Page 86 of What Happens in Amsterdam

He gives me a sheepish smile. “I’ve watched a bit over the years.”

“Because you missed me,” I say in a teasing lilt.

“Because it was funny,” he insists. “And because I missed you.” He scrolls through the seasons, the titles blurring together in a mix of laugh tracks and iconic lines. “Which episode?”

I point at the screen when he gets to season five. “That one. ‘The Marine Biologist.’ One of George’s best.”

As though summoned by his namesake, George Costanza leaps onto the couch.

And then the three of us watch this very American sitcom in this very Dutch apartment.

Twenty-three

Phoebe wraps my hair arounda curling wand while she blasts a nostalgia playlist in her hotel room. The dress looks redder beneath the harsh bathroom lighting, my makeup the kind of natural-but-not look that requires at least seven products to achieve, especially after I anxiety-sweated through the first two layers and we had to start again.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” I say as my sister frowns at a strand of hair that won’t cooperate. Maya slipped out to get coffee and give us some privacy. Today doesn’t trulymeananything, not really, aside from Wouter’s family meeting two of my favorite people on this earth and my fierce desire for all of them to like each other.

“Please. Do you remember right before my wedding? I was such a wreck, you had to spoon-feed me cereal because my hands were shaking so badly. Then again…I hadn’t already married her for a Dutch visa.”

“Minor differences.”

In the mirror, Phoebe’s eyes meet mine as she drops her chin tomy shoulder. “My little sister’s getting married,” she says, and I’m not expecting the break in her voice. “Kind of. And next week I’ll be home and missing you more than ever.”

Her words hit me like a blast of ice. I’ve loved having her here, but after the baby’s born, and given how expensive flights are…there isn’t going to be an easy time for them to come back. I’ll visit, of course. As much as I can, once I have a steady paycheck—but will that ever feel like enough when I have to go through immigration on both ends? When I need a passport to see my family?

Everything in California will continue to go on without me, and even if that’s always been true, I’ve never been confronted with the reality of it until this moment.

There’s a knock on the hotel room door. “Maya must have forgotten her key,” Phoebe says as she goes to unlock it.

But it’s Wouter, holding a bouquet of tulips and sunflowers and poppies.

My knees turn to melted butter.

A navy suit clings to his broad shoulders, sunlight from the open window catching the auburn undertones in his blond hair. From his cornflower blue shirt to his polished cognac shoes, from his paisley-printed tie to the gleam of his belt buckle, he is an absolute dream in formalwear.

It makes me ache for all the school dances we never went to. Too risky, we decided, opting instead for an innocent night of bowling or arcade games.

“You don’t want to find out if prom is really like a John Hughes movie?” I asked him once, after we toasted with milkshakes and watched the sunset at Venice Beach. “I’d hate for you to miss out on the quintessential American experience.”

We both knew it was corny when he leaned in and said, “Youare my quintessential American experience,” the sky’s reds and purples reflected in his glasses, his eyes lit with the purest admiration. It’sthe same way he’s looking at me now, with all the wisdom of an adult and the awe of seventeen.

“Are you trying to kill me with that dress?” he asks, failing to bite back a smile.

An instant calm washes over me as I smooth down one of his lapels. “It’s a good thing we never went to prom together. I don’t think we’d have been able to behave.”

“Do I need to leave the room?” my sister asks.

“We’ll be good,” Wouter says as he guides me into a spin to show off the dress, though the quirk of his brow promises something else entirely.

It’s one of the last perfect moments of the day.

—

Maya returns and we alldown our coffees, and then Roos shows up with George, looking dapper in a little bow tie. Wouter rented a car for us all to drive down to Culemborg, and he plays us some Dutch pop music on the radio as Maya balances a hand on her belly and says, “This is more than I’ve ever felt her dance.”

Wouter’s mother wanted us to be the guests of honor, the last people to show up, and the house is ready for us: a few other cars in the driveway,GEFELICITEERDspelled out in a banner above the front door. There’s some noise from the backyard, and I wave to Sanne and Thomas and Evi and Bilal through the fence. Iulia’s there, too, along with what I’m guessing are some family friends.

“Welkom, goeiedag,” Anneke says when she opens the door, looking chic but not too overdressed in a sweater and long skirt. Wouter’s grandmother Maartje is next to her, her white hair a little curlier than last time, as though she’s just returned from the salon. After a flurry of introductions and some treats for George, they wrap their arms around my sister and coo over Maya’s baby bump.“So good to meet you both. We’re honored that you’re here.” Then, to Wouter and me: “Everyone’s out back, but take your time. There’s no rush—I’m still getting snacks out of the oven.”

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