I’m startles out of my reverie when Dan speaks. “We’re here,” he informs me, and it’s then I notice the car has indeed stopped.
We’re walking across the driveway, toward the white and tan condominiums, and the sunlight feels like daggers in my eyes. I cover them with my forearm, wincing.
“Are you good, dude?” Dan inquires. “Do you want to reschedule this for another time? One when you’re fully alive?”
“I just want to get this over with,” I grit out between my teeth. “The sooner, the better.”
My friend isn’t convinced, but he still leads me into the building, where we meet the realtor. He seems around Dan’s age, maybe a bit older, and I can see that he’s skeptical as he looks me over before turning back to Dan, as if to suggest he isn’t sure I had any potential as a client.
“I swear he’s fine, just hungover,” Dan assures his realtor friend, who purses his mouth in doubt, before he shrugs and takes us upstairs to the penthouse unit.
These condos are further from campus than I would like, and where my current apartment was made with comfort inmind, this one was clearly created for visual appeal. It’s a sprawling open concept, exposed brick and metalwork, giving it an industrial look that is popular with younger Amsterdam residents. The bedroom and bathroom are toward the back of the apartment, but everything else is completely open and visible.
The crowning jewel of the less than perfect apartment is the wall of floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. They bathe the apartment in natural light, and the lack of walls to separate anything besides the bath and bedroom, allows everywhere else to benefit from the glow. It isn’t exactly what I’m looking for, but if I can sweet talk my mother into sending one of her interior designers over, there is real potential.
“It’s like, the biggest bachelor pad of all time,” Dan says as he walks the perimeter. “I don’t love the pale wood, but otherwise, it’s pretty nice.”
I turn my back to the windows, the dull roar of my headache having receded enough to function but not disappearing entirely. “It’s fine.”
The realtor, who is pointing out the state-of-the-art stainless steel kitchen appliances, pauses in his description. “...Fine? Only fine?”
Herding me toward the bedroom, Dan makes some excuse for me to the realtor before shutting the door behind us. The bedroom is more of the same; brick and steel, but it also has a stunning view. It’s immediately clear that Dan hasn’t brought me here just to see the room, though. He crosses his arms, looking at me with the most serious face he can muster.
“If you’re going to be miserable, you can at least tell me what made you this way.”
“Besides the obvious?” I grunt. Dan nods, so despite my better judgment, I launch into the story of the night before.
I tell him everything, from the cafeteria fight, to dinner with Tatiana, talking to Lili, and finally, finding Roxanne outside of my apartment. I have to pause mid-story for Dan to look up the video of me punching the YouTuber, and after we watch it twice, with Dan getting hyped each time, I’m able to continue. When I tell him about her trying to kiss me, and how I had almost given in, he shakes his head sadly.
“What?” I grouse. “What do you have to say about it?”
“You should have just kissed her, man. This whole thing—you know what? Never mind. You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
His tone is pointed, and for whatever reason, it bothers me. “No, I do. Tell me.”
Dan throws his hands into the air. “Fine. You’re overreacting, Andries. You’re still in love with this woman and she’s all but begging for your forgiveness, and you’re acting like you’re making some righteous decision. In my opinion, Roxanne is a catch.”
Shocked, I blink a few times before I can respond. “Acatch? She’s a prostitute, Dan!”
“Not anymore, right? Isn’t that what she told you? So her only sin is running her own escort service, and you can’t move past that?” He laughs sardonically. “Let me lay it out for you; she’s a self-made woman, driven, smart enough to build her own business out ofnothing, beautiful, compassionate, and obviously head over heels for you. She’s a catch, and you’re just throwing her back despite the feelings you have for her.”
I hate that he’s right. On paper, she’s everything I’ve ever wanted, but when you drop the word “escort” back into the mix, everything is ruined. Not to mention the lies.
“She lied to me the entire time about who she really was,” I point out. “Even if I was okay with the escort stuff, am I justsupposed to let the lying go too? How could I ever trust her again?”
“She made a mistake. A colossal one, sure, but still just a mistake.” Dan is clearly stressed by all of this, and it’s a state I’ve never seen him in before. He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing through the empty bedroom. “I’m just worried about you, man, and I don’t want this to be something you regret for the rest of your life. If you move, I truly believe you’ll be able to erase her from your life like you want to, but forgetting her isn’t going to be nearly that easy. Especially if you love her as much as you say you do.”
We stare at each other, seconds ticking by, neither of us really knowing how to navigate this more serious portion of our friendship.
“You really think there is nothing wrong with her job, do you?” I ask finally, astounded.
“It’s twenty-twenty-two, Andries. Sex work isn’t the taboo you think it is. It doesn’t make Roxanne someone else entirely, just because she manages a company of sex workers.”
A tiny, hair thin crack shoots through the walls I’ve put up regarding Roxanne. As horrible as I’ve been feeling, the fact that I was making the right choice is the only thing keeping me from breaking down entirely. Dan had seemed bummed out that Roxie and I had split, but seeing his real, raw opinion on the whole thing, makes me question myself. If Dan, my best friend, is okay with what Roxanne does, can it really be all that terrible?
Head spinning, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dan, I–”
I can’t finish my thought, interrupted by my phone ringing. It’s almost painfully loud in the empty apartment. I fumble it out of my pocket, frowning when I see it’s Elise. The infinitesimal chance that it could be something important makes the call impossible to ignore, even if I want to.