“No, not at all.” I mouthed another apology to Marc, who watched me with amusement.
“Linda called asking about Evelyn’s house. I talked to Zeny Chieng, big real estate agent. She’s a client of mine. Zeny tells me that the house went on the market right when you flew out. I went with Zeny and got inside. The house is empty! There’s nothing left. Even her car is gone.”
“You’re saying she planned to move here without telling anyone? Even you didn’t know?”
“No, I thought she was redecorating when she did a furniture purge earlier this year. Your uncle Damon told me about the tea shop expansion, but he mentioned it was complicated. I didn’t ask at the time what he meant, but I’ll invite him to lunch tomorrow.”
“What do you think is going on with her?” I asked.
There was a short pause followed by a sigh. “Evelyn always did her own thing. I still remember how shocked we all were when she left for Paris after college. The evening of her graduation she boarded a plane and was gone! No one knew she was leaving.”
“What was she doing?”
“I don’t know. No one talked about it. I can try and find out, but I can’t guarantee anything. I’ll call you again when I have something. Have fun on your date, Vanessa,” she said with a giggle before hanging up.
“One of your infamous aunties?” Marc asked.
I nodded. “Yes. She’s the equivalent of a Chinese godfather.”
Marc lifted a spoonful of the vanilla ice cream to my lips. I obliged. It melted on my tongue, and the hint of citrus at the end surprised me. “This is really good.”
“I’m pretty sure they make it in house.” He paused. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Sometimes, people keep things quiet for a reason, mostly to prevent collateral damage. Compartmentalizing lets some folks function better than facing whatever it is they’re hiding.”
“Is this your professional opinion?” I joked.
His serious expression faltered when he laughed. “No. My mom is a clinical psychologist. I absorbed a bit of it over the years by proximity.”
“My parents are both accountants, and I ‘absorbed’ that so much that I became one myself.”
Marc heaped a generous portion onto my plate. “Have you thought of doing anything else, or is that what you want to do?”
As a Yu, I was often asked if I was in the tea export business, or the accounting and law firms that supported it. I didn’t mind accounting. I’d been good with the language of numbers without much effort. Like a comfortable dent in the couch, I fit into my job with the ambivalence associated with doing the laundry.
“I like it, but I don’t love it,” I replied. “Do you love your job?”
“I do. It is why I came here. I woke up every morning looking forward to doing what I love. Well, that’s not completely accurate. I’ve had a different and amazing reason to wake up the last few days.”
He lifted a dark brow and stared at me.
I blushed.
Auntie Faye called it a date, but I wouldn’t—couldn’t. Like Cinderella at the ball, we had tomorrow, and then my fairy tale would 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 have loved to see something survive.
“Be careful what you wish for.” Aunt Evelyn folded her fingers together, resembling a church steeple. “You and Marc aren’t meant to be long term. Today will be memorable for both of you. After that . . .”
I allowed myself a twinge of disappointment. To wade deeper into the lake of self-pity would tarnish any joy on the horizon. “Thank you.”
“Oh, dear one”—her voice softened into a whisper—“be thankful you at least have today.”
I crammed my emotional baggage back into the closet and headed out the door.
* * *
* * *
Marc was on his phone when I arrived. His shoulders were hitched high to his ears, and if the muscles of his body were a string, they would be tangled into a Gordian knot. His harsh, clipped tone harnessed his command of French into a weapon.
I couldn’t catch anything from the conversation except from the clear body language: it must be another call from work.
His hand clenched into a fist around his phone. He’d been so locked into the call that he only noticed my presence after he hung up. “I’m sorry. Things are blowing up at work.”
“If it’s that stressful, can you find another job?”
“I can, but I have too much at stake where I am right now. My field is competitive. I’d rather leave on good terms. Recommendations are important.” The tension he carried melted away. Marc flashed a smile. “This would be easier if you already knew what I do.”
I hadn’t made much progress in our little game. If I’d been fluent in French, I’d have known what his job was after the first phone call. He carried no physical signs other than the faded scars on his hands. He wasn’t a contractor or a freelancer because he had a boss, not clients. The elevated stress levels at his work environment indicated he worked with a team.