Page 97 of What Happens in Amsterdam

You grovel your way into some face time with your semi-sister-in-law and her mother and grandmother, because even though you are absolutely terrified, you know you need to make things right with them.

And you may not be able to make things right with your husband until you do.

We meet at Roos’s apartment because she thought it would be better than returning tothe scene of the crime, as she put it over text. The studio is a colorful, well-lit space in De Pijp, not too far frommy old apartment. Vintage-style posters of Amsterdam cover the walls, leafy plants hanging from the ceiling. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has names for all of them.

I told Roos I wanted to talk to all three of them at once, and she had no reason to give in. Part of her must have hated to leave things unfinished, or at the very least, she was curious about what I might say. Either way, I’m immensely grateful. I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to this family I crashed my way into.

If I left the Netherlands, I wouldn’t just be leaving Wouter behind. It would be Roos and Iulia—who took me out on a Dam Fine boat for a few lessons before my interview—and the tiny community I’m starting to build here, if that community decides to forgive me. So far Iulia’s the only one who has, acknowledging she might have considered the same thing if her visa was in jeopardy.

Everyone’s already there when I arrive, arranged on Roos’s thrifted bright yellow couch with tea and cookies.

“I’m not late, am I?” I ask as I step out of my shoes.

Roos shakes her head. “No, no. We were just talking about how miserable the weather is.”

She isn’t wrong. We had a bit of a false spring while my family was here, and now it’s back to gray skies and wind and the occasional downpour. “That’s Amsterdam,” the locals say with a shrug.

I greet everyone in Dutch and take a seat in the armchair opposite the couch, my hands too shaky to handle a cup of tea. For the first few minutes, we are all forced smiles and awkward pauses. I fidget with my ring, spinning it around, nudging it up my finger and then back down, wondering if I shouldn’t have worn it. Somehow, it feels like if I take it off, that means it’s really over.

“Did your parents enjoy Amsterdam?” Anneke asks.

“They did, yes. I’m so sorry you may have gotten a terrible impression of them. They’re…not usually like that.”

“Upset because their daughter got married without telling them, and that the marriage wasn’t real to begin with?”

Heat rushes to my face.

“It just made me question whether any of it was real. That’s the part I’ve been struggling with. Not just you and Wouter—but you and me, too.” Roos glances down as she says this, an unusual shyness coming over her.

“Yes. Are you kidding? I loved spending time with you,” I say with as much emphasis as possible, scooting to the edge of my chair. “You’ve all been so generous, and keeping this secret…it’s been hell, if I’m being honest.” I turn to Maartje and say in Dutch, “I hope you’ll still let Wouter keep the apartment.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “Why would I take it back?”

“Because the marriage was fake,” I tell her, grimacing at the fact that this is something I know how to say. “Schijnhuwelijk.”

Maartje says something in Dutch, and although I catch some of it, Roos translates for me.

“She says she knows the stipulation was a little old-fashioned,” Roos says. “She thought encouraging him to find a partner might help him get out of his shell a bit, so he wouldn’t be as stuck in his ways. And maybe it was a strange way to go about it…but it seemed to work.” Roos takes a sip of tea. “I think she speaks for all of us. Wouter was so much morehimselfwith you than he’s been in a while, and learning it wasn’t real…we’re just disappointed that he’s going to lose that. A bit of a grieving process, really.”

“That’s the thing.” I worry the ring again. “Even if it wasn’t real at the beginning…my feelings for him are.”

The three of them lean closer, Roos not even trying to hold back her smile.

“I’m so sorry about everything,” I continue. “How it happened, and the way we lied to you.”

“Wouter has been apologizing all week,” Anneke says. “The funny part is—I know my son. The way he was with you, even when we first met you—it wasn’t acting. I know that in my soul.”

“I know that now, too,” I say quietly. “I probably should have known a long time ago. Maybe some part of me did, because I—I love your son.” I can say it with full confidence now. In English, and in Dutch. “I think I have for a while. The marriage complicated everything, but I really want a chance to make it right. For all of you.”

“It may be unconventional,” Anneke agrees, “but I’m happy to know you. I’m happy for you to be part of this family, for however long that lasts.”

The next time Maartje speaks, I can understand her perfectly. “Whether you’re his wife, or his girlfriend, or whoever you are—I’m just glad you can speak Dutch!”

After Anneke and Maartje head back to Culemborg, Roos drags me over to the couch and lets out a squeal.

“I’ve been dying to tell someone, but I have news about Iulia. I rented out the whole boat yesterday, so it was just the two of us. And I spent the first half of the tour worried that I’d trapped her or something, and if I confessed my feelings and she wasn’t into it, would one of us have to go overboard?” A shake of her head, a slight grimace. “Anyway, that was extremely not necessary, and as it turns out, we have our first official date tomorrow.”

I grin right along with her, hugging her and telling her how happy I am to hear it. “Whenever you need a wedding dress…” I say, and she just rolls her eyes and nudges me.

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