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So I launch into the story for her, from the opera to the day I confronted her in her office, leaving out all of the sordid details and only painting the picture of my brief love affair in broad strokes. My grandmother listens intently, never interrupting me, and I have to admit it’s nice to lay it all bare without the person I’m talking to trying to immediately comfort me or belittle my feelings. I had been wanting this more logical approach that she was offering me.
Even with a lot of the emotion removed from the retelling, I have to swallow past the lump in my throat multiple times, lest it choke me.
Once I’ve finished, she looks thoughtful for a minute before nodding. My grandmother is the image of high-class sophistication, with her perfectly coiffed white hair, gracefully aged face and discreet jewelry worth hundreds of thousands of euros, so talking to her about falling in love with a former prostitute isn’t exactly a comfortable situation, and I’m glad it’s over.
“You did well, it seems. For as attached as you were, you extricated yourself completely without any additional drama, so a job well done in my book, son.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn't feel that way. But thanks.”
She pats my shoulder with a thin hand, wearing a sympathetic expression. “We’ve all had great and small loves in our lives, my darling, but that first love will always be something different. It’s normal to feel like the world is ending, but it won’t feel like that forever. It only hurts in the beginning, but even if it sounds cliche, time does heal all wounds.”
Unbidden, more thoughts of Roxanne flit through my mind. I wonder where she was when she just called me… at home, or at some party where she and her employees moved through the crowds wordlessly selling sex and seduction. It’s a shock she even had time to call me tonight if that was the case. Who was she going home with? Did she wish it were me?
I feel the cold skin of my grandmother’s fingers on my hands, which are clutching the terrace railing in a white knuckled grip. Her touch snaps me out of my thoughts, which were quickly spiraling out of my control. Everything is spiraling out of my control.
“My husband Hendrik was deceitful, as well. I hated for a long time that I let myself fall for him the way I did, and once he was gone, I swore I’d never let myself be that vulnerable again. He lied, betrayed me, even knocked up some harlot while I waited at home for him like the doting wife I was. So trust me when I say I understand what you’re feeling, dear, and that there’s a light at the end of this dark, dark tunnel.”
I relax my grip on the railing, replacing my hands with my elbows so I can hold my head, rubbing my temples to try and ward off the headache I knew was on the horizon. “I’ll try to believe you,” I tell her finally. “I swear.”
“Then that’s all I can ask.”
The silence is companionable but sad, and I think we are both probably lost in thought. Me, thinking about Roxie in the embrace of another, and my grandmother reliving her painful past with a man she had put her trust in so long ago.
“How’s business school?” she asks, closing the book on the previous subject for the time being.
“Fine,” I say simply.
“Just fine?”
“It’s business school. It isn’t exactly something I’ll ever consider ‘fun’ or ‘enjoyable,’” I say, already wishing I could busy myself with a new drink.
“Fair enough. So, I’m assuming your plan is to take over the family business, not to open your own venture, correct?”
“So far that’s the plan… I’m not sure if things will change in the future though.” It’s all a lie, and I try to avoid more detailed questions, because keeping things vague allows me to keep track of all the little lies that I have to continue to make about business school. The more answers I give, the more chances there are for things to go wrong.
I have the odd urge to just blurt out the truth to her and be done with the whole thing, letting my secret of being an English major trickle down to my parents, but I keep my mouth shut.
“You know, your father’s company has an internship you could take. I know it’d take up a lot of your time since you also have school, but I think it could be a good distraction for you. And practice for once you graduate, of course.”
I shrug. There really isn’t anything I’d rather do less than intern with my dad, but I don’t tell her that. “I don’t think so, Oma. Not now.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but resists the urge, just humming to herself in annoyance instead. “You don’t trust my judgment? It’s the perfect chance to get your mind off women and back where it should be. School, work, and then somewheremuch farther down the line you can worry about dating and marriage.”
“Oma…”
“Just think about it, okay? Obviously no one can force you, but it’d be a stupid move to pass it up.”
I chuckle sardonically. “Fine, I’ll think it over.”
She sighs, leaning into me and giving me a small side embrace while we watch the smoke from the fireworks twist and twirl into the sky. “Good,” she says, her tone victorious. “Oma knows what's best, of course.”
Despite how absolutely miserable I feel, I give her a quick squeeze back. “Of course.”
4
Amsterdam, January 1, 2022
Roxanne
