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fault—or should I say it’s thanks to them.
    Because they’re the ones who taught us about books and music. Who talked to us about other things and forced us to see things in a different light. To aim higher and farther. But they also forgot to give us confidence, because they thought that it would just come naturally. That we had a special gift for life, and compliments might spoil our egos.
    They got it wrong.
    The confidence never came.
    So here we are. Sublime losers. We just sit there in silence while the loudmouths get their way, and any brilliant response we might have come up with is nipped in the bud, and all we’re left with is a vague desire to puke.
    Maybe it was all the whipped cream we ate . . .
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    I remember how one day we were all together, the whole family, on a beach near Hossegor—because we rarely went anywhere together as a family—family with a capital F, that wasn’t really our style—our Pop (our dad never wanted us to call him Dad and so when people were surprised we would say it was because of May 1968. That was a pretty good excuse, we thought, “May ’68,” like a secret code, it was as if we were saying “It’s because he’s from planet Zorg”)—so our Pop, as I was saying, must have looked up and said, “Kids, you see this beach?”
    (Any idea how huge the Côte d’Argent is?)
    â€œWell, do you know what you are, you kids, on the scale of the universe?”
    (Yeah! Kids who aren’t allowed any doughnuts!)
    â€œYou are this grain of sand. Just this one, right here. And that’s it.”
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    We believed him.
    Our loss.
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    â€œWhat’s that smell?” said Carine.
    I was spreading Madame Rashid’s paste all over my legs.
    â€œWhat . . . what on earth is that stuff?”
    â€œI’m not sure exactly. I think it’s honey or caramel mixed with wax and spices.”
    â€œOh my God, that’s horrible! That is disgusting! And you’re going to do that, here ?”
    â€œWhere else can I do it? I can’t go to the wedding like this. I look like a yeti.”
    My sister-in-law turned away with a sigh.
    â€œBe very careful of the seat. Simon, turn off the A/C so I can open the window.”
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    Please , I muttered, my teeth clenched.
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    Madame Rashid had wrapped this huge lump of Turkish delight in a damp cloth. “Next time come see me, I take care of you next time. I do your little love garden. After you see, how he like it, your man, when I make it all gone, he go crazy with you and he give you anything you want . . . ” she assured me with a wink.
    I smiled. Just a faint smile. I’d just made a spot on the armrest and now I had to juggle with my Kleenex. What a mess.
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    â€œAnd are you going to get dressed in the car, too?”
    â€œWe’ll stop somewhere just before . . . Hey, Simon? Can you find me a little side road somewhere?”
    â€œOne that smells of hazelnuts?”
    â€œI should hope so!”
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    â€œAnd Lola?” asked Carine.
    â€œWhat about Lola?”
    â€œIs she coming?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know?” She looked startled.
    â€œNo. I don’t know.”
    â€œThis is unbelievable. Nobody ever knows anything with you guys. It’s always the same thing. Complete bohemian shambles. Can’t you just for once get your act together? Just a little bit?”
    â€œI spoke to her on the phone yesterday,” I said curtly. “She wasn’t feeling too good and she didn’t know yet whether she could make it.”
    â€œWell well, what a surprise.”
    Oooh, just listen to that condescending tone of hers . . .
    â€œWhat’s surprising about it?” I said, between my teeth.
    â€œOh, dear! Nothing. Nothing surprises me anymore with you lot. And if Lola is that way, it’s her fault, too. It’s what she wanted, right? She really has a