“It’s so nice to see you too!” she says, and then we just stand there smiling at each other, and it occurs to me she might not remember, either. Finally she gestures to her tray of sushi and nods toward Mercer Street. “Well, I’m heading to the lake to eat lunch.” Wait, what? I stand there clutching my plastic clamshell and watching her walk away. I mean, I know Lake Union is just across the street, but it’s never occurred to me that I could go to it. Well, she is French, I think. Maybe all the French employees meet up and have lunch in swan boats while drinking Pernod and reading Balzac out
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