Page 49 of What Happens in Amsterdam

“I’m almost scared to ask how your teeth are when sugar is seventy percent of your diet.”

I bare them at him in my widest grin. “Never had a cavity.”

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Amsterdam-Noord is a northern sliceof the city across from the IJ River—pronouncedeye, and I know this only because I too-confidently said “I-J River” when we got off the ferry a few minutes ago. Ahead of us is A’DAM Tower, a skyscraper with a giant swing perched on the edge of the building. Not where we’re going, but it’s the closest I’ve been to it so far, and it confirms that you could not pay me enough money to do that.

This area used to be mostly industrial, but now it’s more of an up-and-coming neighborhood, with unique restaurants and breweries in converted warehouses—and plenty of art.

“I’ve never been here,” Wouter says when we get to the STRAAT Museum, mouth kicking up just slightly, like he’s trying to hide his excitement. “Two months in Amsterdam, and you’re already showing me something new.”

The museum is devoted to street art and graffiti, murals splashed across concrete walls and suspended from high ceilings, and beyond-life-size sculptures made of found objects. We wander through the colorful first room, pausing to read the descriptions beside each piece, but Wouter looks a little uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands. “Danika…you’ve been settling in okay here, yes?”

“A little late to take everything back if I’m not, isn’t it?” I say. “Hopefully I’m not a terrible roommate?”

“Only when you didn’t tell me my shirt was on inside out before I left for work last week.”

“It was early! I was still waking up,” I protest.

“I just wanted to make sure,” he says, becoming serious again. “It’s a huge change, and I’ve been worried that maybe I haven’t been checking in with you enough. About…everything.”

If there’s anything Wouter’s good at, it’s checking in with me, and I’m never not grateful for it. “Obviously it’s an adjustment, but the day-to-day isn’t as hard as I thought it might be. Except for being away from everyone back home.”

“You miss your sister.”

“All the time.” Somehow, saying it makes that stab of homesickness all the more intense, a visceral longing between my ribs. Until I got here, I didn’t realize you could be homesick for a person. “It’s the longest I’ve ever spent away from her, and I’m lucky that she’s a night owl and we can talk with some regularity, but…it’s not the same.”

“Hmm. She sent you an American care package. What if you sent her a Dutch one? You could give her some stroopwafels, some tulip knickknacks, some blue-and-white pottery…and they have Gouda cheese in vacuum-sealed bags that’s safe to travel.” He coughs into his elbow. “Of course you don’t have to replicate, ah, everything she sent. Unless you wanted to.”

“I love that idea. Well—the first part. Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “It’s weird, though. I’ll get the most ridiculous cravings for American food. Like, the other day I was randomly missing Pop-Tarts even though I haven’t had them in years.” We move forward to the next piece of art, a geometric black-and-white optical illusion. “But aside from Pop-Tarts, it’s just hard not to feel like I left things…unfinished, I guess.”

“With your ex?”

That is not at all what I was expecting to hear, and the laugh that bursts out of me is so loud, a few people turn to look at us. “Oh, no. No, no, no. That is most certainly finished. In the most disastrous way possible.”

He lifts his brows as though urging me to continue, eyes bright behind his glasses, and I wish curiosity weren’t so cute on him. I sigh, preparing to tell the whole sordid story.

“We worked together, and we’d been dating for almost a year. And then a few months ago, I got a screenshot from one of my sister’s friends…who’d matched with him on Tinder.”

“No fucking way.”

I nod miserably. “When I confronted him about it, he gave me some bullshit about having forgotten to delete his accounts, even though it showed he’d been active within the past week. He had all these messages, these photos from other women, photos he’d sent them…”

I think back to the shock of those pictures of half-undressed strangers. He was always saying he wanted sexy pictures of me, but I was too afraid they’d end up somewhere I didn’t want them. Even after a year of dating, I didn’t fully trust him.

And yet I’d almost been ready to sayI love you—not because I did but because it seemed like I was supposed to. I was pretty sure Icould, if I had more time.

After I saw the photos, Jace thought we could still make the relationship work.You said at the beginning that you liked to keep things casual, he said.Maybe we can just do that?But he didn’t understand. I couldn’t go backward, not after I’d already broken all my rules. The cheating had confirmed I wasn’t worth a serious relationship, that I’d been right to keep all the others at a distance.

“Maybe you don’t want to hear all of that,” I say to Wouter.

He takes a step forward, his gaze piercing mine, feeling notdissimilar to the way his fingers pressed into the back of my neck. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends.”

We’re so many other things: exes, roommates, husband and wife. Somehowfriendsfeels the most foreign.

“My big fuck-you was sending around his emails to the whole office.” Maybe it was out of character for me, but he’d made me feel so small, so insignificant. I hated that I couldn’t fight back. “We probably shouldn’t have, but we’d sent some…racy stuff to each other while we worked there.” At that, Wouter blushes, and I drop my voice lower. “And then I got fired, while he got promoted last week, according to LinkedIn. The worst part,” I continue, gaining more momentum now, “is that not even my friends were on my side about it. They thought I’d been stupid and impulsive, that I lost the job because of my own bad decision. And…fine, okay, maybe I was. I guess they’ve all grown out of their pettiness, but not me. Guess we’re all supposed to be boring adults now,” I finish, though of course there’s a whole spectrum between boring adult and someone who doesn’t mass-forward their ex’s emails to their whole team.

“As a boring adult,” he says, “I’m on your side here. You’re allowed to be petty at any age.”

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