Page 11 of AMS.TER.strum

‘Hopefully something that will slide off and end up on the floor.’ Bea has turned me towards my tablet’s screen for the other two to see.

‘You’re like Princess Aurora’s fairy godmothers in Sleeping Beauty,’ I say. Ada has been obsessed with the Disney classic in the last few months, and I know it by heart.

‘Isn’t it amazing how you manage to be the Sleeping Beauty and the hedge of thorns around the palace at the same time?’ Lola has become rather familiar with the film herself. Ada insists on Otto and Kalvin watching it with her during their sleepovers.

Bea snaps her fingers. ‘Hedge! Have we done some grooming of a certain hedge?’

‘Geez, Bea, give a girl a warning,’ a choking Dory complains.

‘She has a point, though,’ Lola seconds.

‘Not necessary.’ I sound like my daughter when she refuses to wear a thicker jacket on a cold day, minus the cuteness.

‘What if necessity arises?’ Bea insists, and the other two hum.

‘Guys, I won’t sleep with the man on the first…’ Still can’t bring myself to call it a date, ‘… time we go out. And things are pretty decent down there, thank you very much.’

‘Hallelujah,’ Bea says, and without missing a beat, adds, ‘This is definitely the one!’

A quest for shoes and accessories follows the general consensus. When we’re finally done, or rather when they’re done with me, I’m left alone to shower, yet their parting joking words and wishes and blessings regarding the evening’s outcome still resonate in my ears.

Chubby? The question comes as I turn away from the mirror to check out my outfit once more, in a voice I haven’t heard in years—and will never hear again. Yet its sound, even in my mind, is like opening just a sliver of my personal Pandora’s box of thoughts. They rush outside at once, louder than screams of disaster.

Why is it that every time that new things appear in my life—no matter how positive they are—they still feel scary, and it’s so difficult to remind myself how far I’ve come? Why do Johan’s comments, jabs disguised as jokes, keep popping up? It doesn’t matter if they weren’t true or that he’s been gone for more than half a decade; the seeds of self-doubt he planted stubbornly sprout through the perfectly laid paving of my achievements. And then, when I remind myself he isn’t here anymore, relief about his absence gives place to guilt about not minding enough that my children’s father has never been in their lives.

In my defence, he wasn’t too happy to find out about them, so how likely was that he would have become a doting dad? And just the thought of him calling Ada chubby makes me go on battle mode.

It takes considerable effort to regain perspective; to remind myself that I’m in the here and now, not living a hypothetical life. This one is a bit chaotic—fine, a lot and sometimes totally—but equally colourful to Bea’s array of clothes.

A good life with a roof over our heads; a job that’s far from ideal, but allows for flexibility and partly working from home; my caring parents and adoring grandparents to my kids, ready to babysit for me to take a breather, like tonight; and the group of amazing friends to give me a safety venting valve and to lift me up when life happens. Why do I even need to go on this date?

As if my mind wants to banish the negative thoughts, Luuk’s handsome face appears in a video from his last concert—one of the countless clips uploaded online by his fans—showing what I wish I had been there to witness: his tall body perched on a barstool as he strums one of his ballads in the dimmed lights, voice soft, his hazel eyes closed, lids fluttering as he sings of want and hope, of floating on his own island of home in the chaos of crowds and noise.

A sea of bodies sway to the melody, singing the lines my friends are convinced were written for me, making me seem like some femme fatale, choosing to forget that musicians are looking for inspiration everywhere, and that the success of a song depends on how many people see themselves in it. And despite our individualities, our dreams aren’t that different at their core: love, care, safety, home. Don’t I want the same for me and my babies?

A smile blooms on my face at their expressions whenever I call them babies.

‘I’m five, Mum!’ Otto says, rolling his eyes.

Only to me, they are always those fragile little bodies that decided to leave my own with the same haste they have to grow up: two months early. Whenever worry takes over—Ha! Way too often is the right phrase–I remind myself of those frail, spindly bodies connected to tubes and cables in their incubator, fast heartbeats pushing their tiny lungs to inflate those chests, serene expressions at odds with my own panicked ones as I prayed to whatever deity and force might protect them, even choosing palindrome names to help them stay strong.

When a name can also be read backwards, it’s meant to give balance, right? And doesn’t balance mean one can bounce back from any adversity? No matter which direction life takes. Funny how the superstitions we might mock become lifelines when things get out of our control, leaving us helpless, willing to grasp at any straws that might work their magic.

‘They are perfect, Corrie. They will be all right, I know they will. And they will grow strong and healthy.’

Luuk’s words are so clear in my ears that I almost turn around, expecting to see him by some act of magic. Every damn time he’s about to come to Europe, my heart starts racing and my mind begins counting down. Which, like all highs of adrenaline, is followed by a low when eventually he has to go back to his life and his soaring career in the US, his half-homeland, as he calls it. Now he’ll be here in just three days, so the sound of counting down echoes louder.

Then what?

This question is the very reason I need to go on this date with David, who has been trying to juggle his schedule to fit mine, so we can finally add a proper face-to-face aspect to our WhatsApp messages, where he’s funny, considerate, kind. Or at least he seems so. It doesn’t hurt that he’s pretty easy on the eyes, too.

Too good to be true?

That question has been circling my mind all week. I’ve had this before—the charm, the consideration, the adaptability, all the stepping stones towards being convinced that Johan was the perfect partner, a catch, really. Then the hot-air balloon of perfection started deflating, until it crashed, my two little miracles its only silver lining. And they are the reason the stakes are much higher now when it comes to who I allow into my life.

As if reading my mind, our group chat comes to life.

Bea