Happy People Read and Drink Coffee by Agnès Martin-Lugand

exhausted. The stress, alcohol, and tiredness wore me down completely.

6
    Moving in my bed made my head ache. With great difficulty, I tried to open my eyes, but they stung. My tongue was furry and I ached all over. Even before trying to stand up, I knew that the day would feel interminable. That would teach me to play the fool at a party. I opened the curtains to try to wake myself up. Who owned that car parked in front of my house? I had the feeling that I was missing something enormously important about the night before. My first shot of caffeine of the day would help me fill in the blanks. Going downstairs was painful, that’s how much my head throbbed. There was a body stretched out on my couch. The fog began to lift.
    Felix. One of his arms and legs were hanging down onto the floor. He was still dressed and snoring like an engine. I couldn’t see his face.
    â€œWake up,” I said, shaking him.
    â€œBe quiet; I want to sleep.”
    â€œHow are you? Are you all right?”
    â€œI feel like I’ve been hit by a bulldozer.”
    He sat up, still with his head down and rubbed the back of his neck.
    â€œFelix, look at me.”
    He raised his head. He had a cut on one eyebrow and a bad black eye. He sank back on the couch, holding his sides and grimacing in pain. I went over to him and lifted up his T-shirt; he had an enormous bruise.
    â€œGood God, what did he do to you?”
    Felix leaped off the couch and charged at the mirror.
    â€œIt’s OK. I’m still good-looking.”
    He touched his face, flexed his muscles, and smiled at himself.
    â€œI’ll still be able to show off when I get back to Paris.”
    â€œThere’s nothing funny about all this; he’s dangerous. You were lucky.”
    He swept away my comments with a brush of the hand and went back to collapse on the couch, but not without wincing in pain. The fool hurt everywhere.
    â€œThat said, the next time you go into exile, go to the land of the Pygmies! Shit, no doubt about it, that guy is Irish. He must have learned how to walk on a rugby pitch. When he knocked me to the ground I thought I was playing in the Six Nations tournament . . .”
    â€œSo to sum it up, you got your kicks fighting with that jerk.”
    â€œI swear, I was on the pitch and the crowd was going wild.”
    â€œAnd you were the rugby ball. That’s all very well, but did you manage to get a punch in?”
    â€œI hesitated. I didn’t want to smash up his pretty face.”
    â€œYou’re making fun of me!”
    â€œYes and no. But you can be sure of one thing: I defended your honor. I gave him a good left hook; he’s in no shape to French kiss anyone.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œBlood spurted out all over the place and his lip blew up to twice its size. Give me five!”
    I did a little victory dance. In the shower, I was still laughing about Felix’s exploits. He didn’t stop talking all through breakfast. He gave me all the news from Paris and told me how our apartment had been cleared out. My parents and Colin’s had taken everything; nothing was left. Then he told me about the accounts for the book café. There were almost no sales any more. One day or other, I was going to have to take things in hand.
    Wrapped in my bath towel, I thought about my lack of desire to return to France. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and got upset. There was nothing around my neck.
    â€œFelix!”
    â€œWhat?” he shouted, coming up the stairs four at a time.
    â€œI’ve lost my wedding ring.”
    I started sobbing.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œI was wearing it around my neck yesterday.”
    â€œDon’t worry, we’ll find it. You must have lost it at the pub, get dressed.”
    Ten minutes later we were on the road. The pub was closed; I told Felix how to get to Abby and Jack’s. Judith would have the key. I went and knocked on the door while Felix