“Hey Zelda, you left these in the front door.”
She slowly lifted her head off the couch and blinked the moisture out of her eyes. Friedrich was standing in the doorframe, her keys dangling from his right hand.
“What are you doing here?” she managed.
“It sounded like you could use a friend,” Friedrich sat down next to her and lightly stroked her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Zelda wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered, “No, I am absolutely not alright,” before breaking down again.
He held her close, rocking her gently. After she’d soaked his t-shirt, she pulled back from him, her flow of tears reduced to sniffles. “It’s Pietro. You were right, he’s a bastard.”
“What happened?”
“He’s got another girlfriend,” she wailed.
Friedrich looked away, embarrassed. “Oh.”
She wiped her nose on her sleeve before continuing. “They’ve been going out for years! So I guess that makes me the other woman, doesn’t it?” she looked to Friedrich for an answer, but to no avail. He kept his gaze diverted.
Anger coursed through her veins just thinking about the lies Pietro must have told her during their three months together. She jumped off the couch and began pacing back and forth, unable to sit still any longer. “Pietro always spoke in Italian when he called his family, or at least he said it was his family. He was probably talking to her the whole time, telling her how much he loved her, right under my nose.”
Zelda threw her hands up in the air, “What kind of girl is she? She must have known Pietro was living with me in this broom-closet?”
“Maybe she thought you were his housemate?”
“Then she must be an idiot, or doesn’t mind sleeping with a man-whore.” She laughed manically at the idea of Pietro working as a gigolo.
“He must have known you had a crush on him and took advantage of the situation. You told me he was getting kicked out of his apartment, right? That’s why you let him move in so quickly?” Friedrich shook his head. “He used you Zelda, there’s no getting around it.”
She blew her nose loudly into a paper towel. “Please don’t say I told you so, Friedrich. I can’t bear it right now.”
She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. Though she would never admit it to Friedrich, or anyone else for that matter, part of why she wanted to stay in Amsterdam so badly was Pietro; she was deeply in love with him. Granted, since the summer began she’d barely heard from him. He was always busy with his family’s winery or his sick grandmother. Or so he said. But Pietro’s virtual love notes and their sporadic Skype sessions were enough to make her feel important and loved. And there was always a mention of September, when he would return to Amsterdam and share her bed once again. She thought he really cared about her, but in reality he had been using her the whole time.
Zelda slammed her knuckles against her forehead, trying to block out the memories of their nights together. “I am such a fool and Pietro is such a bastard.”
“He’s the fool,” Friedrich murmured, kissing her full on the lips.
She pushed him away, smacking him on the cheek as she did. “What are you doing?”
He looked down at the floor as he spoke. “I don’t know, I just – ”
She held one hand up, shaking her head vehemently. “Stop right there. I can’t deal with you and Pietro at the same time.”
Her phone began to ring, startling them both. Zelda picked it up off the floor and checked the screen. “Now he has time for me? Unbelievable. Don’t you say a word.”
She turned away from him as she answered. I wonder what the bastard’s excuse will be, she thought. “What?”
“Zelda, mi amore, my love.”
Hearing him whisper those words used to melt her heart. “After three months of living with you, I know what mi amore means. The question is, do you?”
“Do not believe a word my sister said to you, Rosa was playing a cruel joke on you. She was angry I was not there to help her with the harvest.”
“Bullshit.”
“Zelda, I do not know what I can do to – ”
“How’s your grandmother feeling today?” The line was silent. “Don’t bother lying Pietro, Rosa told me she died five years ago.”
“You are my true love, Zelda.”
“But am I your only love?”
Pietro’s split second of hesitation was long enough to confirm what she knew to be true.
“Can’t a heart love more than one person?” His voice sounded so sweet.
“No, it can’t, at least not when I’m involved. Don’t you ever call me again, you lying piece of shit. You don’t deserve me, you never did.” Zelda punched the end call button and threw the phone across the room.
“Man, I’m batting a thousand today; I screwed up my internship, master’s degree and relationship in just five hours. That must be some sort of record for destroying your life,” she moaned, dropping onto the couch and letting her head fall into her hands.
As Friedrich moved in to comfort her, she jumped up and began throwing open her drawers and cabinets, surveying their contents. “I might as well start packing. What do I have to stay here for now? I’m going to get kicked out of the country in a few weeks anyway. If I get in touch with some headhunters back home, they might be able to line up a computer gig for me.” Her practicality was offset by the shrill tone in her voice. She couldn’t believe she was uttering these words of defeat, but she had no idea what else she could do. Her whole world had collapsed in the span of a few hours. Surely the combination of events was some sort of sign from the universe telling her to give up and go home. What other options did she really have? None.
“Do you really want to go back to Seattle?” Friedrich quietly asked. “Back to computer programming, endless project meetings, nightmare traffic; all the things you’ve repeatedly said you hate about big American cities and corporate jobs?”
“Of course I don’t want to go back, not like this, with my tail between my legs.” She felt another surge of anger welling up. “I’ve never been as happy as I have been these last nine months. I’ve found a career I’m passionate about and Amsterdam feels like home.”
“Come on, show some backbone. So what if Huub thinks you’re tenacious and stubborn – you’re an American, the selection committee would expect nothing less. Your mentor Marianne Smit knows what you’re like, yet she still recommended you. And Pietro – well, he’s just a fool. You didn’t come to Amsterdam because of him and you weren’t planning on staying here for him, so why should you go home and give up your dreams just because he’s an idiot?”
“You might have a point,” she mumbled.
“You are only going to get kicked out of the country if you don’t get into the master’s program. You still have time to talk to Marianne and explain your version of events before your interview with the selection committee. Sure, she’ll probably be angry at first, but you have to try. She’s been your biggest advocate since you arrived in Amsterdam. And even if she doesn’t agree with your actions, she can’t stop you from showing up and doing your best.”
“Without Marianne’s blessing I don’t stand a chance. I might as well not show up.”
“You don’t know what Bernice or Huub told Marianne about this morning’s meeting. And you did show a lot of initiative; she might be impressed by what you managed to accomplish in such a short amount of time,” he teased, doing his best to get a smile out of her.
It worked. Maybe everything wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed. She still had a shot at impressing the selection committee. And Zelda couldn’t forget how her mentor had stood by her all these months, encouraging her to follow her passion, even when she felt like ever working in a museum was a pipe dream. Why should Marianne accept Huub’s version of events as the truth? Zelda had already mentioned they didn’t get along very well. Her mentor would at least want to talk to her about his accusations before writing her off as a troublemaker, wouldn’t she?
She rubbed at her red-rimmed eyes and sat up a little straighter. “It is too soon to give up and run away, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” he smiled encouragingly.
“I’d better call Marianne and see what the damage is. Hopefully Huub and Bernice were too busy with the police inquiries to have called her already.” Zelda looked around the room, searching for her agenda when she spied a pile of documents lying on top of her desk.
“Oh no, Arjan van Heemsvliet’s letters!” she yelped. “If I don’t get them back to Gerard before someone from the museum contacts him, I really am screwed. I told Bernice I only looked at them, not that I’d taken them with me.” Zelda felt the stress returning. Yet another lie to unravel. She ordered herself to breathe normally and remain calm. As long as Bernice or Huub hadn’t already contacted Gerard, it would be easy enough to rectify this situation.
She turned to her friend, “Can you do me one more favor?”
“Sure,” he grinned, “a ride to Urk perhaps?”