My foray into French oysters was a lesson I wouldn’t soon forget. Girard turned out to be a fellow connoisseur as he explained which region each breed came from. Soon, we stacked the empty shells, clinking them together. They mimicked the sound of pieces of ceramic.
My aunt let out a contented sigh. “This was lavish. Merci, Girard. What a wonderful start to a meal.”
“You’re most welcome.” He turned to me. “Thank you again, Vanessa. You’ve given me what my heart most desired, Evelyn back in my life.”
I blushed. “It’s really not my doing. I mean, you and Aunt Evelyn could have gotten together on your own. Eventually.”
My aunt laughed. “It would have taken much longer, perhaps even years, without your help. You are quite good at this.”
The situation between her and Girard had been tenuous. If I hadn’t chosen to intervene, we wouldn’t be having dinner together now.
“Evelyn tells me we’re not the first couple you’ve matched,” he said.
Three couples: Uncle Michael and Jack, Ines and Luc, and Aunt Evelyn and Girard. Setting them up was instinctive to me in the same way certain people correct a tilted picture frame on the wall when entering a room. When I saw two people who were meant to be together, I didn’t question it. It was like I could see their red threads without seeing red threads.
Aunt Evelyn creased her brow. “I’ve been thinking about your accident. There are so many unanswered questions. I’ll need to confirm with my sources, but now, I think, I can make sense of all this.”
“What?”
“A part of you died that day,” she replied.
Fifty-Two
What?” I replied, choking on my champagne.
Aunt Evelyn took a sip from her glass. “It makes sense. You were born with two destinies. Clairvoyance and matchmaking.” She laughed at my confused expression. “You existed with two gifts, with clairvoyance being the dominant one. You fought predictions with every fiber of your being, while the other gift remained passive. The constant struggle wasn’t tenable.”
“And that’s why I was terrible at it?” I asked.
“Yes. The headaches and the death prediction manifested, signaling how precarious the balance was between the warring forces inside you. It explains why your predictions disappeared after the accident. Your gift died then to make room for what you were really meant to do. Seeing red threads is the mark of a matchmaker, Vanessa. You are a matchmaker, and you were always meant to be one.”
The only matchmaker I had met was Madam Fong. She commanded the room and was a force. At best, I was a hapless dilettante.
“You can learn, you know. Maybe you’ll take to those lessons better than the ones I gave you.” Aunt Evelyn smiled as if reading my thoughts. “It’s not too late.”
“How are you so sure that this is what I am?”
She grinned smugly. “You will spend the next year in Shanghai. Frustrating at first, but after a period of persistence, you will thrive and impress your instructor.”
Only a fool would question a prediction from my aunt.
“Is that something you want to do?” Girard asked me.
As I imagined a future assisting those seeking love, the whole picture slid into place like a puzzle game. An expanding web of silken red fibers flowing out from around me as I sewed a cloth of romance. It was a prediction I was happy to embrace.
“I want to do it.” I turned to Aunt Evelyn. “Will I be the first matchmaker in the family?”
“Yes, but I can check our genealogy records to confirm, if you want me to.”
Girard refilled my glass with more champagne. “I have friends and connections in Shanghai. If you are looking for apartments, I can help.”
“Thank you. I’ll take you up on your offer.” I took a sip. “Ma and Dad will support my decision—I think the whole family will. I wish I wasn’t going alone.”
“If you’re referring to Marc, I’m afraid he doesn’t work in my kitchen anymore.”
I almost dropped the flute in my hand. “What happened?”
Aunt Evelyn exchanged a look with Girard. He gave her a slight shake of his head. “He quit and, before you ask, I don’t know where he’s gone or what his plans are. His work visa isn’t due to expire until fall.”
My hands shook as I set down my glass. Aunt Evelyn watched me from across the table. Her dark eyes softened. The wounds from my heartbreak were still fresh. Marc.
“He’ll be fine,” Girard said. “You don’t need to worry. He’s very capable. Marc is curious and a gifted, intuitive chef. I offered to be his reference. If it provides you any comfort, I have no doubt he will succeed.”
I wasn’t worried about his career as much as I was about his gambling. Stress seemed to be a trigger, and if he found another inhospitable work environment, it might not end well, but he had made his choice, as had I. Marc was free to live his life as he saw fit. I wouldn’t dwell on what could have been, or wish for what might be. If he wanted to be with me, he would have made it clear. The chair beside me wouldn’t have been empty.
“Vanessa.” Aunt Evelyn called my name, snapping my attention back to the table. “In any other case, I would say life is unfair, that every crumb of happiness is hard won. However, if there’s anything that you’ve taught me, it’s that anything is possible and, sometimes, you get what you wish for.”
I cracked a weak smile.
Girard and my aunt exchanged another look. I didn’t want pity from them, but I was willing to accept empathy.
“Enough about me.” I downed my champagne flute and refilled my glass. “What are you two planning to do after I leave?”
“I need to focus on the tea shop. There needs to be a proper grand opening. It’ll be challenging, but once I reach sustainable profits, I can hire someone.” She squeezed Girard’s hand.
He smiled at her. “And that’s when we’ll go on holiday together. We want to see Prague again. In the meantime, I hope Evelyn will be able join me at the restaurant for dinner once a week, or however often her schedule allows.”
Their red thread glowed, sparkling in the light as it wound its way from their hearts to their joined hands. Love was such a miraculous gift. In time, I would learn to bring more people together and maybe find it again for myself.
The second course appeared: three kinds of hors d’oeuvres on dark slate slabs. The first were bite-size golden puffs with a cheese filling, judging by their distinct aroma. The second were an elaborate, decorated piece of pastry. Swirls and flourishes trimmed the edges, while perfect concentric circles accentuated the top. I suspected a delicious and wonderful surprise inside. Tiny, round meat tarts that appeared deceptively simple in composition and appearance completed the trio.
Aunt Evelyn pointed at the puffs. “Those are gougères.” She moved on to the impressive pastry. “That is duck pâté en croûte, and the last are pissaladières.”
Girard offered me the plate of puffs first. I helped myself to three gougères and three tarts. The gougères were golden, airy, and cheesy. I had assumed they were filled with cheese, but in this case, the cheese was infused into the dough. The combination was addictive. If unguarded, I would have filled up on these alone.
Aunt Evelyn brandished her knife and cut into the fancy pastry. The crust gave way to an interior that matched its elaborate crust. Inside the pattern was a replica of Klimt’s The Kiss, using a palette of pâté, black trumpet mushrooms, various vegetables, and gelatin.
The memory of the dim gallery, the golds, projected paintings, and the man I kissed flooded back to me.
My aunt touched my arm. “Sometimes, what you wish for isn’t impossible after all.”
I glanced at the doorway and dropped my fork.
Marc.
Fifty-Three
Marc stood in the open doorway dressed in his white chef’s jacket with the restaurant’s insignia, gorgeous, competent, and in his element. My aunt and Girard rose to their feet, excused themselves, and exited the room, leaving me with him.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” I shifted in my seat. “You’re as talented as I imagined you to be.”
He took the seat beside me. “I asked your aunt and Girard to help me arrange this. Please don’t blame them. They were only trying to help.”
I laughed. My own excuse, now used on me.
“Do you still work here?” I asked.
“I put in my notice. Tonight’s my last night.” He lowered his eyes. “I called my parents. I talked to them about the gambling. My mother wasn’t impressed. She gave me a rundown of my options, and I enrolled in an online support group. She did praise me for recognizing the issue early, but I gave you full credit for that.”
Hope fluttered inside me, yet there was no red thread between us. I didn’t want to rely on a physical sign, but without it, I couldn’t trust where this conversation was leading. Marc had shown he was committed to dealing with his gambling habit, yet I’d still had yet to hear what would become of us—if there was still an us.
“It’s great that you’re doing that.”
“I did it for me. I don’t want this to define who I am, or who I want to be.” He took a deep breath as if to center himself. Marc clasped his hands before him. The sight of his long brown tapered fingers linking together brought back memories of when we held hands.