breakup?”
“I don’t know what his problem is. All I could do was take a few days to get away for a while.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to leave the unpleasantness behind and enjoy my short-term tour guide stint instead. How about we meet by the rue du Bac metro station at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow? We can start our adventures there.”
* * *
* * *
Marc dropped me off where we agreed to meet the next morning. As I made my way back to my aunt’s apartment, I couldn’t stop thinking of the cute Canadian who offered to be my guide to the city.
Today’s excursion wouldn’t have been possible without Aunt Evelyn’s intervention. She predicted all of this. If I hadn’t resisted so much over the years, what could she have taught me and how different would I be now? I pushed the thought away: I didn’t want to live my life with regrets.
My aunt had given me a key to her mailbox so I could bring the mail in for her. She had also pointed out where the post office was in case I wanted to send anything home. It would come in handy, as I had spotted a few antique stores on this street and, knowing my aunties, they’d want me to check them out.
Inside the mailbox was a lone, cream-tinged envelope. The addresses bore the indentations of an old typewriter. Neither the sender nor the recipient was from here. There were no signs of a postage stamp. I tucked the envelope into my purse.
Aunt Evelyn stood in the kitchen, minding the kettle on the stove.
“I’d love to tell you how my day went, but I think you already know.” I placed my bag on the half-moon table by the door.
My aunt winked. “Beautiful, wasn’t it?”
“The man or the fountain?”
“Both.”
The teakettle whistled. Aunt Evelyn refilled a chintz-print teapot and brought it to the table. I grabbed matching teacups with saucers from the cupboard. A lavender box with a cursive font on the label awaited us at the table.
“I picked up a tarte tatin from a nearby bakery. It might take us a few days to finish it though.” Aunt Evelyn grabbed some plates and cutlery. “It’s a French version of an apple pie or cake.”
When we were both seated, she pulled the box open and withdrew the pastry. As with everything else I had encountered in Paris, it was lovely. Caramelized apple slices arranged in a floral spiral pattern covered the top of the tart. The golden crust crumbled under the pressure of my aunt’s knife.
“I’ve had the softer-crust version, and the more firm version. I opted for the firmer one today. We can try the other next time.” She transferred a generous slice to my plate and cut herself a more modest portion.
My preferred pastries are on the savory side: meat pies, empanadas, patties, potpies, stuffed rolls. My aunt, however, had a famous sweet tooth. The dripping, sticky slices melted on my tongue while I chewed on the crust. The sharp tang of fresh apples melded with the sweetness of toasted caramel.
“I usually eat this with vanilla ice cream.” My aunt smiled before she ate another forkful.
“This is really good,” I said with a mouthful of tart. “The food here has been marvelous.”
“Yes, it is. I was hoping you’d mention the man whose name began with an M.”
If I had harbored any doubts about my aunt’s meddling in this morning’s surprise, they were gone. “Marc Santos. He’s very cute and offered to be my tour guide. Did you set us up?”
“Not exactly. I saw what was going to happen and I gave it a little push.” She winked and placed the rest of the tarte tatin in the fridge. “I’m so busy with the store and I felt guilty that I can’t show you around.”
“How is the store doing?”
“On schedule. We’ll open in a few days. Don’t think about the tea shop until your sightseeing tour is over. Women like us need to enjoy romance while it lasts.”
She said those last words with a sense of wistfulness I’d never heard before from her. Aunt Evelyn was never one for regrets. She’d never expressed any to me, or to anyone, as far as I knew. Again, I was struck by the realization that I didn’t know much about her.
“I found a letter in our mailbox with the wrong address. I think it was misplaced. The post office is down the street. Do I just mail it?”