He finished the tea and returned the teacup to the art nouveau–style silver tray. Three stray droplets clung to the bottom. They were enough. Taking a deep breath, I grasped the edge of the counter to steady myself. My stomach churned as though trapped in one of those centrifugal carnival rides.
My cousin Chester tried to force a prediction once. He was rewarded with a surprise tackle from a runaway Pyrenees that had escaped its leash. The timing was no coincidence. I had witnessed what happened to anyone who forced a prediction. I’d never been foolish enough to attempt it for myself, yet my aunt had reassured me.
I needed to trust her.
The prophecy coalesced as the taste of tangy Sinigang, a Filipino tamarind-based broth, sang on my tongue. “In the grip of a wintry spring, your father will wander the streets of Zurich. Pneumonia will claim him.”
Tears gathered at the corner of my eyes as I let out a sob. He froze, and looked down, avoiding my eyes.
My aunt came over and spoke in a gentle tone. Though I could not understand the words, I knew she was offering him comfort and guidance. The lady held him in her arms and escorted him from the shop.
A dull ache radiated from my right temple. For a brief instant, the lights in the tea shop shimmered blue before dimming. A network of frost spider-webbed the picture windows, then melted into droplets clinging to the glass.
“Are you all right?” Aunt Evelyn asked.
I placed the empty teacup in the sink behind the counter. The ceramic clinked against the metal sink, betraying my shaking fingers. “I got a headache from the prediction. They started before Cynthia’s wedding. The worst was after I predicted Dad’s best friend was going to die, and yesterday with Marc.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Aunt Evelyn asked. “This is important.”
“I wasn’t sure they were connected. I am certain now.” I rubbed my temples. “I’m thankful this one isn’t as intense, but as bad as I feel, I can only imagine how much worse it is for him. I just told him his father will die.”
Aunt Evelyn moved to my side and placed her hands on my shoulders. “You warned him. You did good.”
“How is this good?” I asked. “He didn’t come in here this morning expecting a tragedy. How many people do we have to foresee die? Should I be keeping count of how many lives I’ve ruined? Is there a quota you’re aiming for?”
Aunt Evelyn tapped my shoulder. “Remember, you are not the message, you’re only the messenger. Whatever you say, they can easily dismiss. No one is forcing them to listen.”
“But,” I protested.
“You’re a stranger to them. Put it this way: How would you react if someone you didn’t know told you about your future?”
“I would ignore them.”
“No one has to listen to us, Vanessa. It’s their choice. People can ignore what they’ve heard. Believe it or not, most people are like you—they refuse to listen to anyone who tries to tell them how to live their lives.”
The grips of sorrow eased as I laughed at her pointed jab.
“Plus,” she continued, “I think you’ve missed the point of this exercise.”
“Which is?”
“You’ve given a prophecy and survived. You were worried about compelling them. This should ease your mind.” She smiled. “You’re doing fine. As for the headaches, I have a theory. I believe they’re due to the surplus of predictions stored inside you. You’ve been fighting them all your life. This was the prophecy’s way of fighting back.”
I grimaced.
“The more predictions you have, the less pressure there will be. Death was the catalyst. Trust me.”
I resumed my position behind the counter.
A perky twentysomething brunette and her two girlfriends swept in. Their energetic chatter and giggles were infectious. They carried tiny pastel-colored paper bags stamped with a nearby patisserie’s insignia. Seeing them brought wonderful memories of going out for Hawaiian shaved ice with Cynthia.
The leader chatted with my aunt while her two friends approached. One had a blunt, blond bob while the other had swept her wavy, auburn curls into a loose bun. They both pointed to the teapot and the card.
I smiled, pouring them both a cup. The comforting scent of honey and chrysanthemums escaped from the spout. The sweetness in the air reminded me of a warm cup of milk Ma used to give me on those rare cool nights.
My aunt winked at me. The two ladies exchanged a set of giggles before tasting. I’d never had two prophecies occur in the same day.
I rolled my shoulders and willed the tension in my muscles to dissolve. The young women finished at the same time, returning their cups to the tray.
A sensation swelled in my abdomen. Instead of fighting, I succumbed as two flavors emerged, one after the other: the juiciness of medium-rare kalbi ribs on a blackened grill followed by the creamy center of a steamed egg tart. I turned to the blonde with the olive skin. “You will be accepted into the prestigious fellowship in London. Your path to artistic success is clear.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted brow. The redhead narrowed her eyes at me. Staring into her green eyes, I delivered her prediction: “She will reciprocate the words you long to speak. The channel will not separate you, for the heart never lies.”
The redhead blushed and mouthed the words, “How did you know?”
I smiled. The joy from their two prophecies filled me to the brim. If all predictions were as benign or as welcome, I wouldn’t mind having this ability. Learning to trust in the unknown, with the knowledge that its results could be both catastrophic and beneficial, was difficult.
The resulting dull ache in my head was less than the prior one.
The peonies by the window opened wider, their petals curling, heightening their bloom and size twofold. The pure white flowers began to blush, pink spreading like the lightest of touches until the result was bicolored blossoms.
My aunt guided me toward the front window to observe the three young women as they left the shop. The redhead grasped the blonde’s hands within her own. Her naked emotion needed no translation. When she finished speaking, they embraced and shared a lingering kiss. We watched them stroll out of view hand in hand.
“It’s human nature to focus on the negative,” my aunt said. “You believe misery weighs more than happiness. The world would be an inhospitable place if that were so.” She placed the two teacups into the sink and washed them. “They are happy. Hold on to that feeling.”
“It’s not easy for me to forget that I foresaw a man’s death earlier.”
“We are the messengers of the future and can’t control the kinds of prophecies we see or how people react. We aren’t essential to the process of living. Events will come to pass, with or without us.”
I accepted the cleaned cups from her, dried them, and placed them on the service tray. Reconciling the true nature of my abilities had never entered my thoughts. I hadn’t indulged in any philosophical questions over something I considered an unwanted condition.
“The goal is to get you accustomed to seeing the future. The more you see, the more you’ll learn to master it. I believe your reluctance to accept your abilities has hindered their scope.”
“Once my surplus is gone, what happens next?”
“We’re not close to dwindling down what you’ve hoarded. Let’s see how many more we can get.” Starlight twinkled in her brown eyes.
I had the sense Aunt Evelyn was enjoying this far more than she should.
Twenty
Paris and Palo Alto. Separated by a continent and an ocean, a language and a culture, yet the human condition—and its foibles—transcended all barriers. Each customer who bought tea also left with an unsolicited prediction. Some were minor misfortunes: a sprained ankle, a dislocated hip, appendicitis. But there were also three affairs, two marriage proposals, one inheritance, and another death.
Their faces paralleled the gamut of volatile emotions I experienced. Fortune-telling connected the fortune-teller to the people whose futures we witnessed. Death left an indelible mark, one you couldn’t wash away, forget, or run from.
As each prediction escaped my lips, the familiar pressure eased like a slackening rope. The emotional energy, ever present, lingered less and faded faster. The headaches had all but disappeared. Compelling predictions had changed something inside me. Aunt Evelyn’s drastic methods were working.
By noon I was exhausted and hungry. From across the shop, my aunt heard the sounds from my stomach. She giggled. “I suppose you’ve built up an appetite after all your hard work. There’s a bakery a short walk from here known for their wonderful sandwiches.”
She handed me a piece of paper and shooed me out the door.
The narrow streets of Paris retained their dominating aura of antiquity despite the encroachment of modernity. Time crawled slower across these cobblestone roads when compared to avant-garde Shanghai or Tokyo, cities that married the archaic with the contemporary, where ancient temples and glass and steel high-rises jostled to pierce the firmament. Paris had never suffered extensive damage from war. Its buildings maintained their vibrant link to its past.
How could anyone resist Paris’s intoxicating, sugary perfume? Hints of brioche, baguettes, pain au chocolat, and mille-feuilles dusted the air. I could have found a bakery guided solely by smell.