Dad had left a cup of tea on the bookshelf before going outside to help Mom bring in the groceries. Anna noticed it as she walked through the living room. The tea was nearly to the top, and a dark ring rested beneath the cup where the warm bottom had touched the wood. She looked toward the open front door. Mom laughed. A car door closed. Someone lifted another grocery bag.

Anna slipped both hands around the cup. The tea leaned toward her. She waited until the surface became smooth again. "Watch the liquid," she said quietly. "Not the cup." Then she lifted it.

The lamp cord crossed the floor between the bookshelf and the doorway. Anna stepped over it. The tea rolled forward, then back. At the doorway she stopped and turned left. The tea climbed the right side of the cup, stopping just below the rim before sliding gently back again.

Outside, another car door closed. The floor gave the smallest shiver beneath her feet. A tiny wave crossed the tea. Anna waited. When the surface settled, she walked the last few steps into the kitchen.

She bent her knees and lowered the cup onto the counter. The bottom touched first. One last ripple crossed the tea, returning smaller than before until it was still. A faint brown line rested inside the cup just below the rim — not a spill, just where the tea had been.

Dad came in carrying a bag of apples. He set them beside the sink and noticed the cup on the counter. He rested his hand against the mug. "Still warm," he said, and took a drink.

On the bookshelf, the dark ring was still drying on the wood.