I swallowed, and took my place behind the counter. “I’m not expected to make small talk, right? Only compel predictions and empty the surplus.”
“Correct.” She walked to the glass door and flipped the sign. “We have work to do.”
Nineteen
A fashionable couple in their late forties came into the shop. She had copper skin and wore an ivory sweater and dark, tailored pants. Her dark hair was swept up in a colorful scarf, which complemented her gold hoop earrings and bright red clutch. Her partner sported a sharp navy suit, horn-rimmed glasses, and a trimmed beard.
I envied their easy elegance. I agonized over what to wear, but never felt my choice matched my vision. It was the same frustration I carried when I couldn’t translate my ideas to paper. My ambition never quite matched the execution.
Like the couple, my aunt’s sense of style appeared effortless. Aunt Evelyn had decided today’s dress code: lavender blouse paired with a sage-green pencil skirt. It wasn’t something I’d pick out. I tended to stay away from greens, fearing it would malign my complexion. The key was saturation: the brightness and depth of the two colors complemented my skin. The combination was beautiful and striking, and matched the overall aesthetic of the tea shop.
The pair and my aunt spoke rapid French and exchanged smiles. While my aunt offered the lady samples from three glass jars behind the counter, he walked toward me and gestured to the tea. I poured him a cup, shook my head, and pointed to the sign to indicate that I didn’t speak the language.
Before he took a sip, he thanked me in accented English.
He knew English.
My heartbeat galloped against my rib cage.
I was about to assault this poor gentleman with advice I had no desire to dispense. The need to run back to the apartment and lock the door behind me took hold. From across the shop, Aunt Evelyn leveled a steady glare in my direction. Her sixth sense was equal parts unnerving and aggravating. Like an elementary school teacher writing on the chalkboard, she had eyes at the back of her head. Punished for my perceived transgression before I had a chance to conceive it.
He finished the tea and returned the teacup to the art nouveau–style silver tray. Three stray droplets clung to the bottom. They were enough. Taking a deep breath, I grasped the edge of the counter to steady myself. My stomach churned as though trapped in one of those centrifugal carnival rides.
My cousin Chester tried to force a prediction once. He was rewarded with a surprise tackle from a runaway Pyrenees that had escaped its leash. The timing was no coincidence. I had witnessed what happened to anyone who forced a prediction. I’d never been foolish enough to attempt it for myself, yet my aunt had reassured me.
I needed to trust her.
The prophecy coalesced as the taste of tangy Sinigang, a Filipino tamarind-based broth, sang on my tongue. “In the grip of a wintry spring, your father will wander the streets of Zurich. Pneumonia will claim him.”
Tears gathered at the corner of my eyes as I let out a sob. He froze, and looked down, avoiding my eyes.
My aunt came over and spoke in a gentle tone. Though I could not understand the words, I knew she was offering him comfort and guidance. The lady held him in her arms and escorted him from the shop.
A dull ache radiated from my right temple. For a brief instant, the lights in the tea shop shimmered blue before dimming. A network of frost spider-webbed the picture windows, then melted into droplets clinging to the glass.
“Are you all right?” Aunt Evelyn asked.
I placed the empty teacup in the sink behind the counter. The ceramic clinked against the metal sink, betraying my shaking fingers. “I got a headache from the prediction. They started before Cynthia’s wedding. The worst was after I predicted Dad’s best friend was going to die, and yesterday with Marc.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Aunt Evelyn asked. “This is important.”
“I wasn’t sure they were connected. I am certain now.” I rubbed my temples. “I’m thankful this one isn’t as intense, but as bad as I feel, I can only imagine how much worse it is for him. I just told him his father will die.”
Aunt Evelyn moved to my side and placed her hands on my shoulders. “You warned him. You did good.”
“How is this good?” I asked. “He didn’t come in here this morning expecting a tragedy. How many people do we have to foresee die? Should I be keeping count of how many lives I’ve ruined? Is there a quota you’re aiming for?”
Aunt Evelyn tapped my shoulder. “Remember, you are not the message, you’re only the messenger. Whatever you say, they can easily dismiss. No one is forcing them to listen.”
“But,” I protested.
“You’re a stranger to them. Put it this way: How would you react if someone you didn’t know told you about your future?”
“I would ignore them.”
“No one has to listen to us, Vanessa. It’s their choice. People can ignore what they’ve heard. Believe it or not, most people are like you—they refuse to listen to anyone who tries to tell them how to live their lives.”
The grips of sorrow eased as I laughed at her pointed jab.
“Plus,” she continued, “I think you’ve missed the point of this exercise.”
“Which is?”
“You’ve given a prophecy and survived. You were worried about compelling them. This should ease your mind.” She smiled. “You’re doing fine. As for the headaches, I have a theory. I believe they’re due to the surplus of predictions stored inside you. You’ve been fighting them all your life. This was the prophecy’s way of fighting back.”
I grimaced.
“The more predictions you have, the less pressure there will be. Death was the catalyst. Trust me.”
I resumed my position behind the counter.
A perky twentysomething brunette and her two girlfriends swept in. Their energetic chatter and giggles were infectious. They carried tiny pastel-colored paper bags stamped with a nearby patisserie’s insignia. Seeing them brought wonderful memories of going out for Hawaiian shaved ice with Cynthia.
The leader chatted with my aunt while her two friends approached. One had a blunt, blond bob while the other had swept her wavy, auburn curls into a loose bun. They both pointed to the teapot and the card.
I smiled, pouring them both a cup. The comforting scent of honey and chrysanthemums escaped from the spout. The sweetness in the air reminded me of a warm cup of milk Ma used to give me on those rare cool nights.
My aunt winked at me. The two ladies exchanged a set of giggles before tasting. I’d never had two prophecies occur in the same day.