I smiled at the mention of the movie I, too, adored.
When the appetizers arrived, my aunt asked for extra plates to share the dishes. The champagne-based dressing tempered the sweetness of the butter-poached lobster morsels, while the crisp, local greens added brightness to the tongue. The spiced glaze on the charred foie gras balanced its richness.
I cut the portion of the foie gras in half and transferred them on the two plates while my aunt split the salad. The best meals created the liveliest of conversations, but the tastiest meals facilitated silence: the mouth had chosen consumption over speech. My aunt and I enjoyed our food without words, reserving our praise for later.
We had finished our plates when a handsome gentleman emerged from the kitchen. He resembled Robert Redford circa The Great Gatsby, but with silver-streaked, raven hair. By the dark expression on his face, we had broken an unwritten law or were personae non gratae.
I reached out and placed a hand over Aunt Evelyn’s forearm. She responded by covering my hand with hers. The simple gesture calmed my nerves.
The stranger pointed to the door while speaking in harsh French. I didn’t need a translation. Based on his acidic tone, we weren’t wanted.
Unperturbed, my aunt flashed a radiant smile.
“Hello, Girard.”
Twenty-Three
Leave. You’re not welcome,” he said in English.
Aunt Evelyn made no move to vacate her seat. “I see you still cling to the past.”
Girard placed both hands on the table. The added weight caused the dinnerware to crash together. He leaned forward, shortening the physical distance between them. “Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage?”
“To whom?” she asked with a calm voice. Her hand still covered mine. “If you’re looking for restitution, I could be doing the same.”
The entire restaurant and I watched the exchange as if it were playing on the silver screen. The tension between the stranger and my aunt rivaled that of Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn in The African Queen. The words left unsaid filled the room.
This man was one of my aunt’s precious secrets, and I didn’t need the power of clairvoyance to know.
“I moved here with my business. I’m not going anywhere,” she continued.
He clenched his jaw while the table linen puckered under his curled fingers. Girard reverted to French and emitted a string of caustic expletives. His dark blue eyes were the same shade as my aunt’s favorite teakettle, a rich cerulean.
His volatile emotions rolled off his crisp jacket in puffs of smoke. It smelled like woodsmoke char, the kind I loved when Dad and I went camping in Kirby Cove. The audience in the restaurant had given up all pretense of eating their meals. Every chair—every pair of eyes—was turned to our table and the pyrotechnics display.
“It’s been thirty years! Why are you here?” he demanded.
She replied, “Twenty-seven years, one month, and five days.”
The crystal lights from the chandeliers flickered. Everything shifted from vibrant color to a monochromatic palette of black and white. The subtle transition amped the silver tones of their skin, added shimmer to the metallic surfaces, and transformed the lamps in the room into starlight. Girard and Aunt Evelyn aged backward, a version of their younger selves. The years melted away through a hazy, cinematic filter, leaving two people reliving the memory of their past.
“Is it so hard to remember?” she asked.
“How could I forget?” He reached out to her, paused, and then pulled back.
She whispered something in French. The softness of her tone conveyed affection that was fed by years of yearning. Her gaze never left his face.
He replied in kind. Words meant only for my aunt to hear. Girard’s deep voice conveyed a mixture of regret and anger—as if he longed for the very person he hated.
The tendrils of smoke around him dissipated as the lights overhead returned to their original brightness. The spell broken, the restaurant resumed its motion and color. My aunt lifted her hand from mine, picked up her clutch, pulled out two crisp bills, and placed them on the table.
“We’re leaving,” she said.
I bit my lower lip and followed her out of the restaurant.
* * *
* * *
An uncomfortable silence settled over us. She appeared lost in thought while I searched and failed to find the words to comfort.
“Auntie,” I said, unable to bear the silence. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I held my tongue and tried a different tactic. “If you’re still hungry, I’d love to be introduced to the world of French takeout.”
She didn’t answer. We walked along, separated by thought. The siren pull of memories could drown the strongest swimmers and the steadiest ships. Dragged down to the ocean floor, I was still waiting for her to rise and return from what appeared to be one of her most charged memories.
“I do not live my life with regrets. This is the last I’ll speak of this.”
True to her word, Aunt Evelyn had moved on to listing menu items from the best takeout spots within two blocks. Her refusal to confide in me stung.
We decided on a gorgonzola cream pizza with fresh herbs and caramelized onions. One of our family touchstones was to eat our feelings. As I bit into the delicate, thin crust of the steaming hot slice, I was swallowing all of the questions I wanted to ask. I could only guess what my aunt was eating, perhaps those regrets she denied having.
The rich, creamy cheese and sweet onions melted on my tongue. I sought the easy comfort that food could provide, which Paris delivered in glorious Technicolor. Aunt Evelyn had already devoured three slices and was onto her fourth when my phone buzzed. It was Auntie Faye.
“Do you mind if I take this in my room?” I asked.
“Not at all,” Aunt Evelyn replied between bites.
I headed to my bedroom and closed the door. “Hi, Auntie Faye, what did you dig up?”
“Not even a ‘how are you, Auntie’?” There was a pause before she erupted in laughter. “Just kidding. Here’s what I discovered after talking to Chloe Lu. She took a language course with Evelyn in Paris. They roomed together as they were both Chinese Americans from California. Anyway, she was a naughty girl and took something from Evelyn.”
“What?” I asked.
I didn’t need to be beside her to know Auntie Faye was grinning from ear to ear. That trademark smile dripped with the smugness of knowing everyone’s business. It was her own form of clairvoyance. “Chloe saved a photo that was left behind when Evelyn moved from their apartment. Evelyn had a boyfriend! Handsome man. She always had good taste. At first I thought it was a movie star, but there was something written on the back. Not in English.”