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There’s genuine care and concern in his voice, and it almost makes me start bawling, the hormones not helping the matter at all. Because here is Luuk, literally a stranger, showing more interest in me and my pregnancy than the father did when he found out about it. More than Johan’s parents and sister did when I told them in the wake of the funeral, hoping the news would bring some joy to the devastation.

I expected them to be glad to know there would be a little person carrying his genes.

Underwhelmed doesn’t even begin to describe their reaction, yet I thought they would soften with time. A few months are enough to say that they didn’t, despite my cards—one of them including a copy of the ultrasound.

No reactions at all, which feels worse than anger or dismissal. The latter might be reversible, like a pendulum swinging back, but does indifference ever warm up? And how can you be indifferent to the news of a new life carrying a part of the one gone?

I smile at Luuk who looks at me expectantly. ‘Everything is fine, thank you.’

He pauses, as if thinking. ‘I…I know that we don’t know each other well, and I’m usually far away… But if you need something, even someone to talk to, I’m here for you.’

There’s honesty and care in those hazel eyes that take me in like a protective embrace. For a moment, I let myself sink in his concern, be caressed by his gaze, this innocence of offering and looking like he means it. I’d hate to bother him, given the situation with his only parent. Because how can I talk to him about memories-in-the-making that are about to flood my world when his dad is gradually losing his? How can I complain about the ailments of pregnancy—or Johan’s parents’ behavior for that matter—when he doesn’t know how much time he has with his father, be it lucid moments or physical presence?

I reach out to rest my hand on his forearm. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, but it has slightly ridden up, so a sliver of his wrist is exposed, and the dark blond fuzz covering his skin tickles the cushion of my palm like a feather, sending an imperceptible shiver up my arm, then starts splitting in rivers of surges that crawl up and down my body. Damn hormones!

‘I appreciate it. It means a lot.’

‘So do you,’ he says, his eyes delving right into my soul.

I want the evening to go on forever. I want to be around him a bit longer in a selfish need to splish-splash in his almost-reverent care. So I absolutely hate it when it’s time to leave, for the guys will be on the road again in the morning, playing in some German town. The round of hugs and condolences is followed by the merrier ‘Good to see you!’ and ‘See you soon!’

‘Do you have a lot of cycling to get home?’ Luuk asks as I turn to leave.

‘I’m on foot, actually. It helps me clear my mind.’

His eyes widen. ‘You’re absolutely not walking back alone.’

I chuckle. ‘It’s Amsterdam. I’ve done it several times; I’ll still be doing it after you leave.’

‘I’ll walk you home.’ It’s a declaration, not a suggestion.

‘But it’s not your way.’

He ignores my protest. ‘Maybe I’ll get an Uber on the way back.’

We walk through the empty streets, and he asks everything the noise hindered, and I have a round of my own questions. His answers are often interrupted by his memories of places and people, nostalgia hovering over him, this helplessness of a child who has lost his safe place and struggles to rebuild it with the remains of magic gone. But there’s also this refreshing energy of what-ifs and what-would-it-be-likes and imagines.

‘Imagine living here.’

We pause right before crossing the Beltbrug, facing the water of Kostverlorenvaart, the dark figure of De Otter windmill rising taller than its surrounding buildings.

‘In the windmill? It’s highly inconvenient, what with all the levels and steep staircases.’

He nudges me playfully. ‘I’ve been inside windmills. I mean a house on the water.’

‘I sure hope you do. I promise to come visit.’

A few minutes later, we arrive at my door. And because I want to stop my pregnancy-induced thoughts from spiralling, I don’t linger when he gives me a hug. I just pat his arm and say, ‘Good night, kiddo. Thanks for bringing me home.’

His body stiffens at the kiddo. ‘It was a great walk.’

‘I’ll wait while your Uber arrives.’ Because I’m still trying to stretch the evening.

‘Nah, I probably need to clear my head, too.’ He turns to leave, but pauses. ‘Boy or girl?’

‘One of each.’ I chuckle, and he gawks. ‘Yep, twins.’

‘Looking forward to meeting them,’ he says and starts walking. ‘Talk to you soon.’