Page 64 of What Happens in Amsterdam

When I still can’t decide how to end the sentence, Wouter speaks up. “She’s a UX designer at a startup in Amsterdam.”

“Very impressive! Must be an exciting environment,” Rory says, perfectly jovial.

The floor goes wobbly beneath me as I process Wouter’s words.

She’s a UX designer at a startup, he said, like he was worried I might tell the truth.

Like he was worried howunemployedmight sound.

“Actually, Iwasa UX designer,” I correct, finally finding my voice. “But I’m in between jobs at the moment. Still looking for the right fit.”

Rory gives me a reassuring nod. I’m not sure he’s capable of anything but positivity. “We’ve all been there, haven’t we? I’m sure you’ll land back on your feet.”

I don’t register anything they talk about for the rest of breakfast. My waffles grow soggy, but I shove bite after bite into my mouth anyway, trying desperately to make eye contact with Wouter as he tries desperately not to.

I’ve never felt more seventeen, the girl without ambition he discarded all those years ago. It’s a staggering realization that he might feel this way about me.Still. After all the reassurances that I could take my time.

I want so badly to believe this wasn’t what he meant, and yet I can’t rationalize it any other way.

“Right on,” Rory says when we’re finished eating, completely unaware of how the energy has changed. Then to Wouter: “Ready to go?”

Wouter nods, still not meeting my gaze as we all rise to our feet. “See you tonight?”

“Yep.” I give thepa hard pop before clearing my throat. “Enjoy the conference.”

All I hear is Rory saying, “Seems like a lovely girl!” before the two of them disappear into the hall.

Bruges is the most charming place, with Gothic houses and cobbled streets that make me feel as though I’ve traveled hundreds of years into the past. And the city’s defining feature: the canals are full of swans. I’ve never seen this many all in one place, dozens and dozens of the elegant, long-necked birds.

I take a boat tour to get even closer, sending a few photos to Iulia with the captionPromise I’m not cheating on you, and she responds right away:Bruges is magical so I forgive you ;)

While I love the freedom of wandering a new city by myself, the conversation with Rory sits like a brick in my stomach. Amsterdam was supposed to be my second chance, but I’m no closer to figuring out what I want to do than I was when I got off that plane. In fact, I may be even further from it, since I don’t have a steady paycheck.

Wouter and I promised nothing about our day-to-day lives was going to change, and yet there’s been a massive seismic shift. Every day contains only more pretending, more mystery about how I’m supposed to act around him.

His simple presence in my life makes it dramatically different, and not just because we’re married. I could feel all his disappointment when he mentioned my job, and I’m no longer merely sad about the shifting dynamic between us. I’mangrywith him, and the emotion is such a strange, unexpected relief.

I know exactly how to be angry with him.

My day ends with a torturous climb up all 366 steps of the Belfry, Bruges’s imposing thirteenth-century bell tower. I hear myparents’ voices, warning me about my lungs and how unsafe these cracked stairs are, and how it’s okay if I can’t handle this.

“How many more steps?” the people around me ask other tourists on their way down, those who’ve successfully made the trek and lived to tell the tale.

“Almost there!” they promise. “It’s worth it!”

But I pace myself. I take breaks, drink water, let others pass. It probably takes me longer than almost anyone else, and when I finally get to the top—

There’s the city spread out beneath me, those tiny historic buildings and a Sunday market, orange roofs extending far into the distance.

I stay up there for a long time, not minding the wind that blows my hair around my face or the tourists who ask if I’ll take photos of their families.

Because there’s that wanderlust again, that itch at the back of my throat that quietly pleads:more.

—

I’m pretending to be asleepwhen Wouter gets back to the room that night, the duvet wrapped tight around me. I haven’t decided yet if I want to confront him or ignore him.

But he’s being so fucking considerate as he quietly goes through the room, toeing his shoes off and carefully unzipping his suitcase, tooth by agonizing tooth, and it’s downright infuriating. How dare he be polite about this when he was so quick to speak for me, when he made it clear that who I really am isn’t someone he’s confident introducing as his wife.

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