21 Steps to Happiness by F. G. Gerson

pulled the restaurant door, as if routinely checking it was well locked. “My parents still want me to take over the business. They haven’t given up on me yet.”
    â€œThey must be proud of you. You have such an amazing job at Muriel B.”
    â€œNo, they’re actually not proud at all. They think that one day I will give up this fashion nonsense and take over the restaurant. That’s why they haven’t sold it yet.”
18. We’re big disappointments to our parents.
    â€œIt’s a nice place,” I tell him. And I mean it.
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œIt needs a serious cleanup.”
    â€œRunning a restaurant is hard work.”
    â€œI’m sure you’d be a great restaurateur.”
    Hey, as far as I’m concerned, he’d be a great anything.
    Â 
    We settled in a tiny bar just beside L’Escargot. A brass band was playing engaging old tunes. We drank red wine out of tumblers. The walls were covered in old posters advertising concerts that took place years and years ago. Everything was protected by a thick layer of mixed brown fat and dust.
    I didn’t mention it, but I saw a huge beetle doing its daily slalom exercise between the glasses and disappearing under one of the tables.
    The bar was crowded with young French people. Everybody was drunk or getting drunk and their lips were all blue and purple from the liters of cheap red wine being gulped down.
    Nicolas’s lips turned purple red, too. Who would have thought that would make them look even better.
    â€œWhen I was in that kitchen,” he said, “helping my dad, I thought, when I grow up, I’ll never peel a potato again.” He laughed. “Now all I remember is how simple and nice life was in that kitchen.”
    â€œAnd how everything became complicated and disturbing. I know the feeling,” I said.
19. We long for the simplicity of the past.
    Suddenly a disturbing thought popped into my head. “You love her, don’t you?” I said suddenly.
    â€œWho? Muriel?”
    â€œYou’re so…” I made a face to show how completely fascinated he looked. Why else would he go against his parents if not for love?
    â€œI don’t love her. I admire her,” he admitted. “She’s impossible sometimes. Most of the time. But she’s something special.”
    He suddenly looked all dreamy and distant, as if she was so special to him it actually called for more wine and introspection. If he didn’t love her, he truly cared for her, far beyond his job description.
    â€œWhat about you, Lynn?” he asked, coming back from his own little world.
    â€œWhat about me?”
    â€œWhy did you come to work for her?”
    I shrug. “Paris. Fashion. Fame. You know, the usual.”
    â€œI don’t believe there is anything usual about you,” he said.
    â€œAnd exactly what do you mean by that?”
    â€œYou know, the way you handle things.”
    â€œLike?”
    He looked very embarrassed. He drank some more wine and said, “Like that kiss.”
    That kiss. I stare at him blankly, unable to think of something clever to say.
    â€œThe kiss! The one you gave me.”
    â€œAh! That kiss! Which one? There were…two, I think.” My power of speech had returned.
    â€œBoth, really.”
    â€œWell, you’ve clearly established that they were meaningless.” I smiled at him.
    â€œWere they?”
    â€œWhy? Did you think about them?” This time I was the one needing some more wine.
    â€œMaybe,” he said thoughtfully.
    â€œDid you think about them a lot?”
    â€œCould have.”
    â€œAnd what did you think about them?”
    â€œI…don’t know. It was confusing.”
    â€œConfusing?”
    â€œAnd intriguing.”
    â€œDefinitely intriguing.” I could feel the blush rushing to my cheeks. Please, God, let him think it’s the wine.
    â€œIt made me