. Impress Mom and Dad with my independence. Et cetera.
Mom hugs me and whispers in my ear. “I love you. Be careful. We’d prefer if you’d call, but if you can’t, promise to send an e-mail or text every day so we know you’re safe.” When I start to pull away, she draws me even closer. “I’ve known worry before—those terrible nights when you nearly died and your bad spell in high school—but this is a whole new level. So don’t make me wrong. Your dad would never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I whisper back. “I’ll be fine.” Which is about as far from the truth as I can get, because, despite my brave words, I’m scared half out of my pants. Where is he? How am I supposed to do this trip by myself?
I go through more or less the same routine with my dad. I join the line and pull out my passport, but Mom and Dad don’t leave. Even after I pass through security and start up the elevator to the gates, I see them standing where I left them. One last round of waves and smiles, and then I’m on my own.
When I get to the gate, the first-and business-class passengers have already boarded through a special door. The cattle—of which I’m a part—are funneled down a separate Jetway, so I don’t get to see if Sean’s already seated. My parents’ volunteering—if that’s the right word—to buy me a coach ticket for the flight from L.A. to Guangzhou was just one of the many ways they tried to dissuade me from this trip. They have enough miles to have gotten me a seat in business, and it wouldn’t have cost them a dime. By the time they accepted the fact that I was going no matter what, and they offered to pay to boot me up to business—“It’s the least we can do”—I had to act above it all, as in “Oh, Mom, Dad, thank you so much for offering, but I want to seem like everyone else.” And now I’m squished in with a bunch of strangers, going on an adventure to the “middle of nowhere,” as Sean and the people on the Tufts team have repeatedly described it.
At least I’m on the aisle.
The plane taxis to the runway. The pilot revs the engines, and we barrel along until we lift off, passing over the sandy beach and above the ocean. The plane banks to the right—north. My hands grip the armrests as we hit a few bumps.
I wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t met Sean. A year ago, on a whim really, I’d gone to the tea expo at the Long Beach Convention Center. On the first day, I attended a seminar on using the unique flavors of different teas to make artisanal cocktails. “It’s the coming trend!” It was the expo’s most popular event, and I came out of the meeting room more than a little tipsy from sampling Earl Grey–infused whiskey, vodka with hibiscus tea ice cubes, and drinks with names like Tea-tini (with vodka, lavender, rosemary, and chamomile), Sen-cha Flip (with gin, Japanese green tea, and frothed egg whites), and Liber-tea (made with Wild Turkey, honey, tea, and basil). “If I weren’t going to Stanford,” I’d commented to one of the other attendees, “I could open a bar and serve all kinds of drinks using tea, dry ice, spherification, foams, and infusions. Chemistry another way!” The woman didn’t even crack a smile. Those tea people take themselves very seriously.
Next I’d gone to a panel on the science of tea. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a rundown of studies going on around the world looking at the purported health benefits of something I’m interested in for personal reasons but don’t drink myself, except for boba milk tea that I buy in the San Gabriel Valley, which is all about the tapioca balls anyway . . . and now, maybe cocktails. Or that even in a seminar like that one, they were going to serve tea. These scientists from Tufts University, the Tea Research Institute, and a place called the Antioxidants Research Laboratory (whatever that is) started in with all this data about a particular kind of tea called Pu’er that reportedly can help with diabetes, lower blood pressure, prolong longevity, and produce palliative outcomes for everything from altitude sickness to gout to symptoms of HIV/AIDS. Talk about a buzzkill! I thought, Some people will believe anything. I hate people who prey on the weak or sick, giving them false hope when they should be relying on medicine and science. So I was doing a whole pat-myself-on-the-back thing—I’m going to Stanford for real science—when they start showing slides like I’m in a chemistry or biology class.
Randomized Double-blind, Placebo-controlled Clinical Trials (RCT) Effects of Tea on Body Weight, Energy Metabolism, and Recovery from Stress
Beverage formulated with green tea catechins, caffeine, and calcium: increased 24-hour resting energy expenditure (REE) by 106 kcal (4.6%) in 31 young, lean individuals.
In 12-week RCT, with green tea extract (GTE, 750 mg) containing 141 mg catechins to 60 sedentary and overweight (BMI:27.7) individuals: increase in REE and decrease in body weight, despite no change in food intake.