Vanessa Yu's Magical Paris Tea Shop Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune

  “Sprinkled with real recipes and hints of magic realism throughout, this tale of homecoming makes for a light bite to satiate yourself with.”

  —Vogue (HK)

  “Lim serves up love, loss, heritage, and hints of the supernatural on a silver platter in this magical and mouthwatering debut. . . . This eminently filmable tale of finding one’s own path while honoring one’s history is delicious and spellbinding.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Vivid and lyrical with a touch of magic. Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune explores culture, community, and the complex love between mothers and daughters, leaving your heart full . . . and your belly hungry. I absolutely loved it.”

  —Helen Hoang, author of The Kiss Quotient

  “Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune is for every reader who likes a side of magic with their foodie fiction. You’ll want to move into the Chinatown neighborhood for the mouthwatering dumplings and the charming, eclectic neighbors. Exquisitely written, [this book by] Roselle Lim sifts through the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters, the freedom in unraveling family secrets, and the power of resilience.”

  —Amy E. Reichert, author of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake

  and The Optimist’s Guide to Letting Go

  “Roselle Lim serves up a feast for the senses and the heart with this magical tale of love, loss, and redemption in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Filled with luscious, mouthwatering recipes, Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune explores the hidden ties of family, mental illness, and desires lost and found, through the delectably transformative power of food. I had to stop myself from running out to buy juicy roast pork, plump crispy dumplings, and sweet pea sprouts!”

  —Yangsze Choo, New York Times bestselling author of The Ghost Bride and The Night Tiger

  “Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune is a magical feast for the mind, the heart, and the senses. With mouthwatering prose, crystallized characters, and a healthy dash of magic, Lim has created the perfect recipe for a truly delicious page-turner. I devoured this book. Sign me up for seconds!”

  —Samantha Vérant, author of How to Make a French Family

  “What a treat! Reminiscent of Joanne Harris’s bestselling novel Chocolat, Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune is heaped with heart and topped with the sweetest sprinkle of magic, creating a literary and culinary feast. Infused with ancient traditions and tantalizing recipes, [this book by] Roselle Lim cooks up a mouthwatering tale that’s sure to delight!”

  —Lori Nelson Spielman, New York Times bestselling author of

  The Life List

  “Loss, homecoming, romance, recipes, and magic mingle in this debut novel. . . . The book is distinguished by the love Lim shows the neighborhood, the characters, and the food.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “For those beachgoers who love the magic of summertime and new beginnings, there is a book coming out soon that is simply meant for you—Roselle Lim’s Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune.”

  —Elite Daily

  “Summer beckons a reading list that is as light, fun, and feel-good as the season itself. Roselle Lim’s Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune definitely fits that need. . . . Lim’s magical storytelling, excellent cast of supporting characters, and mouthwatering recipes make this book a must for your summer reading list.”

  —BookPage

  “A smashing debut that will leave readers hungry for more.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “When you read this book, you can feel the love of culture and food within its pages. More importantly, you can see how entangled food, culture, and family can become. It’s a book about how food can bring people together, but also drive them apart. Filled with lush, lyrical writing, Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune is the kind of book that’ll fill you with warmth, and make you extremely hungry.”

  —Book Riot

  TITLES BY ROSELLE LIM

  Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune

  Vanessa Yu’s Magical Paris Tea Shop

  BERKLEY

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2020 by Roselle Lim

  Readers Guide copyright © 2020 by Roselle Lim

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Lim, Roselle, author.

  Title: Vanessa Yu’s magical Paris tea shop / Roselle Lim.

  Description: First Edition. | New York: Berkley, 2020.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019059053 (print) | LCCN 2019059054 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984803276 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781984803283 (ebook)

  Classification: LCC PR9199.4.L5545 V36 2020 (print) | LCC PR9199.4.L5545 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019059053

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019059054

  First Edition: August 2020

  Cover art and design by Vikki Chu

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for Roselle Lim

  Titles by Roselle Lim

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four
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  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Readers Guide

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  To Robert, mon cœur et ma vie,

  and to the beautiful city of Paris

  One

  I predicted the future on my third birthday. My aunts had been drinking their tea, and Ma had left her cup on the small table beside the sofa. As any curious child would, I imitated the habits of the older women: my two small hands cradled the ceramic of the handleless cup, fingertips not quite encompassing its circumference. I took a sip. As I gazed at the tea leaves floating at the bottom, my vision blurred and my mouth filled with the bitter taste of chewing on a grapefruit rind.

  “The Hofstras are moving. Jeff doesn’t love Rachel anymore.”

  I fell to the floor in tears, feeling the force of a sadness I could not comprehend. My aunts rushed over to me as Ma held me in her arms. There were whispers in Mandarin and Hokkien, but I heard only the name of my aunt—Evelyn—repeated.

  Any possibility of a life of my choosing was extinguished like the candles on my birthday cake.

  Every prediction had a taste. The family’s new business venture was savory: a bite of roasted pork belly. A family squabble was bitterness: the dregs of a stale, cold cup of tea. A joyous fortune like Auntie Ning’s pregnancy and baby girl was sweet: the sticky center of deep-fried sesame balls.

  My last happy prediction was four months ago, for my cousin Cynthia’s nuptials, which now brought my aunt, uncle, and me to Williams Sonoma to browse through her wedding registry. Three weeks ago, I bought an abstract, mixed-media painting for my cousin at one of my favorite galleries. We had decided it would be perfect in her dining room above the low, minimalistic, bleached birch buffet table she loved. Today, I was tagging along to help my aunt and uncle with their purchases.

  Walls of pristine metal cookware gleamed alongside shiny new appliances aligned on golden wooden shelving. None were of any interest to me. I only stepped into this store to buy gifts for others. My preferred merchants peddled paintings, not pots and pans.

  Auntie Faye tapped my arm. “I don’t understand why she needs so much cookware. The girl doesn’t cook.”

  “Maybe it’s aspirational,” I suggested. “I mean, you can’t fault her for wanting to learn eventually.”

  Cynthia and I were both inept in the kitchen; we overcompensated with a library of takeout menus to the best restaurants: digital copies for convenience, paper preserved as trophies.

  Although I had predicted this wedding, and I loved my cousin, I felt uneasy. With Cynthia married, I would become the oldest unwed cousin. Being single meant the focus of the attention was on you at every gathering and function. There was nowhere to hide from the probing questions. My cousin Chester described it as “being naked and vulnerable, and none of your relatives will give you a fig leaf.” The joke was tailored to my tastes, and I appreciated it.

  Uncle Michael examined a set of pastel Le Creuset ramekins. They shifted in their box with a slight ceramic clink as he lifted them to eye level. “I think these are mostly for Edwin. He can bake a decent Sacher torte. Cynthia invited me over last week to show off her soon-to-be husband’s skills.”

  In his midfifties, dashing, and sharp, Uncle Michael was always my favorite. Like all my aunts and uncles, he appeared at least a decade younger. I always likened him to a Chinese Gregory Peck circa Roman Holiday. A lead user experience designer at a large financial corporation in Fresno, he lived three hours away and I never got to see him enough.

  “Vanessa,” my aunt began, “now that Cynthia is getting married, you should think about—”

  My uncle jabbed my aunt in the ribs.

  “Michael!” Auntie Faye held her stomach, feigning injury.

  “This is about Cynthia, not about Vanessa.”

  A diminutive woman with dark hair swept into an elegant updo, my auntie Fay embodied the ideal salon owner: flawless skin, perfect hair, stylish wardrobe, and the subtle scent of Chanel No. 5. She knew she looked good, and wasn’t the type to hide her assets behind false modesty. I adored her for it.

  I moved away from the polite argument between my aunt and uncle.

  A South Asian saleswoman in her midtwenties, close to my age, approached me with a smile. “If your parents can’t decide on a registry item, we can definitely explore the gift card option instead.”

  I laughed.

  The effortless rapport I had with my uncles and aunties often led strangers to misidentify them as my parents. We tended to play along instead of explaining the mistake.

  “They’ll work it out. I’ll suggest the gift card idea, though, in case they don’t.” I thanked the salesperson and returned to my bickering “parents.”

  “Don’t push Vanessa.” Uncle Michael tucked the set of ramekins under his arm.

  “Not pushing is why she’s still single in the first place. Linda isn’t aggressive enough in her setups.”

  Ma’s machinations to get me married began the moment I was born, and I had rebelled against them ever since. Dad identified the strain of stubbornness as a classic Yu trait, and this failing of mine was excused, but only to a certain extent.

  I cleared my throat.

  Auntie Faye paused and smiled. “We’re only trying to look out for your best interests.”

  “I know I am,” Michael interjected, “but I’m not sure about Faye.” He tipped his head toward the registers. “I’m buying these. You two should figure out where you want to go for lunch.”

  Auntie Faye grabbed my arm and steered me toward the fine china. Of all the goods in the store, these were the most appealing, with their beautiful patterns of florals mixed with modern designs and colors. A few months ago, I treated myself to a set of milk-white La Porcellana Bianca plates as an impulse purchase. The gorgeous hollowed spiral design had a sculptural quality I could not resist. My dad praised my adult decision and excellent taste while we ate takeout tandoori chicken.

  Auntie Faye lowered her voice. “Any new predictions?”

  In addition to mahjong, it was a Yu family pastime to hedge bets on my predictions. To them, I was their beloved fortune-teller. My gift was as accepted as the science of Chinese numerology or the zodiac charts my uncles consulted before making business decisions.

  “No, Auntie. Thank goodness.”

  She frowned. “Maybe we can get one during lunch.”

  My aunt was the family’s gossip queen. I often thought she chose a career as a beauty salon owner to facilitate her need to know everyone’s business. If gossip were a commodity, she would control the market.

  “Auntie, I am not a fortune vending machine.”

  “I just want to be here if anything comes up.”

  Uncle Michael, armed with a paper shopping bag, approached us. “Faye, why don’t you go check out. I need to talk to Vanessa for a minute.”

  “Tell me if she says something.” Auntie Faye waved and headed for the till. “I’ll just buy a gift card and be done with it.”

  I let out a relaxed sigh. “Thank you for the save.”

  “You know her. She needs to be the first for any kind of news.” He wrinkled his nose, jarring his glasses a little askew. “How are you holding up?”

  “I feel the pressure. I already know Ma’s planning something, but I don’t know what. She is determined that I have a plus-one for the wedding. At least you’re good in that department. How are things with Jack?”

  “Good! I think I have prepared him for the family. He’ll be ready for Cynthia
’s wedding.”

  Jack McCrae stepped into Uncle Michael’s life six months ago after I invited Michael to Jack’s photography exhibit and introduced them. Two months later, I had the formal pleasure of “meeting him” over hotpot. Jack was an energetic and passionate photographer. His photographs left me with an enigma. I wanted to know more about his subjects and the story behind them all. The portraits of my uncle were unabashed love letters: pictures that caught my uncle in his joyful moments. I didn’t need to be present to know the photographer contributed to said happiness: I had witnessed it firsthand on numerous occasions.

  This man loved Uncle Michael.

  “Maybe you can bring a friend instead?” he asked. “That might placate your mother for now.”

  “I have no friends unless you count the cousins. And one of them betrayed me by getting married.”

  “The horde” comprised the twenty-seven fourth-generation cousins; not enough for a full football roster, but enough for two teams of softball in the summer. The sports activities were fun, but I preferred the wine and painting nights.

  “If you and your aunt haven’t decided where to eat, I know just the place.” He offered his arm and escorted me to the exit, where Auntie Faye was waiting.

  * * *

  * * *

  Uncle Michael chose a quiet Indian fusion restaurant ten minutes away, and while we browsed the menu, I ordered mango lassis for all three of us. My uncle and aunt were engrossed in a conversation about the lavish prizes and ongoing bets on who would win the aunties’ upcoming annual mahjong tournament. The tension eased from my shoulders as I sipped the delicious drink in peace.

  Without intention I spied a pattern in the golden droplets clinging to the glass. My stomach churned as the taste of buttermilk pancakes soaked in maple syrup flooded my mouth. A prophecy coalesced like hard, round candy until it pushed against my teeth and expanded.

  “Johnny is planning to propose to Andria next Tuesday and she will accept, but only if the proposal involves an inherited diamond citrine ring.”

  Auntie Faye leaped from her chair, kissed me on the cheek, and excused herself as she pulled out her phone while heading outside for some privacy—ironic considering she was about to broadcast gossip.