Annabelle Thong by Imran Hashim

Author:Imran Hashim
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789814757515
Publisher: Epigram Books
Published: 2016-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

After dinner at a Thai restaurant last night (I had a mango sticky rice craving that could not be denied) Patrick offered to walk me home and I gratefully accepted, more than happy to companionably burn off some calories. The winter frost didn’t bother me this time, mainly because it gave Patrick an excuse to put his arm around my shoulder as we walked north up Rue de Rochechouart and on to Boulevard Barbes, past all the small cafés, bakeries, pharmacies, hair salons, and door after door of mom and pop stores specialising in everything from home appliances to polyester suits. Here, in the blue collar districts of Paris, local businesses are still holding out, still digging in their heels against the Starbucks and Subways of the world—the much dreaded march of mondialisation—though for how much longer, nobody knows.

When we reached the large blue wooden door of my building, as if in a movie, Patrick asked if he could come up for a nightcap. I’d seen enough movies to know what happened when gentlemen were allowed upstairs for a nightcap (i.e. things would get messy), and I wasn’t ready for any such thing so I said no.

“But I don’t want this night to end yet,” Patrick said, giving me a doleful look as he pulled me in for a hug.

Fair enough, I thought. I didn’t want the night to end yet either. “Well, why don’t we go to Le Saumon Qui Fume?”

Patrick looked a little disappointed but agreed nonetheless, so we stepped back onto the street and made our way to the brightly lit restaurant next door. The place was still half full even though it was past 11, and when we stepped in, Irène greeted me with la bise while Henri shouted out “Bonsoir ma puce!” above the chatter of diners from his post behind the wooden bar.

“Une table pour deux?” Irène asked me with a saucy wink.

“Oui, s’il te plaît,” I said, tucking my hair behind my left ear. I always tuck my hair behind my left ear when I’m embarrassed.

“So I’m guessing you’re a regular here?” Patrick asked after Irène had taken our orders.

“Yeah, I come here quite often. They make the best coffee.”

“Really?” he said, looking skeptical.

“Really. I’m even thinking of writing my entire thesis here. I’ll put Le Saumon Qui Fume on the map, you know, like what Sartre did for Café de Flore.”

“For the right reasons, I hope,” he laughed.

“Have some faith!” I said with mock indignation. “Although at the rate things are going… Speaking of my thesis, I’ve been thinking…”

“Hey, is it all right if we don’t talk about work tonight?” Patrick said as he stroked my arm. “I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to discuss the thesis per se,” I said. “If you’d just let me finish, what I want to say is that I’m not feeling very comfortable about going out with my supervisor. I know you’re more than capable of keeping it professional, and I am as well, but…” I let out a breath.

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