Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-six
When your entire world implodes around you, sometimes the only option is to figure out where everything went so disastrously wrong.
You study up on the history of Amsterdam so you can ace your final job interview.
You spend an entire day cleaning the apartment, until the uneven floors glisten and you can see your hopeful expression on every gleaming surface. You organize the tea collection and tidy up the dog toys, ignoring what this does to your heart.
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 to the scene of the crime , as she put it over text. The studio is a colorful, well-lit space in De Pijp, not too far from my 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 more himself with 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.
“And what about you ?” she asks. “Any boat-related news?”
“My final interview was yesterday.” I had to give a tour to the owner of the company and a few other higher-ups, and I felt as confident about it as I could. “I should hear back soon.”
She holds up both hands, crossing her fingers.
As I’m leaving Roos’s apartment, I get a message from Wouter. Okay if I stop by to pick up a few things?
My heart thuds in my chest, because as much as I want to see him, I don’t want it to be an ambush. Give me an hour , I write back, and then I race home.
When I get there, I try to tidy up a little before realizing we’ve made much bigger messes together. Then I grab the familiar yellow stack from his nightstand and head into the bathroom.
My bottle of antidepressants is right there on the counter. I don’t bother putting them away, the way I would have at the beginning, when I was overly concerned with him having an image of me I thought was the right one.
Now I only want the real one.
I stick a Post-it note in the center of the mirror, where he can’t miss it.
Locals-Only Amsterdam Tour Tomorrow
10 a.m. sharp
Our first meeting place
—
All that night and the next morning, I worry he won’t show up. It’s not a significant intersection by any means, and I even panicked that maybe he wouldn’t remember where it was.
The sight of him makes the breath stall in my lungs. This is springtime Wouter, almost summer, and even if we’ve had just as many gray days as clear ones lately, his wind-ruffled hair looks like it’s been touched by sunshine more often than not. A deep green jacket, a heather-gray V-neck, every part of him looking softly touchable.
And the band of gold around his finger, catching the light.
“Hi,” I say when he’s finally in earshot.
“Hi.” The sound of his voice, that single syllable , threatens to make my knees buckle. “This is where the tour starts? I see I’m the only one here…”
I have to bite back a smile. “Ah, this is actually a private tour. Did you not read the brochure? Costs way more than a regular tour, but the benefit is that you get some quality one-on-one time with the guide.”
“Sounds worth it to me.”
“How…have you been?” I ask, awkwardly jamming my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “You’ve been commuting in to see your patients?”
He nods. “I don’t mind it. George has fully bonded with my grandmother, though. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to drag him back.”
I imagine Wouter waking up in a room that’s only half his, desperate to tell him I’ve missed not just a warm body next to me in bed but his warmth.
“Well. This first location is a really crucial one, because it’s where everything began.” The pavement isn’t wet and the sun is bright in the sky, but there’s the spot he locked our bikes, and on the next street, the café he took me to. “Or, depending on how you look at it, how everything began again . This is where I crashed my bike into my ex-boyfriend, because the bike was too tall for me and I didn’t know how to properly ride it, and I was quite frankly not paying as much attention as I should have. And you wouldn’t believe how shocked I was to see him again after thirteen years—because of the way he broke up with me when we were seventeen.”
“Sounds like a real asshole.”
“Yeah, well. Everyone’s capable of growth,” I say. “Keep up, we have a lot to cover.”
I swear I hear a laugh as we continue walking.
“This is the place where my husband proposed to me.” I wave my arm with a flourish. “It may look like any other canal, but if you look closer, you’ll see that this one actually had to be completely rebuilt recently, just because of the sheer amount of drama that occurred on it.”
“You know, I read about that,” he says, craning his neck to see over the bridge. “I thought it was an urban legend.”
“Nope. One hundred percent real.”
“Dani.” Wouter lets out a deep breath, runs a hand over his stubble. I’m already aching to touch his face. “I don’t want to disrupt the tour, but I have to tell you—I was so nervous I’d get home and all your stuff would be gone. You have no idea how relieved I was.”
I lean back against the bridge, drumming my hands along the railing. “I don’t think I would have been emotionally capable of lifting my suitcase.”
He waits a moment before speaking again. “I know you talked to my family. You didn’t have to, but it meant a lot to them. And to me.”
“They mean a lot to me, too.” It’s the truth. In such a short time, I’ve come to view them if not as in-laws, then at least as friends.
“Just them?” he asks with the smallest quirk of his mouth. Not begging. Not prodding. Just an innocent curiosity.
“That’s for a little later in the tour,” I say.
That quirk gives way to sheer amusement. He must realize I’m drawing this out, and I’m going to make it worth it for him.
“I talked to mine, too,” I say. “Not just because of what you said—it was long overdue. And…it was not a disaster.”
“I can’t imagine that was easy.” If there’s a way to grimace empathetically, that’s what his looks like. “I’m sorry for the way I said that to you.”
“No, you were right. It was necessary, and I think things are going to be a lot better between us. It might take a while, but we’ll get there. Eventually.”
“And you feel good about it?” he asks, because even now, he’s thinking about me. If I’m comfortable. If I’m content.
“I do. I really do.”
Next, we hop a tram that drops us at the Van Gogh Museum. There’s a line of people spilling out the front door, because there always is, and I’m hit with a pang of nostalgia for the morning we spent dodging each other.
“We’re not going chronologically,” I inform him, “because we’ve always had some trouble getting the timing right.” He nods, and I clear my throat. “This right here is where you tricked me into going to a museum with you.”
His mouth drops open. “I absolutely did not. I assumed you saw it was a two-for-one ticket!”
“Nevertheless,” I continue with a firm lift of my eyebrows, “it wound up being the first time we really connected after I moved here, and I realized there was a chance we could have something new. And…that something new was better and more unexpected than I ever imagined.”
“I loved that day,” he says. “It felt like I was finally starting to get to know you again, and it was such a relief that we could start over like that.”
“And because you finally admitted you love Van Gogh just as much as the rest of us.”
A soft smile. “That, too.”
Finally, I lead him to the dock of Dam Fine Boat Tours. One of their electric boats is taking off, and a tour guide I met the other day gives me a wave.
“This,” I tell him with a grin, because I’ve been struggling to hold it in since I got the news first thing this morning, “is where I work.”
The expression on his face is sheer delight, eyes lit up behind his glasses. He takes a step closer, arms lifting as though to hug me. “You got the job?” When I nod, he only hesitates for an instant, giving me a moment to back away if this isn’t something I want—but it is, so I exhale as he pulls me flush against his chest.
This . I missed this.
With my face against his heartbeat, he’s familiar and novel all at once. Citrus and warmth and an immediate sense of comfort. One hand on my waist and the other in my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear with his thumb. When he clutches me tighter, I can feel him trembling.
“So—I think that means you can divorce me now,” I say when we move apart.
The hug turned his glasses crooked, but he doesn’t even bother to fix them as he pins me with a heavy gaze. “Is that what you want, lief?”
With every ounce of courage I have, I shake my head. “Wouter…I’m sorry. I’ve always been the one breaking up with people before they could get too close. I’ve spent all these years sprinting in the opposite direction of a real relationship so no one could hurt me the way—the way you did, when we were seventeen. But the truth is, I’m tired of pretending to be your wife.” I swallow hard, urging myself to keep going. “Because if I really were, we’d get to come home to each other every day, and you’d be in bed next to me every night. I wouldn’t be running away the moment it got hard, just because I was scared.”
The longing never leaves his eyes. “I’ve been scared, too. I’m still terrified that you’ll leave, that you’ll decide you miss where you’re from, which is entirely valid, of course. But then I’ve been wondering…maybe it’s unfair to expect you to stay here with me when your whole life is on another continent.”
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I don’t know if it is anymore. And what I’m realizing is that I don’t have to have everything figured out at thirty, or forty, or fifty, or ever. Isn’t that the whole point of being human? To always be growing and learning and changing?” I stretch a hand toward him. Graze his wrist. “I’ve never done anything permanent. Jobs, relationships, even hobbies. But with you…I want all of it. You make me feel like everything about me is on purpose. Like I’m not just flailing through life.”
“You most definitely aren’t,” he says, threading his fingers with mine.
“Maybe a little. Sometimes,” I say with a half smile. “The one thing I’m certain of is that you’re the person I want next to me while I’m figuring it all out. No lies, no rules, no contracts. Just you.”
He told me I was brave. I finally feel like I am.
His eyes flutter shut as he takes all of this in. I watch his chest rise and fall, this beautiful man who showed me we could be vulnerable together. “I know I fucked up once,” he says, pulling me closer with the hand that’s holding mine, “but Dani…I’m not going to let myself lose you this time. I’d stand in front of a moving vehicle if it meant keeping you from getting hurt, I swear to you. Maybe it’s ridiculous to feel this way after less than six months, but god, I don’t know what my life was until you came in and painted it neon. I know this marriage was never supposed to be real, but you’re it for me.” His other hand is on my waist now. His mouth hovering above mine, his nose nudging my cheek. “I think you always have been.”
When he kisses me, there are thirteen years of yearning poured into it. Teenage firsts and misguided texts and the cosmic coincidence of finding our way here after all this time. The swish of the water beneath us and the ever-present plink of bicycles.
I breathe him in, and it feels like coming home.
Wouter. Home . At some point, the two became inexorably entwined.
“You fucking ruin me,” he says in a choked voice. A tear slips down his cheek, and I reach to catch it on my thumb. “You ruined me when we were seventeen, and then somehow I got lucky enough to get ruined by you again.”
“Lucky,” I repeat, the word thick in my throat. The next time I kiss him, I taste salt, and then he’s the one carefully swiping at my tears.
“Danika. Dani. I want to paint your face over and over. Learn all the curves of your body so I can try to do them justice. I want to know everything that drives you wild, all the things I can do to get you to scream my name. And then I want to wake up and make you breakfast. I want to know what you like on your pancakes, and I want to make sure there’s always enough sugar for your tea. I want our whole lives to be too much, because that’s how I feel when I’m with you. I want to make art together—messy, imperfect art.” He strokes the ring on my finger. “I think I love being married to you.”
“Ik hou van jou,” I say, and the look on his face could light up the whole sky on a cloudy day. After all this time, it’s that simple, isn’t it? I run my hand up his rough cheek and into his hair. “Ik hou van jou.”
He surprises me when he shakes his head.
“Am I saying it wrong?”
“No, no,” he says. “It’s just—it’s not enough, I don’t think. Maybe…ik hou het meest van jou. ‘I love you the most.’?” Another soft slide of his mouth against mine. “Because I do. The absolute most.”
I repeat the words, committing them to memory as he kisses me again and again. I say them when he takes me back to his apartment, our apartment, where we don’t come up for air for hours. I say them when we fall asleep together and the moment we wake up, love-dazed and drunk on each other.
I say them, and I say them, and I say them.
This isn’t our hazy, romantic daydream from long ago, those wishes we made when we thought we had all the time in the world to keep wishing—it’s something entirely new. Cozy and true and glowing with warmth.
Gezellig .