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Fat snowflakes spiraled downwards, each living only for a moment before landing on the road. Most of them melted on contact; some of them survived, white specks against the black asphalt.
Félix reached out a hand to catch them. He soon dropped it, discouraged by his lack of success, as they all floated by, evading capture.
It was like he was suddenly seven years old again. Running after his frantic mother, lost in the big city. Except his mother was still in London and he knew exactly where he was: two streets away from his hotel. And it wasn’t Christmas, though one couldn’t tell without consulting the calendar.
There was something depressingly romantic about Paris at night even without the reminder that he would spend another holiday constantly hearing the nagging from his disappointed grandparents. Disappointed, once again, that he would show up without a significant other. Like every year.
His grandfather, a highly educated man, would say, “Degrees don’t give us great-grandchildren.” And his wife, Félix’s grandmother, would agree with him.
Félix wasn’t even sure he wanted children. But that was something he couldn’t tell those people. Not without the risk of giving the patriarch a heart attack. And despite everything, Félix loved his old man.
It was getting colder now that the sun had set. Félix pulled his scarf higher, hiding his nose behind it before stalking off towards the direction of the Eiffel tower, following the map his mother had scribbled on a scrap of paper before he had left London. He had memorized the route in fear of losing the map. He hadn’t; it was still safely tucked away in the inner pocket of his jacket. Any present her mother wanted to give, he would help with. Even if it meant trekking through Paris in a much too formal suit.
He wasn’t dressed for snow. No one was. The weather forecast had promised rain after all. Félix couldn’t bring himself to care about the cold, though it filled him with a strange sense of nostalgia.
He marched on. So what if he didn’t want kids? What if his degrees weren’t enough to make his grandparents happy? In the long run, none of that mattered. It would only be for a couple of days.
Everything will come in its own time. That’s what his mother always said.
Félix turned the corner and stopped, surprised. It was like stepping into a dream. He knew this street. He had dreamed of it, certain it didn’t exist. Yet there, in front of him, stood rue Gotlib just like he must have seen twenty years ago.
His cheeks tinted pink at the memory. He buried his face deeper into the scarf as if afraid of someone else knowing what had transpired back when he was only seven.
Félix had taken his eyes off his mother only for a second. He had glanced around, looking for the Christmas lights that colored the snow blue, green and red. But a second had been enough to lose her.
He hadn’t been worried. He’d known his mother would eventually trace her steps back to the street, where her clever son would be waiting for him. He’d ventured over to the bakery, watching the busy crowd doing last-minute holiday shopping through a half-frozen glass, more intrigued by the frost patterns than the sweet-smelling pastries. At least until a figure of a small girl appeared in front of him, on the other side of the glass.
Her hair had been pulled up into two identical pigtails and there had been a big, bright smile on her face. He remembered her eyes were the color of cloudless night skies right before the last rays of sun disappeared from the horizon.
She had pressed her hands against the glass and in a spur of the moment, he had placed his gloved fingers over her bare ones. She had laughed before leaning her head against the window, squishing her pretty face until it distorted into something inhuman. Despite the cold, he’d snorted and copied that too.
The glass had been cold against his skin but he hadn’t worried about the germs. And there they were, two silly kids, being ridiculous together.
Looking at the street, the memory was so fresh in his mind that he caught his breath. It had been only for a moment. He’d known her only for a moment, while the frost between them melt. Before his mother came and pulled him away, reprimanding him for running off, for not caring about catching a cold.
He had looked behind to catch a last glimpse of the little girl. But she’d disappeared, too. Probably no longer caring for the snowfall.
Félix admired the building with an inkling of fear in his heart. The window was frosted over again and behind it, a young woman was basking in the warm glow. She looked up and her eyes met his. His breath hitched.
She smiled.
Félix shivered and stepped towards the door. When he pushed it open, the bell above it tinkled. Even that sounded familiar.
“Marinette, darling, when will you bring a man home? Your mom is not getting any younger,” he heard a soft voice poke at the woman. Marinette threw her head back, laughing heartily.
Félix knew that this was another moment he would never forget.
“Mom!” She giggled. “It would take more than a Christmas miracle to melt the ice in my heart.”
There was a warmth in Marinette’s voice that contradicted her words. The older woman laughed too before patting her on the shoulder. Only after that did she notice Félix standing awkwardly by the door.
“Welcome, young lad!” she greeted him, shooting Marinette a mischievous wink. She guided him towards the counter her daughter was manning. “May I interest you in some of our finest?”
Félix’s eyes found Marinette’s face again. She was blushing, eyes wide with mortification, mouth parted, as she held back a protest.
He was interested alright.