Uncle Michael laughed as we turned into the airport parking lot. “If Madeline is there, no matter what, don’t let her convince you to smuggle her homemade chili shrimp paste across international lines.”
We parked and Uncle Michael popped the trunk. We unloaded my aunt’s three large suitcases. I had a single one.
“You didn’t pack much,” he remarked.
After two hours of assessing my wardrobe, Ma had concluded that I worked too much and didn’t go out enough. Paris and Palo Alto were comparable in the spring—California was warmer by a few degrees. I brought the few dresses I loved. As for shoes, Ma insisted better footwear was waiting for me in the fashion capital.
“We agreed it’s better to shop in Paris. Ma didn’t approve of all the work wear in my closet,” I replied.
Aunt Evelyn smiled. “It’ll be fun to get a new trousseau for you. I can’t remember the last time you took an extended vacation or sabbatical.”
This last-minute trip seemed normal, almost.
My most recent time away had been to Barbados with the cousins for a week the previous spring. It was a fun, last-minute getaway to lounge and work on our tans by the beach after a grueling tax season. Before that, a winter vacation with my parents in Hawaii. Family activities and special occasions populated the calendar, making vacations difficult. Getting out of a family affair required multiple permission slips, which the aunties were reluctant to grant. Attendance reflected both duty and love: these were not mutually exclusive.
“These three weeks will be so different for you. I think you might enjoy being an ocean away from the family for a while,” Uncle Michael said as he corralled two of Aunt Evelyn’s suitcases.
“Maybe, but I won’t be alone,” I replied, tilting my head toward my aunt.
We stepped through the doors of Terminal A before being engulfed by the colorful mob of Yu women clustered near the Air France ticketing desk. My father was the lone male among them.
I was greeted with a flurry of kisses and embraces—little pats and touches borne out of familial intimacy. They cooed over me like it was my first day of school. These women treated their nieces and nephews as their own children: second mothers, watchful guardians, lovable meddlers. I would miss this irresistible chaos.
Ma and Dad waited at the end of the group, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They still held hands on their evening walks. This must be what the matchmaker meant by red threads connecting two people.
Ma held me tight before giving me to my father.
Dad smiled, and gathered me into his arms. “I’ll miss you.”
I breathed in the scent of French-press coffee mixed with the subtle cologne Ma picked out for him.
“I love you, Dad,” I murmured into his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Aunt Evelyn will fix everything.”
The gathering of aunties moved to enclose me once again. Auntie Faye, the group’s designated speaker, stepped forward. “We all decided to go with a theme for your going-away present.”
I braced myself. I’d anticipated this, but I couldn’t begin to guess what the ladies had planned. They all appeared to be quite pleased with themselves. In unison, they reached into their purses and pulled out . . . books?
Ma withdrew one as well. She placed it in my hands. “Romance novels. To get you in the right mood for your trip to the city of love. A thirteen-hour flight is perfect reading time.”
“I thought you didn’t like these.” I grinned, recognizing the title.
“Faye made me a convert years ago. She said I was too uptight and made me join the book club. Gloria double-checked your Goodreads account to make sure we didn’t get you anything you’ve already read.”
One by one, the women handed me a paperback until I carried a sizable stack. Auntie Faye took out a cute cat-print tote bag, shoved the books in, and handed it to me. “We’ll miss you, Vanessa.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Have a wonderful time in Paris.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m going to miss you all.”
Aunt Evelyn cleared her throat. “It’s time. We have to go.”
Uncle Michael handed me a ribboned package. “It’s not a romance novel.”
“You too?” I asked. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
He shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t want to feel left out.”
Uncle Michael had given me a large leather sketchbook along with artist pencils, watercolors, and chalk pastels. As a child, I’d taken lessons on weekends and went to art summer camp. My uncle picked me up when my parents were working. He praised my sketches and paintings over burgers and fries at our favorite roadside joint.
“Thank you,” I said, hugging him. “I’ll show you when I get back.”
Uncle Michael returned his attention to the two pieces of luggage by his side. “We’d better move. Evelyn’s already waiting at the counter.”
My aunt waved me over. I bid a quick goodbye to the family and joined her. Soon, Uncle Michael left, ushering the others out of the airport.
Aunt Evelyn and I remained.
The ensuing silence was palpable as the attendant oversaw our passports, checked in our luggage, and issued our tickets. The handsome fortysomething admired my elegant aunt. It was in his careful manner and lingering glances, a quiet, respectful kind of appreciation.
Aunt Evelyn was stunning and intimidating at the same time. The other aunties mentioned a failed relationship once, but they respected her too much to gossip. My aunt chose to keep her own company, owning her single status without shame. I coped with the lack of romance in my life by developing an addiction to romance novels. We were related, but we couldn’t be more different.
I glanced down at my printed ticket.
“It’s a long flight,” Aunt Evelyn said. “I had to justify the upgrade to your mother as she was appalled by the extravagance. You can see that I won.”
Every time we traveled, we were in coach, even on long all-day flights to Asia. Ma saw no point in paying more for a seat closer to the front of the plane. “This is going to be a new experience for me,” I confessed.
“You’ll enjoy this trip, but, remember, this is a working vacation first and foremost even though you’re not working for the tea shop.”
“The lessons?” I asked.
My aunt hadn’t divulged any details yesterday. She’d been tight-lipped about it despite my stated desire to learn. Given how my final childhood lessons had ended, her caution might be warranted.
She nodded. “We’ll start once you’ve settled in. I need you to be receptive. It won’t work otherwise.”
“Did you see this coming?” I asked. “I mean, your sense of clairvoyance is much more powerful than mine.”
“Yes. It was why I was waiting for you at your condo yesterday.” We stopped before the security gate. “I will teach you, but if you don’t give in to the process, it won’t work. I want to make this clear before we leave.”
Going to Paris wasn’t meant to be some sort of miracle cure, but a part of me wished it could be. Still, I didn’t expect her to be so explicit in her assessment of the situation. To anyone else, I appeared to be going on a wonderful trip with my aunt to one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
“I didn’t expect a quick or easy fix.”
“Good. I want you to have realistic expectations. This is going to be equal parts wonderful and painful, depending on how you take to my guidance. The more you fight, the worse the situation. I need you to promise that you will put as much effort into the lessons as I will.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, Auntie.”
I wanted to change my life. Nothing I could say to her would prove my intentions more than showing her that I was up to the task.
Eight
Stepping off the plane, I half expected to hear the first chords of Édith Piaf’s “La vie en rose” on a whimsical accordion. Paris in the springtime—a magical time to visit, according to the tourist guide I devoured between romance novels. I skipped the parts about helpful phrases; that path only led to me butchering the language. My seventh-grade Spanish teacher once accused me of making his ears bleed. Ma talked to him, and after he made me demonstrate, she concurred. Besides, I was more fascinated with the pages in the guide detailing the restaurants. Delicious food and astounding masterpieces awaited me in the ancient City of Light.
Terminal 2 at Charles de Gaulle Airport was crowded. Despite a first-class seat on the long flight over, I hadn’t slept. My aunt was in better shape. She had put on an eye mask as soon as the wheels retracted, and slept until we landed.
“Jet lag?” Aunt Evelyn asked as grogginess and exhaustion tugged at me with every step. We had arrived in the morning, but running on California time, I felt every second of the nine-hour difference, and all 5,571 miles.
“Yes and it’s bad.”
She patted my hand. “When we get back to the apartment, sleep. Paris can wait until you feel human again. The travel from west to east is always the hardest. One of the downsides of traveling to the future.”
“I feel like I could sleep forever.” I craned my neck and squinted at the lights overhead. “How long before my lessons start?”