“Can I read yours?” I asked.
She gave me a hard look. “No. They are available after a seer dies, and you have to be a member to access them. And, before you ask, you aren’t qualified. You must demonstrate detailed, reliable, and accurate predictions for consideration. The criteria they’ll use to judge you will be more difficult.”
I scrunched my face.
Twenty-Eight
Aunt Evelyn vowed to reopen the shop after lunch and a quick trip to Ines’s bakery for another box of madeleines. We walked together to a nearby quiet Vietnamese restaurant.
The translucent wrap of the cold rolls transformed their contents into an impressionistic painting of greens and oranges alongside grilled sugarcane sticks carrying fried shrimp paste as tasty appetizers. Thin cuts of lemongrass-spiced pork chops, barbecued to perfection, were paired with colorful Vietnamese fried rice. Over a spread of gỏi cuốn, chạo tôm, grilled pork chops, and cơm chiên, we discussed the origins of Auntie Gloria and Auntie Ning’s feud. A bit of family gossip helped ease the tension between us.
“Those two have such a rivalry because they have similar tastes,” Aunt Evelyn explained.
When we were young, the cousins and I were shuttled around to various practices. Donna Summer blared from both aunties’ minivans. They enjoyed collecting ceramics and watching soap operas, and both volunteered at the local women’s shelter. With so many overlapping interests, they should have been best friends.
“I can see that, but they don’t really hang out.”
“Ning and Gloria will insult each other to us, but if anyone outside of the family ever insults the other, she’ll defend them to the death. It’s the family way.”
“When did this start?”
“High school. They both tried winning Donna Summer concert tickets on the radio. Ning won. Gloria insisted that Ning cheated, but she couldn’t prove anything. It was the same year they both had a crush on Tom Lau, the quarterback, which didn’t help matters. Gloria won that battle. Years later, we found out both had cheated, and how they did it.”
I let out a scandalized gasp.
“I think at this point, the two quarrel out of habit, or for appearance’s sake. There’s a lot of love there, and we all know it.” She paused to pluck another piece of salad roll from her plate. “I do miss them. All of them. When you go back home, it’ll be more lonely than what I had imagined.”
“Don’t you have friends here?”
“Ines’s family, and some shopkeepers at the farmers’ market I’m friendly with.”
Aunt Evelyn made friends easily, but always withheld a part of herself. She had effortless charm, and a grace that disarmed everyone. Getting to know her, however, proved to be a challenge. Auntie Faye said Aunt Evelyn’s admirers called her “the Dream” because she was too beautiful to be real and impossible to attain.
“Then it won’t be as bad. Of course, you’ll miss the weekly gatherings and various occasions, but you’ll be back for the major holidays, right?”
“Yes, Christmas, Thanksgiving, and a week or so in the summer. I’ll be available after I’ve hired help for the shop.”
I helped myself to more of the fried rice. “Since you know Ines’s family, what do you know about her and Luc?”
“Their relationship is complicated.”
“Why? They look like they genuinely care for each other.”
“His parents have chosen a girl for him to marry. It’s a merging of families—his family owns a small chain of grocery stores, while the bride-to-be’s are wealthy organic farmers. Ines’s family are bakers: they tend to only marry other bakers.”
“I’m sure there’s a way. They belong together.”
“Don’t interfere, Vanessa.” My aunt’s warning tone mirrored Ma’s. “You can’t toy with people’s lives. We are fortune-tellers—our role is to observe.”
I held my tongue and noted that she didn’t approve of my matchmaking plans. No need to keep her updated then. After all, she was an expert on secrets: it would be hypocritical for her to ask me to divulge mine.
I switched the topic. “What was Great-Aunt Charlotte like?”
“You two would have gotten along well,” my aunt laughed. “You both have much in common. She, too, rebelled against our lack of a red thread. Spent her life trying to deny it. She never married, and the few, short relationships she did have ended poorly.”
Great-Auntie “Char” was a notorious eccentric who died before I was born. She drove a 1970 lime-green Plymouth Barracuda with hot-pink leather seats and racked up a mile-long paper trail of speeding tickets. She was a powerful clairvoyant, and her visions helped the fortunes of the Yu family.
“She didn’t die, like, in a strange way, did she?”
“She died in her sleep at eighty-nine with a bottle of Macallan on her nightstand. She was known to take a shot before bed. Fortune-tellers in our family live long lives.”
“How many fortune-tellers are out there?”
Aunt Evelyn cut her pork chop into bite-size strips. “It’s two per family, and three on rare occasions.”
“But you were the only one left after Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Beverly died,” I protested.
“Yes.” Aunt Evelyn smiled. “And then you were born.”
We finished up lunch and headed to Ines’s bakery side by side. Ahead of us, Luc had parked his white Peugeot van on a side street and was gathering his delivery for Ines.
“Go in without me,” I said. “There’s something I saw back there that I have to take a picture of for Auntie Gloria.”
“Gloria doesn’t need more knickknacks.” My aunt made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Don’t take too long.”
I headed down the street and pretended to admire a stained glass lamp in a store window. When she entered the bakery, I hustled to Luc’s van. The rear double doors swung open. He was holding a worn wooden crate in his arms, full of bags of flour and blocks of butter.
“Hi. I hope you speak English.” I smiled and waved.
“I do. I recognize you from the bakery. Can I help you?”
“Actually, I wanted to help you.”
And with those words, I set my matchmaking machinations into play.
Twenty-Nine
My parents are marrying me off to Liselle Goulet. I’ve been going to dinners at their house since I was a child. The business arrangement is set.” He lifted the crate onto his shoulder. “I can’t disappoint my parents.”
“Do you love this Liselle?”
He hesitated, then blurted out, “It doesn’t matter if I do.”
“That doesn’t sound like true love to me. After all those mandatory dinners, I’m sure you see her more as a sister than a wife.” My comment prompted a long sigh. Had I been in his situation, I’d be rebelling against the whole notion of a business merger through an arranged marriage. “Allow me to put it this way: If Ines was getting married tomorrow—and it’s not to you—how would you feel?”
A deep flush of red traveled from his cheeks, past his short beard, and down his throat to the neckline of his shirt. “Miserable. I love her, but I can’t go against the desires of my family.”
“You’ve decided to be miserable then. A woman like Ines isn’t going to wait forever. If you want her, you need to choose her.”
He looked away and didn’t answer.
I turned and headed into to the bakery, Luc following three steps behind.
As we entered, Aunt Evelyn frowned. I was sure she suspected what I had done. I blushed and joined her near the counter while Luc made his delivery. He spoke little before making a hasty exit. I hoped what I’d said had made him think about what he wanted.
My aunt muttered under her breath, “Interfering with lives is a dangerous game.”
“I’m helping them. Unless you’ve seen something that says I should stop.” I glanced at her. She remained silent. “No? Good, then I’m going to continue what I think is right.”
Her dark eyes creased at the corners. If she were one of her teakettles, she’d be boiling now. “You have to think about what can go wrong.”
“And what about what could go right? It’s not too late for them.”
Before she could respond, Ines took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to my aunt. “Do you know about this?”
Aunt Evelyn read the flyer. Twice. A wispy ring of smoke rose above her head. Her internal temperature resembled a red copper pot left on the stove overnight. She said something in French and, judging by its inflection, cussed.
“What are you planning to do?” Ines asked. “How can I help?”
I reached out and touched my aunt’s arm. “What’s going on?”
“Girard is plotting a boycott of my business. He claims my teas are inferior and imported. He’s appealing to French pride, to patronize only true Parisian businesses.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s racism disguised as nationalism.”
Ines snorted in agreement and crossed her arms.
“If this gains traction, though, it’ll ruin the tea shop.” Aunt Evelyn folded the bulletin in half and ripped it—an abrupt, satisfying sound of paper carnage. “Do you know how far these were distributed?”