They remembered the stories. Not always correctly.
Every afternoon the teapot called the meeting.
Nobody knew who had elected her.
Nobody questioned the result.
She poured tea.
The cups supplied opinions.
This arrangement had worked for years.
“I heard Grandpa again today,” said the left cup.
“Oh?” asked the teapot.
“What was today’s wisdom?”
The cup thought carefully.
“He spent twenty minutes explaining why chairs should never panic.”
The teapot nodded.
“Reasonable.”
The other cup frowned.
“Chairs panic?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Everyone agreed that Grandpa often solved problems that had never become problems.
The teapot poured another cup.
“I preferred yesterday.”
“The umbrella lecture?”
“No.”
“The biscuit lecture.”
“Oh yes.”
“He insisted cookies taste better when broken into smaller pieces.”
“They do?”
“No.”
“But they last longer.”
Silence.
The teapot admitted that this sounded exactly like Grandpa.
The left cup giggled.
“Grandma said the cookies only lasted longer because Grandpa kept stopping to explain them.”
All three laughed.
The teapot nearly spilled.
“I also heard Grandma this morning,” said the right cup.
“What did she say?”
“Grandpa claimed he always knew where he was going.”
“And?”
“She asked why he kept bringing a map.”
The teapot smiled.
“Grandpa answered?”
“He said the map was for emergencies.”
“Was there an emergency?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“They got lost while looking for the picnic.”
The teapot nodded thoughtfully.
“So the emergency eventually arrived.”
Again everyone agreed.
Agreement required very little effort.
The afternoon became quieter.
Birds sang.
Leaves moved.
Cookies disappeared one at a time.
The left cup leaned closer.
“Do you think Grandpa knows everyone keeps repeating his stories?”
The teapot smiled.
“I hope not.”
“Why?”
“He’ll start explaining them.”
The three laughed again.
Then they heard footsteps.
Grandpa and Grandma were approaching the garden.
The teapot whispered,
“Quick.”
“Look ordinary.”
All three froze.
Grandpa picked up the teapot.
He smiled.
“I’ve always thought this teapot listens.”
Grandma looked at the two cups.
“They do more than listen.”
“They gossip.”
Grandpa laughed.
“Nonsense.”
He poured tea.
The teapot stayed perfectly still.
The cups remained perfectly innocent.
They waited until Grandpa and Grandma walked back inside.
Only then did the teapot whisper,
“…She knows.”
The left cup blinked.
“How long?”
The teapot sighed.
“I suspect…”
“…since the first meeting.”
The three sat quietly for a moment.
Then the right cup smiled.
“Tomorrow?”
The teapot nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
“Same table?”
“Of course.”
After all…
someone had to keep reviewing Grandpa’s latest lecture.
Grandma certainly wasn’t going to let him review it first.
Livora Gracely 
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