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I bet it won’t take too long. You look stunning.’

Corrie lets out a nervous laugh, bringing her palms to her cheeks. ‘Thank you for saying this. Good luck with the interview. I hope we manage to talk soon.’

‘Sorry it’s been a challenge lately, what with my schedule and the time zones…’

She bats her hand dismissively. ‘No worries, we’ll make it happen. Take care!’

‘You, too, Corrie. Have fun!’

Corrie

After we hang up, I steal a few moments to cyberstalk my friend like an obsessed fan. Kind of chicken behavior, because why is it so hard to pull off the Band-Aid and ask your rapidly-becoming-famous friend whether he’s seriously dating one of the stunning women he’s been seen with?

Three words and one click later, my screen is filled with Luuk’s dating activity. With every click, I am reminded of why this friendship must remain such, a bit like Kate and Leo–fine, in our case only half of the pair is famous.

The ladies beside him are breathtaking, as if they’ve jumped out of a fashion magazine or a runway. To be fair, who else would an equally stunning man be seen with? Sure, the man himself claims that not everything written about him is true, but it’s only healthy that he dates at his age, with no commitments, and having come out of endless months–hell, years–of seclusion. Also, it’s pretty much expected that he’d date women his age, who are free of commitments themselves. Not to mention they’ll probably be living next door or be a car ride away.

By the time I get into my loyal jeans and forgiving flared top, and put on my makeup, my perkiness has somewhat wilted. I don’t feel sad, but usually, after a call with Luuk, my smile could illuminate the whole city. It isn’t even Luuk’s dating activity. It’s the fact I might be slowly but steadily losing him. First with his touring schedule, sprinkled with the inconveniences of different time-zones, now with someone who might be close to him in every sense.

‘You don’t look very happy.’ When I don’t deny Bea’s comment, alarm bells ring amongst the group.

‘What’s wrong?’ Dory asks.

‘Are the kids okay?’ is Mum-Lola’s first assumption.

I tell them about the call, finishing with the verbal walk of shame: admitting that I did a bit of research. Concerned looks turn into raised eyebrows and amused smiles. When I finish talking, my friends exchange glances.

‘Here’s to redefining the term friendship,’ Lola finally says, lifting the glass of her Pornstar Martini.

‘Amen,’ the other two second.

Their wish stirs inside me something akin to terror. Not of the what-ifs, but for whether I would continue being good enough, after the fascination of the first months. How long would it take before the awe of reaching the unattainable fades on his side?

The thought travels home with me as I cycle with Lola in the chilly darkness of late October. One more week before the clock turns again and the days start becoming considerably shorter. I try to focus on the cosiness of our home, on cuddly evenings after baths, when I’ll snuggle against my babies, instead of the morning race to get us out of bed and, most importantly, out the door, in the wind and rain.

‘See you tomorrow.’ Lola veers towards her home—an apartment in one of the two imposing figures of De Piramides.

I wave back. ‘Slaap lekker.’

When I arrive home, I check my phone for messages from Mom about the kids. The argument to myself falls flat, especially when my annoying heart misses a beat. Because my spy-friend—a.k.a. the internet—informs me that Luuk Meiers will be playing in Melkweg in January.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Now

Corrie

‘Doet het veel pijn?’ I hear Otto’s voice as I’m hauling the shopping bags from the bakfiets.

‘When somebody’s hurt, it’s better to not constantly ask them if they’re in pain,’ Mom says, and I can only assume that my son has asked a few times already.

‘Especially when somebody else didn’t tidy up their LEGO, like Mama has been telling them, and Luuk ended up stepping on one.’ Four pairs of eyes turn my way.

‘Sorry, Luuk,’ Otto and Ada chant in unison.

‘We’ve had the conversation already,’ Mom explains.

‘In their defence, it was just a tiny tile; anyone could have missed it,’ Luuk says.