Page 86 of AMS.TER.strum

Corrie

Is that so?

Luuk

Miss you.

Luuk

A LOT.

Corrie

Me, too. ❤

Luuk

❤

When I open the door to my place, the lack of home-ness strikes like a cold blast of air from an empty fridge. My steps echo on the laminated floor, together with the rolling of my suitcase’s wheels. I abandon the luggage at the entrance and head for the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the waters of the Cumberland, and as I half-close my eyes, the strip of water becomes the Kostverlorenvaart, and I envision myself standing in front of the windows of my future studio at my new place across the ocean, familiar sounds rising from the ground floor, calling my name in that different tone each has for it.

I ache for all three of them and try to think of a way to make the transition as smooth as possible. I’m pretty sure it will take a lot more work than I anticipate, and no matter how many boxes of the process I tick, there will definitely be something unforeseen that I just hope is easily manageable.

Chapter Forty-Two

Corrie

‘Look who’s very early!’ Dory leans to give me a hug, before plopping into the seat across from me. ‘Sorry about the Eau de Cuisine on my hair, no amount of dry shampoo can get rid of the aroma of roasted peppers.’

I take a deep breath, pretending to be stunned by the aroma. ‘Thanks for coming over, even for a bit.’

‘Thank Elena, who took over, practically shooing me out of the place. Said I needed a break and some fresh air.’

Elena, Dory’s second-in-command, is the best unexpected helping hand, and apparently the only one who can boss the boss, as Dory jokes. Thanks to her, our busy caterer friend can join cock-tales afternoons more regularly; but most importantly, she can catch her breath.

‘Big order?’

‘Yeah, a few days with back-to-back orders, so I absolutely need this. How about you? How are you dealing with the withdrawals?’

The way my cheeks puff up and then deflate as I blow out air says it all.

‘That well, huh?’ I hear Bea’s voice behind me.

‘Hold the updates!’ A panting latecomer Lola sprints towards the last empty chair.

Once we are all seated, Bea fills our glasses from the jug of Bloody Mary I ordered, pushing the already full glass of virgin towards Dory, per her request.

‘Do we have a theme? Like Bloed, Zweet en Tranen?’ Bea sings, mockingly forlorn.

‘Not yet…’

Yet being the keyword here. It’s been a week since Luuk was taken to the airport by Mark, his friend from school, forbidding me from going with them, claiming that he’d probably change his mind, if the obvious choice was around. Plus, he needed to discuss a few things, last dots on the I’s, with Mark. We held it together pretty okay during the goodbye. If I exclude the knotted stomach and the stone in my throat and the tears threatening to roll down my cheeks and the hug we had to force ourselves to break.

‘When is he coming back?’ Lola asks.

‘Going right for the kill, are we?’ My two generous sips of Virgin Mary qualify as gulps, but tomato contains lycopene or something similar that’s good, right?

Luuk has been put right into the spinning cycle with interviews and rehearsals and mild exercise to make sure he’ll be in optimal condition by the time he starts performing again next week. We try to bridge the gap of space and time-zones, but I can tell it’s making his schedule complicated. He flatly denies it, making time for video-calling with the kids, who miss him as much as I do. It physically hurts, like true withdrawals, and it’s scary, especially since I don’t know when the end will be.