Page 55 of Monarch
“I don’t want to do that,” she says in a rush, and it feels like she’s just slapped me.
“Okay, well, yeah, okay,” Joel mumbles, his smile completely gone.
“I need some fresh air,” Roos says, and without another word, she leaves the lobby.
Joel and I share a glance, and I couldn’t say who is more perplexed by Roos’ behaviour. If I hadn’t just agreed to keep my distance from Roos for a month, I would ask Joel more about Lex. What he thinks of xem. What his opinion of Roos’ relationship with xem is. But I don’t have that right. It’s not my place.
“I need to go make sure she’s okay,” I say and reach for the door. “I’m glad we finally met and… Well, I hope to see you again soon.”
“You’re staying?”
“Yeah, I am,” I say, and I should feel pleased. I should feel excited. I should probably also still feel high from the scene Roos and I shared. But I don’t feel any of those things.
As I leave QISS behind me, I feel angry and bitter and twisted up with hate for Lex who keeps on fucking ruining things, even from afar.
METAMORPHOSIS PART FOUR: PUPA (COCOON)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mari
Three Months Later - January
“Mari!” Clarissa calls out as she bursts through the front door of Pink Elephant tattoo studio. “It’s snowing!”
I look up from my sketch pad and through the glass window front of the studio. She’s not wrong. A stream of cyclists has their heads bent low against the messy onslaught of thick snowflakes, and the cars beside them have slowed to face it too, their wipers working busily. Automatically, I bury my neck a bit deeper inside the roll-neck crochet jumper I finished at the weekend.
“You’ll love Amsterdam in the snow,” Clarissa tells me, approaching me at the counter where we greet customers. My first appointment of the day is five minutes late, so I’m sketching to pass the time before I have to call them and tell them I have to charge them 50%. I should be used to that part of my job – informing no-shows of our booking policy – and I’ve learnt the Dutch think nothing of being direct with one another, but I still bristle at the idea of delivering bad news to somebody who got stuck in traffic or slept through their alarm.
“It’s so pretty,” Clarissa continues as she busies herself with the coffee machine. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” I point at my tea with my pencil.
“You’re very quiet today,” Clarissa says. “Everything okay?”
Is everything okay? In some ways, yes, everything is okay. More than okay. I have a job I love. I fall in love with Amsterdam more and more each day. I bought an old, rusty but sturdy bike, and I can nowride it without risking life and limb. I even find myself ringing my bell at tourists who stumble onto the bike path with their suitcases. I have a studio apartment in the bustling Baarsjes neighbourhood that I’ve turned into a warm and cosy space just for me. I’ve made some good friends through Pink Elephant, and some of my UK friends have come and visited in the last three months since I moved. My dads came over for my birthday weekend, and I went home for Christmas. Mum and Dove are planning on visiting in the summer. They constantly tell me they’re proud of me. I am proud of me. And yet…
I miss Roos. I think about her constantly.
I still hate Lex. And I think about xem far too much.
That’s the one problem with being here. I walk around this city expecting xem to pop up from somewhere and pull the rug from under my feet.
“Winter blues,” I say. And maybe there is some truth in that, too. Amsterdam is beautiful in the winter with its skeletal trees, inviting fireplaces roaring in brown bars, and festive lights that stay up long after Christmas, but it’s still cold and grey and dark, and the days feel criminally short.
“The snow will help with that,” Clarissa says. “If it settles.”
I look again outside. It’s coming down in thick sheets now. I guess this is probably why my client is late. I reach over for the tablet we share for bookings. “L Wilhelm”. I can’t tell what their gender is, but at least they’ve left me a phone number to call. Maybe I should check to see if they’re on their way.
“You really like snow, huh?” I ask Clarissa as I pick up my mug again and cradle it in my hands.
Clarissa gives me a look, her thick brown curls tossed over one shoulder. “I’m half-Colombian, half-Zambian – of course snow is exciting to me!”
I smile. Clarissa has good energy. She is fun to work with, and she doesn’t deserve my melancholy mood. I stretch out my neck, trying to ease some of the tension in my body.
“What time is your first client?” I ask.
“In half an hour,” Clarissa chirps over the whirring coffee machine. “Who else is in?”
