end. I didn’t want to think of anything else but enjoying the present.
* * *
* * *
Marc dropped me off at our usual spot. We agreed to meet at the same time tomorrow morning. As I made my way along rue de Montalembert, I stopped to admire the wares in one of the antique shops. Several beautiful paintings caught my eye: an oil still life of roses in a vase, a watercolor landscape featuring a scene in the city, and a spring garden pastel. The prospect of haggling in a foreign tongue curtailed commerce. Ma and the other aunties loved to negotiate, to bargain until the item was won, and to walk away with their prize secure in the knowledge that no seller was satisfied with the price. Sellers were always satisfied in their dealings with me. Too satisfied, to the dismay of my aunties.
Aunt Evelyn had picked a wonderful location for her new tea shop. Kraft paper covered the glass panes of the front doors and picture windows. The painted wooden facade was a soothing shade of deep violet. Gold-painted serif letters spelled out Promesse de Thé. The logo was a teacup and a tiny ring on a saucer. Interesting.
Like yesterday, I checked the mailbox and found another envelope: no postage, the addresses identical to the first one. The paper was yellowed by age.
I turned around and headed for the post office. It wasn’t a sense of duty so much as helping someone out there who might be expecting this letter. I couldn’t imagine the patience involved in waiting for traditional mail when technology facilitated instant communication.
As I returned from my errand, the aromas coming from the kitchen enveloped me in a thick blanket of homesickness. Aunt Evelyn was cooking lo mein noodles in a wok. Hisses of steam released the fragrances of sizzling onions, slices of beef, and ginger into the air. The table held a plate of stir-fried prawns with bright red Thai chilies.
I started setting the table. “This looks so good. Thank you, Auntie,” I said as I took down additional plates from the shelves.
“I figured we both needed a dose of home.”
But which home? San Francisco or Paris?
“Who is looking after your house while you’re here?” I asked.
She stopped stirring for a second. “It’s taken care of.”
Not quite a lie yet, but not the whole truth. I hoped she would reveal more once we’d reached a deeper connection during my time here. I wanted her to trust and confide in me, to know I had her best interests in mind.
Aunt Evelyn turned off the heat, pulled a large ceramic bowl from the cupboard, and transferred the noodles from the wok to it. “I need to focus on the store here. I have too much invested in its success.”
“I figured you’re operating it like a franchise. It’s a part of the family business, right?”
She shook her head. A shadow fell over her beautiful face. She banished it with a mustered smile. My aunt guarded her secrets. Disclosure would come only on her terms.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She helped herself to the prawns. “What’s important is that you have one more day with Marc. And yes, I had another vision about you two.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
Aunt Evelyn pressed a finger to her lips and winked.
Fourteen
I checked in with Ma after dinner. She received her assignment from Auntie Faye. The Yu women were rallied under one cause: to investigate one of their own. I acknowledged my guilt in starting their crusade. My only comfort lay in the certainty that the aunties would have found out anyway. They always had.
Aunt Evelyn greeted me in the morning surrounded by a stack of papers.
“Bring the umbrella.”
“Another prediction thing?” I asked.
My aunt smiled. “No, a weather thing. It’ll rain today and you’ll miss climbing the Eiffel Tower. Don’t worry, you’ll get your visit another time.”
I opened my mouth to ask her for hints, but decided against it.
She watched me with avid interest, leaving her work aside for the moment. “Do you want to know anything more about today? Aside from the weather forecast, that is.”
“I do. I like Marc, and I feel like I’m getting attached. I’d rather know now that this is really the last day I’m spending with him. Is there a chance for more?”
Madam Fong said I had no red thread. Pursuing a long-term relationship with Marc was impossible, yet I wanted it. My romantic history was littered with shattered possibilities. For once, I would