Page 95 of What Happens in Amsterdam

“We thought we could make it work after he went back. But obviously it didn’t, and then now…” I trail off, my throat tight, trying to keep the emotion from shuddering out of me.

“Oh, Dani.” My mother starts to get out of her chair. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you?”

I nod into her shoulder, welcoming the comfort of my mother hugging me—even in public, in another country, after I just told her I don’t need her protection. Turns out, I still needthis.

And that’s okay.

“We were always going to get divorced,” I say. “It was never supposed to be long-term. I know it was impulsive, but I don’t think it was a mistake. And if itwasa mistake—then it’s my mistake. Our mistake.”

“Now that we’ve all had some time,” my father says, “I guess we’ve all probably done some absurd things in the name of love.”

Love.

There’s that word again, the one that shouldn’t be as foreign as it was when Wouter said it yesterday.

I think back to all the times he called me “lief” when no one was around. At first I thought it was a slip of the tongue, but it happened too frequently, didn’t it? Was that his way of telling me, even then?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” I tell my parents oncewe’ve started eating, and I’m irrationally proud of my city when they rave about the food. “If I’m going to stay, or for how long. There’s obviously a lot I have to figure out, both with him and on my own. But I want you to know that whatever choice I make, I’m serious about it. And it doesn’t mean I won’t come back and visit as much as I can.”

They exchange a long glance, communicating in that silent way couples do when they’ve known each other for years and years.

“Then that just means we’ll have to come back and visit, too,” my father says.

My mother gestures toward the canal with her fork, because of course this place has captivated her, too. It would be impossible for it not to. “Already looking forward to it.”

—

I spend the rest ofthe week playing tour guide for my parents and Phoebe and Maya, showing them my favorite spots, the best stroopwafel that isn’t the overpriced Instagrammable one with the long line but the one at an open-air market, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-them museums hidden in old canal houses.

Then we spend hours browsing Amsterdam’s bookstores. We go see the tulips, and Phoebe and Maya pose for some pregnancy photos in the vast fields of red and yellow that are entirely too lovely.

I still haven’t taken out any of my suitcases, and I find every excuse to stay out of the apartment. When I’m home alone, I try to relax with a bubble bath. A mug of tea. My breathing exercises.

And then I make an appointment with a new therapist.

“How are you holding up?” Phoebe asks gently as we lock our bikes in Vondelpark. They rented a couple and thought I was kidding when I showed them Little Devil. My parents are flying back early in the morning, and Phoebe and Maya leave tomorrow night. I’m still in denial about all of it.

I’m not quite sure how to answer her question. No matter how many times I try to picture it, my vision of Amsterdam without Wouter is all gray scale. I should be moving on, shouldn’t I? Preparing for my interview and viewing apartments?

“Do you think it’s ridiculous for me to stay here?” I ask, realizing I’m not answering her question. “Indefinitely? Assuming I get a job and can fully support myself?”

The three of us accept cones of gelato from an ice cream truck. “Why would that be ridiculous?” Maya says. “I studied in Edinburgh for a year during undergrad, and it wasn’t enough. If I ever had the chance to live there again, I’d hop on it right away. No looking back.”

Phoebe nods her agreement as she dodges an e-bike, a guy steering haphazardly while a girl clings to his back. “We’ve talked about it, how we might want to do something like that one day. Seeing you here makes it seem all the more possible.”

The truth is, itwasridiculous when I first got here. A complete disaster. I may have fucked things up with Wouter and his family, but before that…it wasgood.

“Then I think about everything I’d miss out on if I stay. Like the baby being born. I want to be there, okay? No matter where I’m living, whenever you want me—I’ll get on a plane, and I’ll make it happen.”

Phoebe licks her own cone, then tries Maya’s, and without even discussing it, the two of them swap. “We appreciate that. Maya’s mom is going to be living with us for the first month, but after that, if you wanted to…we wouldn’t say no.”

I take out my phone, already searching flights. Phoebe laughs. “You don’t have to do it right now!”

“It’s just different, not being able to see each other whenever we want to.”

Over her gelato, Maya lifts her thick eyebrows at Phoebe, who sighs.

“Dan, that was always going to change once we had the baby. You know that. I’m not going to disappear, obviously, but it’s unavoidable,” she says. “Think about it this way. When you were in LA, we’d have dinner, or coffee, or we’d go to a yoga class. A few hours, tops. When you come to visit, that’s a week of solid, nearly uninterrupted time. Maybe it won’t be as consistent, but it can be just as deep and just as meaningful.” I do love the sound of that. Then she dabs her gelato on the tip of my nose. “And now we have to figure out what’s going on with Wouter.”

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