Page 100 of AMS.TER.strum

‘Because, as we already know, the not-so-luxurious Hotel Bordeaux isn’t doing well, and I’m pretty certain we won’t last long… I believe they’re hoping to cut as much of their losses they can with the tourist season, before selling it. They’ve had a few offers already, which is no surprise, given the location and the building, which only needs TLC. In which case, I’ll probably be looking for a job, come September… But, hey, things with Nigel are going well, so that’s a plus. Fifty per cent is a glass half-full.’

I turn to Dory. ‘What about our favorite caterer?’

She sends me a shy smile. ‘Work is slowing down, like every year around the famous schoolvakantie, and only now have I realised how tired I feel. So I’m planning a much-needed break. And…I’ve been chatting with someone. It’s only been a couple of days, so I’m still not holding my breath…’

She ignores our cheering. Who can blame her, after navigating the murky waters of online dating?

I keep my fingers crossed for my friend, because she deserves to find a good relationship.

With my heart full as I cycle back home, it takes me a few moments to register the familiar blue bag of our national supermarket hanging from the doorknob. I wonder if my next door neighbour left me the cuttings for the garden we were talking about, so I only take a peek inside after locking my bike. There are some familiar envelopes that make my heart sink.

I barge inside, get rid of my shoes and jacket as if they’re to blame, and take the bag on the dining table, looking at it as if it’s gonna bite me. Finally, I reach inside to take out its contents and curse. It’s as if the time is specifically chosen to bring my lightness down. Spread on the kitchen table are my efforts to approach Johan’s family in the past six years. All my letters and cards, and the kids’ drawings have been returned to me. It stings more that they have been opened, and that those people held on to them for a while, as if deliberating on their final verdict, before deciding to return them like a wrong-sized garment. Even if Johan’s version of the truth was real, how can they not have the curiosity to meet their grandchildren?

And then I notice the blank envelope, hands shaking with fury as I open it.

Coraline,

I was asked to return these with the request to not bother Johan’s family anymore. They want nothing to do with you or your children.

It’s signed by Wanda, whose face I did wish to never see again, but never said anything about her handwriting. The universe seems to be quite literal when it comes to what we wish to not happen.

‘Your loss, assholes.’

I crumble the note in my fist, before throwing it on the floor, where it lands with a rustle. I pick it up, flatten it and take a photo of it, next to the stack of one-sided correspondence, then send it to Mom and Luuk, the legend reading, Returned to sender.

Mom is the first one I call. ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry!’ There’s pain in her angered voice, and I share the sentiment.

‘What kind of people are these, Mom?’ I don’t bother to wipe my tears. ‘How can they just dismiss two perfect humans that are a part of their son? Otto has Johan’s eyes; Ada’s smile is identical to his.’

‘I agree, my love. But those people are blinded by what they chose to believe. In their mind, what weighs more is that the children are part of you. Which, if you ask me, is the best part, and I don’t care if I sound biased, because I am.’

‘The only thing I’m happy about is that the kids only have memories of you and Dad, the best grandparents in existence.’

‘Oh, baby, I wish I could give you a hug,’ Mom says, ‘but my perfect grandchildren are in their beds, waiting for a story from Oma.’

‘Will you give them a hug from me?’

‘A huge, tight one. Maybe you want to come over and we’ll all give you a hug?’

‘I’ll be fine, really. However shitty, maybe this was necessary, so that I don’t keep harbouring any hopes that the situation, let alone they, will change—Mom, Luuk has texted, he’ll call me in a minute.’

‘Okay, baby, but let me know if you change your mind. I love you.’

‘Love you, too. See you tomorrow.’

I have hardly hung up when my phone rings again. ‘It’s your angry boyfriend.’

Luuk’s face fills my screen, and he looks as furious as he sounds. He’s backstage, the leather strap writing MEIERS around his neck. I see he’s holding his favorite guitar, but I’m sure he would have smashed the instrument on Johan’s parents’ heads, had they been next to him.

‘Did I interrupt a rehearsal?’

‘We were doing a sound-check for tonight. Rehearsal starts in a moment, so the timing was perfect. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.’

‘I did need a bit of processing, but you were right: no more postponing the delivery of news.’

‘And to think I have Ada to thank for it.’

He doesn’t need to remind me of what his favorite girl said the evening he left for the US to resume his concerts.