What Happens in Amsterdam

by Rachel Lynn Solomon

That kind of yearning is so specific, a dreamy ache that could be simple wanderlust or maybe something sharper, something that sits between your ribs and convinces you that’s where you’ll finally be happy. Able to breathe. The best version of yourself.

Dani: that doesn’t explain the bathtub in the bedroom Phoebe: omg. go home amsterdam, you’re drunk

LMAO

Here, I don’t have to be the girl whose parents consider too breakable. I don’t have to be the girl who forwarded her ex’s private, borderline-smutty emails to the whole company

LMAO WHAT WAS THE REASON FOR THAT

I watch him bite down on his lower lip. “I wasn’t generous back then?” The question is innocent enough, and yet I wrench my gaze away from his mouth, my cheeks burning with the memories. He was. He always was.

OH??

Everyone swore I was destined for big things. As though that had been the reason I’d survived. “The miracle baby,” they said, though as I grew older, I started doubting how much I believed in God at all.

“No point paying someone when I can usually figure out what’s going on. I’d do it for any of my tenants.” There’s an emphasis on that final word. A confirmation that this is all I am to him.

Girl hes petty asf LMAO

“So, what, they think I’m this charming, jaw-droppingly gorgeous American who was the love of your life?” A quirk of a smile. “Precisely. Not that you aren’t all those things, but—” Now the joke is getting out of hand. “It’s okay,” I say quickly, still reeling but trying to spare us both. “You don’t have to pump my ego.” “I’m not.” His brow furrows, as though he’s working out some complex equation. “Danika. It can’t be some mystery to you that you’re beautiful.”

“You’ll never believe what just happened,” I say to him, hoping the giddiness in my voice will cover up anything else. “A couple of tourists asked me how to get to the Rijksmuseum. They thought I was a local!” “Oh? What did you tell them?” “I said to take the nineteen going to Sloterdijk.” Wouter’s jaw tenses as he tries to fight a grin. And fails. “What?” I ask. “That was the wrong direction. Right tram, wrong direction.” “Shit. Is it too late to run out and find them?” Now Wouter starts laughing, so I give his arm a nudge with my elbow. “Nooooo, don’t laugh! I feel terrible!” “They’ll figure it out,” he says. “I promise you, they’ll be okay.”

Its giving Jess + Rory when she visited him in NY

“I’ve had a massage, but I’ve never been to a physio or a chiropractor or anything.” “Well, you can keep most of your clothes on. That’s a major difference.” “That’s a relief, because I’m not wearing underwear.” The joke…does not hit the way I expect it to. Wouter immediately freezes as he’s adjusting the towel. “Uh—sorry, that was a bad joke,” I say, fighting a full-body wince. “I’m wearing underwear. I promise. Not that it’s a big deal either way, I guess plenty of people like the freedom of it, but—I was just thinking about this morning when I walked in on you, and you weren’t wearing—you know what, now I’m making it worse.

LMAO

He pulls his head back for only an instant, gaze burning mine before our mouths collide. And this is what it’s like to kiss him after all these years: Inevitable.

We can be casual; after all, I have plenty of experience with it. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it with him, but I’m now certain it’s the only option. We can’t have anything else—not when this is already going to end in divorce.

BUT IT LITERALLY DOESN'T HAVE TO

“What I want right now,” he says, fingertips splayed on my hips, “is to go home and fuck my wife.”

OH OKKKK

Maybe this is how we reestablish a boundary. Sex is casual. Sex doesn’t have to be emotional. And once I have an employment contract, we won’t need to be anything to each other anymore.

IDIOTSSSS

“If everything is finally out in the open between you two, the sex is fantastic, and you like spending time together…then what’s holding you back?” She screws up her nose in confusion. “Sorry, am I missing something?”

LITERALLY WHAT I'M SAYINGGGG

“Danika,” he says, his tone serious, indicating he’s no longer joking. “I mean it. I love being ridiculous with you. I love being anything with you. I think…I think I’m the brightest version of myself when I’m with you.” In that moment, the words I’ve been running from for thirteen years cross my mind without hesitation. I could love you again, I think. Maybe I already do.

“Isn’t this everyone?” Wouter asks, craning his neck to see who’s in the backyard. “Maybe it’s a neighbor concerned about the noise. You told the group chat we were having a party, right?” His mother checks her watch. “We’re expecting two more.”

OH NO SHE INVITED HER PARENTS OH SHIT

And then I think the ground might give way beneath me. Because on the other side of the door, looking all at once baffled and furious and jet lagged, are my parents. No fucking way.

OH SHITTTT

“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.”