A radial spiderweb of fine white lines marred the screen. My finger caught on the edges of the damaged glass. It wasn’t pretty, but at least I didn’t lose it. There were messages from the cousins, but nothing from Marc. I brushed away my disappointment. He might have had a long night and hadn’t checked his phone yet.
Aunt Evelyn prepared a fresh pot of oolong tea while I finished putting away the dishes and cutlery. My uncle packed up all the food while peppering me with questions about my favorite pastry chef. I chose not to mention Girard, for Aunt Evelyn’s sake. She and I received the gift of a new beginning, and I didn’t want to ruin it by disclosing her secret. It was one thing to question her in private but another to do so in public.
“How are lessons going?” my uncle asked.
I cleared my throat and waited for my aunt to answer.
The ghost of the explosive argument between us hung in the air—complete with invisible scorch marks. Words were spoken that could never be unsaid. The truce we shared, while needed, didn’t change the lack of resolution to my prediction predicament.
“Her headaches are gone, but it’s our only victory. In the end, I’m unable to help her. I’ve enlisted aid, yet we have no answers,” Aunt Evelyn replied. “The fault is mine. I promised to help you, and I failed. I don’t know how to proceed.”
I placed my hand on her arm. “Together, we’ll figure it out somehow.”
She smiled, though not as confident as that evening in my apartment, and covered my hand with hers. “Yes, we will.”
Squeezing her arm for comfort, I turned to my uncle. “How is Jack doing?”
“He and I are meeting up in Monaco in a week. He has a job there shooting very beautiful and important people.” His phone buzzed and he picked it up. Judging by the smile on his face, it could only be the man he loved calling. A glowing red thread snaked out of the phone, traveled down his arm, and connected to the left side of his chest.
Uncle Michael excused himself to take the call.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “See what?”
“The red thread on Uncle Michael. When Jack called, it popped out and connected to him.”
Aunt Evelyn pursed her lips. “Clairvoyants cannot see red threads.”
“I know, but I did see one. It connected to his heart. How is it that I could see it?”
Her fingers gripped the top rail of the chair. “I don’t know. Everything about your situation is unprecedented. I’m questioning what I thought I believed to be immutable.”
My aunt, one of the steadiest people I knew, held on to the chair as if it were a lifeline. While I craved change and rebelled against anything contrary to my desires, Aunt Evelyn revered tradition and devoted herself to her clairvoyance. Seeing her doubt was unsettling. What was she thinking? In her place, I would wonder if I had made the right choices, if my beliefs had barred the possibilities presenting themselves to those bold enough to grasp them.
Uncle Michael returned from his call with Jack. With the phone tucked away, I couldn’t see the thread anymore. “He’s settled in and suggested we stop by after Monaco. He’s been in Paris numerous times, but he’d like to see you two again.”
My aunt recovered and mustered a smile. “It’ll be good to see Jack. I’m sure he’ll want to see the tea shop.”
“He’s offered to take promotional photos for your website or future advertisements.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It is supposed to be a nice visit, not work.”
Uncle Michael held his palms up. “It was his suggestion. Of course, if you give him a tin or two of his beloved tea, he wouldn’t object.”
“He’s just as bad as you are.” Aunt Evelyn shook her head. “You found a good one, Michael.”
“It was actually Vanessa who did. She introduced me to Jack. Thought we’d be perfect for each other.”
I preened at the compliment. “You are—I was right.”
“You’re lucky it worked out,” my aunt said.
For her, love was sacred and yet unattainable. Before Marc had returned, I believed it too. Now I was convinced that my instincts were right: she and Girard belonged together. No one should be alone unless they desired it. But she moved to Paris for Girard, and for herself. I would text Marc tonight for an update and to tell him what happened yesterday.
“With risk comes reward, Auntie. As an entrepreneur, you know this well,” I said.
She sighed. “Yes and, lately, too well.”
“What is happening with the tea shop?” Uncle Michael asked.
I listened as my aunt informed him about the boycott and a few other challenges she neglected to tell me: nasty rumors defaming her character, some of her suppliers dropping her, extra repairs, delayed shipments, and miscommunication and errors with the ads she purchased in local papers. I felt like a child watching two adults speak.
My uncle frowned. “Does this boycott have traction?”
“I find myself standing outside my shop more often, trying to draw customers in. The foot traffic in the market is there, but they’re not coming in. They visit everyone else.” My aunt sounded worried, more worried than she had ever revealed to me. “I was closed again today. With the current climate, I can see people getting behind the boycott. I could lose my suppliers. No customers and no stock means no business.”
“Evelyn,” he said, embracing her. “I don’t want you to fail, but the family back home will be there if you need to return.”
She lowered head. “I can’t. Even if the business collapses, I’m staying here. There’s nothing for me in California.”
“You thought all this through, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” Aunt Evelyn straightened her posture. “I’ve made my decision. There’s no room for anything but success. I’m not going back, Michael. I’ll still visit, but Paris is my home now. I already started the immigration process.”
Another bombshell that I should have expected since she declared her move to be permanent. My aunt’s trust in my uncle was a testament to the strength of their friendship. They were best friends, but I doubted he knew about Girard.
“I was hoping your stay here was only temporary. A few years to experiment since you’re such a Francophile. As long as you’re happy, Evelyn, I’ll support you.”
I stood beside my aunt and placed my hand in the crook of her arm. “Don’t worry, she is.”
She might not be now, but she would be by the time I left.