“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?”
“A few days. When you feel better, we’ll go out to dinner and then shopping. I’ll be busy preparing the store after that. The upgrades to our flat finished last week. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
My aunt strolled to the baggage carousel and checked the screens for our flight. “The family’s tea company purchased the building in the Saint-Germain des Prés area fifteen months ago. The renovations took about a year. I was quite specific about how I wanted the shop and the apartment to look.”
Aunt Evelyn’s tastes had always been exquisite. Her Victorian in San Francisco was decorated with a sense of period drama, bold colors tempered with textiles and accents evoking the era she wanted to capture. My aunt re-created the aesthetic of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but without the modern outlandish and garishness associated with Carroll’s books. Her keen eye for pristine antiques matched her need for fresh flowers every week: tea roses, hydrangeas, pink carnations, orchids, and of course, peonies.
“You were always comfortable at my place when you visited,” she said. “It’ll be similar in feel and decor. I had some of my favorite pieces flown in from the old house.”
“It sounds like you’re moving here. Are you?”
“I haven’t sold my Victorian yet.”
She hadn’t answered my question. I wasn’t sure if she didn’t want to respond or didn’t know the answer herself.
We claimed our luggage and made our way outside. It was bright. My bloodshot eyes hurt from the glare inside the taxi. As we drove away from the airport, the driver placed a notepad over the steering wheel and began scribbling notes. The car lurched and swerved. My aunt and I held on, thankful for our seat belts. After the driver almost collided with a road barrier, Aunt Evelyn blasted him in French. I didn’t need to understand to know what she said. Her frostbitten tone conveyed the message.
The driver tucked his notepad away, apologized, and stared straight ahead.
Aunt Evelyn checked her phone for messages. “I’ve spoken to Cynthia. She is working things out with Edwin. For now, they’re staying together and talking. It’s a start.”
I’d been in touch with my cousin. We’d spoken a few times, but the awkwardness from the wedding carried over and ruined the natural ease of our friendship. She told me, “Talking to you is futile when the only thing that comes out of your mouth is guilt.”
“I’ve apologized so many times,” I said, “but it doesn’t make it better.”
My aunt shook her head. “She doesn’t want an apology from you. What are you trying to get from her? Forgiveness?”
“I don’t know. My mouth is a loaded weapon with prophecies that injure and harm. How could I not feel responsible?” The dimness of the cab’s interior hid my blushing cheeks.
“You’ve turned your gift inward and made it a weapon. I’m more worried about you than your cousin.” Aunt Evelyn tucked her phone away. “There is a wonderful bistro I can’t wait to show you. The menu is sublime. I am in love with their risotto.”
In my family, the promise of food was the first step in resolving potential arguments. To quell an existing one, it had to be good food. You could bribe others with money or fame, but a Yu would only accept exclusive reservations or admittance to a chef’s table. Discerning palates were hardwired in our genetics. Stampedes at the family buffet tables still occurred: regardless of age, we sought out the best piece, which remained the ultimate goal.
My stomach groaned. It had been a long flight and I was famished, but the lure of a comfortable bed trumped all else.