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Meanwhile, oblivious to the blow her friend just took, Tali was in the back working on
prepping the batters for several of the orders Zenna had just brought back to her. Tali loved
to let her mind wander as she baked. The surprise of not knowing where it would take her
was exhilarating. Some days she was transported to another time, years, decades, or even
centuries in the past and other times she was catapulted into the future, given glimpses of
what it held for her – a family, a loyal and kind husband, a small flat with a terrace that
spanned from east to west overlooking the Seine so that she could paint both the sunrises
and sunsets from the same table.
Tali was in love with Paris from the day she was born. “The City of Light,” Tali whispered
to herself, gazing in awe at the poster her mother kept in her bedroom tucked behind her
armoire. Tali’s mother was infatuated with Paris like her daughter, raising the question if a
love for all things Parisian is acquired or inherited. Tali believed in the latter, considering
that she had no reason to feel so strongly about a city she, or her mother, had never been to.
The poster on her mother’s wall, Tali remembered, didn’t always hide away in the bedroom.
It used to be framed and have a prominent spot on the wall in her parent’s home, which
was located just outside the capital, Cardiff. The poster was relocated the day after her
father died in a car accident, the night before what would have been her parents’ fifteenth
wedding anniversary. Her father always promised that one day he would take Tali’s mother
to Paris. He would dance with her in the living room to an old Lucienne Boyer record. The
vinyl, warped by the sunlight that poured into the dining room, could only play one song,
Parlez-Moi D’Amour. They would dance for hours, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying,