I wake to the feel of the bed dipping, and I frown as I drag open my eyes. Christopher is sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on knees. He’s wringing his hands in front of him as if the world is about to end. Waging a war against himself.
Ugh . . . so not in the mood for his dramatics today.
I put my foot on his behind and gently push him. “Can you go get me a coffee, please?”
He frowns over at me. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I need to keep him busy and out of his own head.
He stands. “Okay. I can do that.”
“We need some fruit too.”
He begins to dress. “On it.”
“Oh, wait, you have your course on today, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t start until ten.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes. I have so much to say about his behavior last night, but now is not the time. He’s still processing. I’m giving him some space to get his head around it.
He gets dressed. “Do you want to come?”
“Not really.”
He lingers, long enough that I look up.
“I’d like you to come.”
I exhale heavily and flick the blankets back. “Fine.” I get out of bed and pull some clothes on as he watches.
“How are you so even tempered all the time?” he asks.
“I’m not even tempered. I’m being the adult in our relationship.”
He frowns.
“Your turn is next week, when I’m being ridiculous.”
He gives me a stifled smile. “Is that what you do . . . take turns?”
“Uh-huh.” I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss his big beautiful lips. “As long as we take it in turns to be the adult . . . everything will be fine.”
“And if we be dickheads at the same time?” he asks.
“Then the outcome isn’t good.” I kiss him softly again.
He nods and stares at me as if I have taught him a sacred secret . . . how doesn’t he know this stuff? For a worldly man, he’s so inexperienced about all things relationship.
“Buying coffee and fruit is pretty adult.” He smirks as he takes my hand in his.
I smile. “I guess it’s your turn today, then.”
Ten hours later
We stand on the sidewalk with our backpacks on the cement. Christopher glances at his watch. “Where is he? The cab is going to be here soon.”
“He’ll come.”
I look up the street. To be honest, I’m getting a little worried he won’t. Eddie is meant to be here to say goodbye to us, but he hasn’t shown.
It’s so unlike him.
Our flight to Germany leaves in a few hours, and we can’t wait much longer. “Call him again.”
Christopher calls his number, and it rings out. He stares up the street in search of his little friend. “If I knew his address, I would go there.” He begins to pace. “Damn it, why didn’t I get his address?”
He calls him again. “What if something’s happened to him?” He’s beginning to get frantic.
“Don’t worry . . . he’ll come.”
EDDIE
I stand in the alleyway, and from my spying spot I watch as Mr. Christo and Miss Hazen wait for me across the road in front of the hostel.
They’re here to say goodbye . . . and I want to go over.
But . . . I can’t.
I watch as Christo dials a number on his phone, and my phone vibrates again, the name lighting up on my screen.
Christo
My heart sinks, and I put it back into my pocket.
I watch as Christo paces and rants and raves as Hazen talks calmly to him.
With every moment that they wait, it gets worse. I want to run across the road and beg them not to leave.
But I know they will anyway . . . so what’s the point?
A cab pulls up, and Christo stares up the street to where I usually come from, and I get a lump in my throat. Through tears I watch him put their backpacks into the trunk.
Don’t go.
With one last look up the road, he finally gets into the cab, and it pulls out and drives away.
I drop my head . . . they’re gone.
One month later
Amsterdam
HAYDEN
Sightseeing by day, partying at work by night.
I’d always heard about Amsterdam. Everyone said it is the one place that you have to experience at least once in your lifetime. I imagined drug cafés and sex workers, high-as-a-kite people walking around being idiots in the streets.
What I didn’t expect was that it would be a culturally diverse, beautiful city.
Long canals that have these beautiful little bridges over them, twinkle lights that line the streets at night, beautiful restaurants, and the eclectic sound of laughter in the distance.
Christopher and I do love a chocolate brownie with magical ingredients and many a night get the giggles on our way home. This is such a fun place, and not one bit frightening like I imagined.
And the bicycles . . . I never expected to see so many.
People don’t drive in Amsterdam; they ride their bikes everywhere. So in front of every restaurant and club and shopping district are rows and rows of beautiful old-fashioned bikes, chained up in stands, the ones with little cane baskets attached to the front.
It’s so cool, and when you walk down the street, you don’t hear cars; you hear bicycle bells as people warn you they are coming fast.
It’s the little things about traveling, the idiosyncrasies that make each place different.
Never in a million years did I imagine that I would associate cute old-fashioned bikes with Amsterdam, but I know that I always will.
I walk around the tables and collect glasses with Basil. “This is the worst fucking job we ever had.” He rolls his eyes.
I giggle. “Will you look at us?”
Who would have ever thought that I would work in a place like this? Christopher has changed my outlook on life. Nothing is off limits anymore.
I feel liberated and sexually confident like never before.
We’re working in a nightclub in Amsterdam. There are live sex shows on stage for ten minutes every hour, and we’re scantily dressed. I’m in a short French maid outfit complete with suspender stockings and a long dark wig, and Basil is wearing black suit pants and a bow tie.
This place is hilarious, and the things we’ve seen would curl your hair.
Basil and I are the official glass collectors. Kimberly and Bernadette are in the kitchen, and Bodie and Christopher are behind the bar.
“Will you look at those two fucking wankers.” Basil curls his lip in disgust as he looks over to the bar.
Christopher is wearing black suit pants and a black bow tie, completely shirtless and a ball of rippled muscle. His dark hair is a little longer, with a curl to it, and he looks utterly gorgeous.
I smile as I watch him. He’s working the bar like a pro. Laughing and joking with the customers, shaking his cocktail shaker in the air as he and Bodie joke around.
He’s having the time of his life in this job.
A song that he loves starts, “Edamame,” by bbno$, and he starts to dance as he works; the female customers are lined up at the bar, enjoying the show . . . and I don’t mean on the stage.
I giggle as I watch them play off each other. “Hot wankers, though.”
“I’m so doing a bar course.” Basil sighs.
“You should.”
I keep collecting glasses and walk over past the bar. “Hayden,” Christopher yells across the crowd. I glance up, and he waves me over. He introduces me to a man sitting at the bar. “This is Mr. Escott.”
“Hello.” I smile.
“He’s offered a job on a luxury yacht in the Greek islands.” He keeps serving people.
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “Great.”
“All of us.” Christopher smiles excitedly.
My eyes flick to Mr. Escott. “The six of us?” I confirm.