She nodded. “I can’t force you to make my choices. However, I’m not sure where that leaves you.”
“Do you remember seeing the tire tracks the shattered glass made after I lied? Was it a prediction about this? What does this mean?”
“I’m not sure, but we can deal with that after you come home with me. That is, if you want to.”
Her uncertainty touched me. She gave me an out. I could decline and ask for more time to myself, but I didn’t want to be alone.
“Of course I’m coming home with you. I love you, Auntie.”
Aunt Evelyn kissed my forehead. “I love you too.”
“Now that it’s settled, can you get me out of here?”
“I’ll go get the doctor and see to getting you discharged,” she replied with a laugh.
Thirty-Five
It was afternoon by the time we arrived at the tea shop. Aunt Evelyn chose not to reopen with only three hours left in the day. She sent all the dirty clothes to a dry cleaner and salvaged the unblemished ones, running a full load in the washing machine at the apartment.
“Have you told Ma yet?” I asked over a cup of honey ginger tea at the kitchen table.
Aunt Evelyn bit her lower lip. “I haven’t. I know I should have, but knowing Linda, she would have taken the next flight out. After I found out that you had minor injuries, I decided not to. I didn’t want to worry her. We have it handled and we can tell her later. Besides, it’s their special mahjong tournament. I don’t want to interrupt that.”
“Have you ever gone to one? Ma always raves about how much fun she has.”
“They always invite me, but I always decline.”
I decided to use my almost-died card to my advantage and pried. “Why?”
Aunt Evelyn blushed. She left the table to refill the empty ceramic teapot. “At first I thought it would be too noisy and busy, but as the years went by, it was too late to say yes.”
“Then go next year. I’m sure they’d love to have you. I mean, they continue to invite you anyway. They love you.”
She poured hot water from the kettle on the stove into the teapot. “I know. I love them, too, but I can only take them in doses.”
“Do you mean in time or in number?”
“Both.”
We laughed.
“You do raise a good point about the tournament. I should visit during the next one. I’m starting to welcome the prospect that a visit is my idea. I do love gathering for special occasions like weddings, milestone birthdays, and such.” She paused and smiled. “I did tell one person about your mishap yesterday. Why don’t you get the door?”
A knock arrived two seconds later. Judging by her expression, she already knew who the visitor was.
I made my way to the entrance and opened the door.
Uncle Michael stood at the threshold toting a small carry-on. He opened his arms to hug me and stopped when he saw the bandages on my arms. “Evelyn called and told me what happened. I took the next available flight from Munich to surprise you both.”
“It’s great to see you, Michael,” Aunt Evelyn called from the kitchen.
“She expected me, didn’t she?” he asked.
“Right down to the knock.” I leaned against him, bypassing the hug, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you.”
After taking off his shoes, he threw his arm around me and walked me over to the table where Aunt Evelyn had placed an impressive charcuterie plate. Slices of thin-cut, cured jambon sec, viande de grison, and saucisson decorated a wooden board along with a small bowl of grainy, stone-ground mustard. A basket held two baguettes with an accompaniment of Bordier butter. Two generous wedges of brie aux truffes and clusters of Burgundy and Champagne grapes occupied the cheese plate. A spoon handle stuck out from her jar of homemade fig jam beside a small bowl of crunchy cornichons. The last component of the meal was a pâté de campagne that Ines’s mother made as a gift for my aunt.
Uncle Michael whistled. “This looks incredible. I should drop in more often.”
“There’s much to celebrate.” My aunt brought out three flutes from the cupboards and a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “Our niece cheated death.”
I took a seat and helped myself to the baguettes. “That I did. I don’t really want to confront my mortality until I’m old, you know?”
My uncle and aunt exchanged glances.
“What?”
He pried the bread knife from my trembling hand, revealing a mangled baguette. “Maybe you should let us handle the pointy implements,” he said. “Physically you got off with minor injuries. Mentally, however, you’re still processing all of this. It will take time.”
“Don’t stress. You will be fine. You’re a fighter.” Aunt Evelyn patted my upper arm. “We still don’t know what the aftereffects are, if any.”
She placed three buttered slices of baguette in front of me. “Wishful thinking. I don’t think anything has changed.”
“It could,” Michael countered. “Near-death experiences are rare and, from what I’ve heard, they change you. Jack told me how his dad rolled a car in his late teens. He survived it and it ended his reckless streak permanently. When the old man talks about his teenage years, you’d think he was a different person. He still runs his ginseng farm in Vermont and insists that he’ll retire when he’s dead. At eighty-one, he’s healthier than most men my age.” He heaped papery, coral slices of jambon sec and portions of the pâté onto my plate. “This might change you or it might not. Only time will tell.”
My aunt cut herself some of the pâté. “We have two weeks until you go back home. It’ll be good to take the time for yourself and figure out what you want.”
“What I want?” I asked.
“Before you left, Linda mentioned something to me. She’s noticed that you’re not really happy at work anymore. You do your job well, but she’s concerned about your happiness. She knows you’ll never tell her, so she asked me to speak to you.”
I stared at my aunt as heat bloomed in my cheeks. Had I been so transparent about my lack of purpose? My performance reviews had always been exceptional. My clients trusted me, and my desk groaned with baskets of various chocolates, wines, fruits, and cheeses every Christmas.
As if she read my mind, Aunt Evelyn smiled. “You wanted to please your parents and the family, and you’ve done that. They want you to be happy. Clearly, you’re not. You talk about food with more passion than you do about your quarterly reports or spreadsheets.”
“She has you there. You don’t talk about work outside of work.” Uncle Michael sipped his champagne. “It’s not a reflection of how much you care about your job, only that it is a job versus a career to you. Have you thought about what you want to do? Most Yus are in tea or accounting, but we do have family that do other things.”
There were chefs, artists, and entrepreneurs like Auntie Faye. “When did this conversation turn into career counseling?”
“It’s not,” both of them answered at the same time.
Ma told them. She knew that if it came from her, I would deny, derail, and dismiss. My loyalty to the family was unquestionable, and to have a career crisis at the Yu accounting firm was tantamount to treason.
“I don’t dislike working in accounting. I mean, I’m good at it.”
My uncle laughed. “Yes, that’s what HR wants to hear when they’re interviewing prospective candidates.”
“It’s something to think about,” my aunt said. “Maybe by the time you leave, you’ll know.”
I reached for the fig jam. “All I know for now is that I want Marc to be a part of my future.”
My uncle grinned. “This I need to hear.”
Thirty-Six
Will I get a chance to meet him?” Uncle Michael asked while placing the leftovers in the fridge.
I stacked the clean plates on the counter. “There’s a meal tomorrow night, a late-night dinner. He’s planning on cooking.”
“By the way, I had your phone checked. Only the screen was broken.” Aunt Evelyn retrieved my phone from her purse and handed it to me.
A radial spiderweb of fine white lines marred the screen. My finger caught on the edges of the damaged glass. It wasn’t pretty, but at least I didn’t lose it. There were messages from the cousins, but nothing from Marc. I brushed away my disappointment. He might have had a long night and hadn’t checked his phone yet.
Aunt Evelyn prepared a fresh pot of oolong tea while I finished putting away the dishes and cutlery. My uncle packed up all the food while peppering me with questions about my favorite pastry chef. I chose not to mention Girard, for Aunt Evelyn’s sake. She and I received the gift of a new beginning, and I didn’t want to ruin it by disclosing her secret. It was one thing to question her in private but another to do so in public.
“How are lessons going?” my uncle asked.
I cleared my throat and waited for my aunt to answer.
The ghost of the explosive argument between us hung in the air—complete with invisible scorch marks. Words were spoken that could never be unsaid. The truce we shared, while needed, didn’t change the lack of resolution to my prediction predicament.