‘Hallo! Hoe is het?’
The people who open the door are loud and drunk and, though welcoming, there’s a distinct worry in their voices as they stare down the two strangers in front of them. Even more so as we stare back blankly at them.
‘Anglais?’Noah replies clunkily.
It’s not even remotely the same language and is relayed in a more British accent than I’ve heard from him so far. But they nod understandingly nonetheless, smiling at the confused English speakers in front of them.
‘Who do you know?’ one asks slowly, in a thick Dutch accent.
‘Er, Amelie? She invited me earlier this week,’ I say, babbling.
Their faces shift instantly from confusion to excitement as they move to unblock the entrance.
‘Ah, of course! Come in.’
We follow them through the doorway and into the barrage of people waiting inside. It’s moderately sized, probably more than enough space on an average day but significantly cramped and quite stuffy on a night like tonight. People lurk everywhere, from the walls to the sofas to the floor, spilling out through the double doors at the back. But nobody seems to mind the lack of space or the packed-in bodies. They all sway to the music, sip their wine and regale each other with their stories. It’s different to the house parties I frequent back at home – more subdued, with an air of serenity among the noise.
‘Do you see her?’ Noah whispers, lips pressed against my ear.
I scan the room as fast as possible, scared that I’ll see her too quickly or make eye contact for too long and kill the vibe before it’s even really started. Then I don’t see her at all and feel my stomach sink at the thought of coming all this way to never even find out if she liked me. We start to make our way towards the kitchen to grab some plastic cups for the supermarket wine webought on the way, but as we get closer I feel a delicate hand lock itself around my wrist and twist me towards them.
‘Amorie!’ Amelie drops my hand to embrace me in an ecstatic hug.
She pulls me tightly to her, hair cascading over my face and bringing with it a waft of her strawberry perfume.
‘You made it!’ she squeals, finally pulling away. ‘And you look amazing.Lovethe boots.’
I squeak a reply. ‘Thank you.’
She pauses, a demure smile on her face as she locks eyes with me expectantly. My heart jumps as I realise far too late that she’s waiting for a compliment back.
‘You look great too,’ I manage to say. It’s very stilted. She can tell.
She coos, going with it anyway. ‘Thanks.’
I look her over from top to bottom, trying to fathom the words to describe just how beautiful she looks. She clearly also went for the hot, sexy, carefree vibe, but, unlike me, she managed to deliver it effortlessly. Her hair still flows down her back in its crinkled beach waves, the top parts clipped in two butterfly clips either side of her head, and her outfit makes her look like she just skipped out of a Hollister magazine ad. She went for a white lacy crop top, her pale, toned stomach and belly-button piercing on show, patterned flowy trousers and a pair of metallic sandals. I feel incredibly overdressed and significantly less toned. I cross my arms around the slither of belly peeking out under my corset.
‘And nice house,’ I continue, feeling more awkward than last time and with an intonation that implies I have more to follow.
She keeps smiling, eyes kind as she tries to coax whatever was due next out of my mouth. I gulp and drop my head. Eventually it’s she who has to take one for the team.
‘Well... I’ll see you in a bit,’ she says, sauntering off and putting an end to our painful conversation.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I snap at Noah. ‘Not until I’ve had a drink.’
We carry on towards the kitchen, Noah quickly emptying an entire wine bottle between the two large plastic cups. By the time he goes to cheers me it’s too late – I’m already halfway done and insisting we crack open bottle two. The more the wine hits my system, the more I feel the weight of that last interaction fly off me. The music feels louder, hits harder. I take another sip, letting the sharp, fruity taste settle on my tongue before gulping it down.
‘So, you really can’t flirt, huh?’ Noah asks as we settle into the sofa, squeezed arm to arm.
We jumped the second we found a spot. One would argue it wasn’t big enough for two people, but I was desperate to take the weight off my heels and I wasn’t doing so without my Emotional Support Noah.
‘With guys? Sort of. With girls? Absolutely not. They scare me. They’re so pretty,’ I say.
He chuckles. ‘I hear you.’
We clink our plastic glasses. They make no sound.
‘Surely it’s easier, though, because you can relate,’ he says.
