“I need more data and time. I don’t want to guess unless I’m sure.” Game nights with the cousins, along with the softball tourney every summer, guaranteed my generation’s spirit of competitiveness. Plus, guessing the right answer too early wouldn’t be in my best interests.
Ten
This is the best sandwich I have ever tasted,” I declared before taking another bite.
Marc grinned. “Croque monsieur is one of the many local delicacies. It’s a simple sandwich with three vital components: great bread, ham, and melted cheese. Simple, but fantastic.”
The crisp, buttery bread contrasted with the spicy, textured Dijon, salty paper-thin slices of smoked ham, and scorched, melted Emmentaler over it all. The extra ingredient was arugula, which added a touch of peppery bitterness. I’d never been a sandwich person, but today I was converted. The quality of the bread was the catalyst. It was fresh and thick. Everything before had been on the chewy side, reminding me of glorified masticated leather.
The crust on this bread crumbled under the perfect pressure, and the delightful crackling noises it made in my mouth were culinary fireworks. The distinct aroma of it being freshly baked added to its allure.
“That’s about how I reacted when I had my first sandwich here. I’ll have you know that this is good, very good even, but not the best.”
I wanted to protest, but I kept my mouth shut for fear I’d lose the delicious contents inside.
“My job is what brought me here. What brings you to Paris?” he asked.
His career was creative and required specific relocation. I filed the tidbit away. “I’m keeping my aunt company. She is opening up a tea shop on rue de Montalembert.”
“That area has a ton of tourist traffic. She should do well there. Is she making her own or importing?”
“The family business is tea imports. I think she also makes her own blends because my aunties keep asking for custom mixes.”
Auntie Faye and Ma would often consult with Aunt Evelyn regarding special blends for a host of ailments, from something as innocuous as a unique iced tea to serve to important guests to embarrassing cures for problems I didn’t even want to know about. My aunt had kept business talk to a minimum. I imagined she would open up more once I started helping her out at the shop.
“There are more food places to try tomorrow,” he said. “I can also take you to more attractions.”
I wiped the corners of my mouth. “You’re being awfully nice. I can see why Canadians have the reputation.”
“I’m supposed to keep my mind off work right now, and this is the best distraction. You are doing me a favor. Besides, I wish I had a tour guide when I first arrived.”
I added stressful job to my mental list of clues. Marc tapped the tabletop with his long, slim fingers. He had a few calluses along with a thin, faded mark on the side of his thumb pad. Not a desk job, I concluded. The air of mystery around him thickened like the celestial clouds of Bouguereau’s paintings.
“You at least knew the language.” I kept my eyes trained on his face and away from his espresso to avoid any spontaneous predictions. I didn’t want this, whatever this was with Marc, to end yet.
“It helps,” he laughed, tapping a rhythm on the table. “We should do Versailles tomorrow and Giverny the next day, and leave the huge attractions for the last day. What do you think? Is there anything you’re dying to see first?”
“I’m open to anything. You won’t be bored seeing these places again?”
“Not at all, and I needed the time off anyway. My boss was getting a little too cranky. It’s been building for a few months, but it’s been terrible lately. Something set him off. Everyone at work has been trying to figure out what. We’re even running a pool.” Marc frowned and his dark brows knitted together. “He’s one of the kindest people I know, but he’s criticizing everyone for the smallest offenses, and his dark mood is ruining everyone else’s.”
“Did he suffer a 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?” I asked.
“Yes, this happens all the time. I’m sure the recipient will be grateful,” my aunt replied. “Sometimes, lost things find their way, but they need a little help. The world is full of wonders. You just need to trust in it.”
“Easy to say for someone who is clairvoyant.”
She gave me a playful swat on the arm. “Go now before we head out for dinner. I’ll finish up downstairs at the shop.”
I placed my plate and cutlery in the sink, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door.
* * *
* * *
Late afternoon sun reflected off the buildings as I walked the block and a half to the post office. With thousands of shoppers and tourists visiting the area, I was sure some end up mailing items back home. The modern post office was on the ground floor of an old seven-story building with a bright navy-blue door.
I slipped inside and felt at home stepping in line with the American tourists. I waited with three couples ahead of me. An elderly couple at the counter were negotiating to send three items to upstate New York.