An errant strand escaped her upswept hair. People were walking the street, yet no one was going inside.
It wasn’t as if they ignored the shop; instead, they paused, whispered among themselves, then proceeded onwards. I’d seen this behavior before: in the hallways at high school, around the water cooler at work, even by the buffet table at family gatherings.
A walking tour guide passed by with his group and my aunt confronted him. I couldn’t follow the conversation, but I didn’t need to. Their body language communicated much more than words. Aunt Evelyn advocated for her shop; the guide wasn’t receptive. His group scattered into the nearby stores.
My aunt walked away fuming.
Stopping this required the man responsible to set things right before the rumors become a sentient entity of their own; otherwise, it would be impossible to control the narrative.
I entered the store and handed the cookies to my aunt. She opened the box, then closed it.
“Thank you for picking these up. I’m afraid there aren’t many customers to give them to. I went out there and tried, but no one comes inside. That tour guide is like the others: they repeat the horrible, false information about me and my business. Nothing I can say clears my name.” She slouched against the clean countertop. “I’m the newcomer. They’re not going to listen to me. Ines’s family is doing their best to talk to them. I expected resistance in some form, but I thought I had the luxury of a few months to get established.”
“It shouldn’t be this way. Girard isn’t playing fair.”
“No, he isn’t.” Aunt Evelyn sighed and moved to the tea service behind the counter and poured me a cup. “This is my dragon tea. Try it. No one else has.”
I took the warm teacup in my hands and inhaled. Spices teased my nostrils: cardamom, ginger, and cloves, along with a promise of an earthy base.
“This smells delicious.” I drank deeply.
She flashed a weak smile. “I’m glad you approve.” Her eyes never left me.
“Are you worried I wouldn’t like it?”
“No. I stand by the quality of my tea.”
I sat the teacup down and reached for a galette, taking a bite of the waffle cookie.
She tilted her head toward a young hipster stroking his beard outside by the window. He was reading the tea listing posted behind the counter. Her eyes, however, never looked away from me.
“What?” I asked.
“You drank tea, Vanessa.”
A lingering taste of oolong filled my mouth. Nothing pressed against my lips. No intrusion compelled me to speak. My eyes widened and I began to cry.
Forty
Aunt Evelyn placed a hand on my arm to steady me. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
Had I known it would take almost dying to cure me, I might have jaywalked earlier. It was like a part of me, the part I could never tame, died on that Paris street corner.
Wiping my eyes, I refilled my teacup before stepping outside to observe a crowd of people pass. All the while, I sipped my tea, without pain, and without worry. My aunt followed me out, smiling as she watched me finish the cup.
“Do you want to walk around town drinking tea to make sure?” she asked.
“I’m tempted to,” I laughed. A sound straight from my soul, loud, joyful.
For the first time in my life, I truly felt free.
Red threads were everywhere, connecting people near and far—a tapestry of silk strings sewing souls together. In the ocean of couplings, two people, though, were unconnected: my aunt and me. My excitement contrasted with her growing dimness.
I came to Paris and got more than what I desired, yet my aunt had not.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling, Auntie?”
“Because I chose this.” She waved her arm to encompass the whole neighborhood. “I went in with eyes open. I took the risk, and thought I could do it. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Her voice broke. Without any hesitation, I hugged her. She rested her head against mine, leaning in for support. I loved her and wanted nothing more than to see her happy.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to help you,” I said, squeezing her close. “By the time I leave Paris, everything will turn around.”
“If only I had your confidence. I was so sure this would be my time, that I earned the right to choose what I wanted.” A joyless laugh escaped her lips. “I’d been foolish in thinking there was still a chance, but it’s too late. Sometimes, dreams are meant to stay outside the realm of reality.