mean, they continue to invite you anyway. They love you.”
She poured hot water from the kettle on the stove into the teapot. “I know. I love them, too, but I can only take them in doses.”
“Do you mean in time or in number?”
“Both.”
We laughed.
“You do raise a good point about the tournament. I should visit during the next one. I’m starting to welcome the prospect that a visit is my idea. I do love gathering for special occasions like weddings, milestone birthdays, and such.” She paused and smiled. “I did tell one person about your mishap yesterday. Why don’t you get the door?”
A knock arrived two seconds later. Judging by her expression, she already knew who the visitor was.
I made my way to the entrance and opened the door.
Uncle Michael stood at the threshold toting a small carry-on. He opened his arms to hug me and stopped when he saw the bandages on my arms. “Evelyn called and told me what happened. I took the next available flight from Munich to surprise you both.”
“It’s great to see you, Michael,” Aunt Evelyn called from the kitchen.
“She expected me, didn’t she?” he asked.
“Right down to the knock.” I leaned against him, bypassing the hug, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you.”
After taking off his shoes, he threw his arm around me and walked me over to the table where Aunt Evelyn had placed an impressive charcuterie plate. Slices of thin-cut, cured jambon sec, viande de grison, and saucisson decorated a wooden board along with a small bowl of grainy, stone-ground mustard. A basket held two baguettes with an accompaniment of Bordier butter. Two generous wedges of brie aux truffes and clusters of Burgundy and Champagne grapes occupied the cheese plate. A spoon handle stuck out from her jar of homemade fig jam beside a small bowl of crunchy cornichons. The last component of the meal was a pâté de campagne that Ines’s mother made as a gift for my aunt.
Uncle Michael whistled. “This looks incredible. I should drop in more often.”
“There’s much to celebrate.” My aunt brought out three flutes from the cupboards and a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “Our niece cheated death.”
I took a seat and helped myself to the baguettes. “That I did. I don’t really want to confront my mortality until I’m old, you know?”
My uncle and aunt exchanged glances.
“What?”
He pried the bread knife from my trembling hand, revealing a mangled baguette. “Maybe you should let us handle the pointy implements,” he said. “Physically you got off with minor injuries. Mentally, however, you’re still processing all of this. It will take time.”
“Don’t stress. You will be fine. You’re a fighter.” Aunt Evelyn patted my upper arm. “We still don’t know what the aftereffects are, if any.”
She placed three buttered slices of baguette in front of me. “Wishful thinking. I don’t think anything has changed.”
“It could,” Michael countered. “Near-death experiences are rare and, from what I’ve heard, they change you. Jack told me how his dad rolled a car in his late teens. He survived it and it ended his reckless streak permanently. When the old man talks about his teenage years, you’d think he was a different person. He still runs his ginseng farm in Vermont and insists that he’ll retire when he’s dead. At eighty-one, he’s healthier than most men my age.” He heaped papery, coral slices of jambon sec and portions of the pâté onto my plate. “This might change you or it might not. Only time will tell.”
My aunt cut herself some of the pâté. “We have two weeks until you go back home. It’ll be good to take the time for yourself and figure out what you want.”
“What I want?” I asked.
“Before you left, Linda mentioned something to me. She’s noticed that you’re not really happy at work anymore. You do your job well, but she’s concerned about your happiness. She knows you’ll never tell her, so she asked me to speak to you.”
I stared at my aunt as heat bloomed in my cheeks. Had I been so transparent about my lack of purpose? My performance reviews had always been exceptional. My clients trusted me, and my desk groaned with baskets of various chocolates, wines, fruits, and cheeses every Christmas.
As if she read my mind, Aunt Evelyn smiled. “You wanted to please your parents and the family, and you’ve done that. They want you to be happy. Clearly, you’re not. You talk about food with more passion than you