Anneliese
EACH MORNING WILLEM’S alarm blared like an air-raid siren, making Anneliese’s heart lurch, but by the third day she simply smiled and rolled over. Her days hustling menial office jobs as a temp were in the past. If she wanted, she could spend the entire day in bed.
When she woke up again, Willem was leaning over her, his blond hair damp from the shower, the stubble on his jaw trimmed. He was dressed for the office, which was a five-second commute across the hall.
“What are your plans today?” he asked, his face open and trusting.
She swallowed hard. How would he look at her when she told him Katja was her biological mother? Would he feel deceived? Used? She kept postponing the moment, and the longer she waited, the harder it got.
“Katja invited me for coffee,” she said.
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because of her deadline.”
“What deadline?”
“Ask Katja. See you at lunch,” Willem said.
His goodbye kiss tasted of toothpaste; she hated to think what hers tasted like.
After he left, she gazed at her new surroundings. Willem’s apartment wasn’t any bigger than the one she had rented on the Vechtstraat. But it was open plan, and the rear wall was made of glass, adding to the goldfish bowl effect when the curtains were open. She missed her warren of cozy small rooms.
She pulled on leggings under her slacks and drank a cup of tea in front of the window. She gazed at the shivering bare trees and tried to visualize the garden in summer, with roses, clematis, and hibiscus in bloom, but it was beyond her imagination.
Bored, she went through Willem’s suit pockets, finding nothing but lint. She took inventory in the kitchen and made a grocery list. She sat down with one of Willem’s dull psychiatric journals. The morning dragged by, and at ten minutes before eleven, she was too impatient to wait any longer.
The house was fitted with locks like a prison, and Anneliese felt like a warden with a fat set of keys jangling in her pocket. Katja had instructed her to ring the bell by the front door, but it would be silly to wait outside in the cold when she had the key to the glass door at the foot of the stairs.
Upon reaching the landing, she faced another closed door. Knock? That would be silly too. This was her home. She was a member of the family, and Katja was expecting her. The door was unlocked, so she went through. The living room was empty, but she heard the scrape of furniture being dragged over a floor. She followed the sound, passed the longest table she had ever seen in a private home, and came to the kitchen.
Katja was standing on a chair, reaching for something on a top shelf. Anneliese smiled because she often had to do the same.
“Good morning,” Anneliese said.
Katja visibly started and climbed down, a pack of sugar in her hands.
“How did you get in?”
“With a key.”
Katja frowned. “I didn’t know you had one.”
“Willem gave it to me. Can I help you?”
“No, thank you. Take a seat.” Katja waved toward a breakfast room at the other end of the kitchen, which gave onto what Willem called the roof terrace, though it was on top of the garage and not on top of the house. She sat down at the table and watched Katja fill a sugar bowl. Katja wore a smart cashmere sweater and tailored wool pants, making Anneliese feel shabby in her clothes from the clearance rack at H&M. Cold radiated through the sliding glass door and into her bones.
“How do you take your coffee?” Katja asked.
“With milk and sugar.”
“Me too,” Katja said. “That will be easy to remember.”
Anneliese made a mental note to add Katja’s coffee preference to the list she was compiling in her file called Trees.
“About the key,” Katja said. “Willem should have told you. You should use it only in an emergency.”
“I don’t understand,” Anneliese said, setting her cup on the table.
“Willem moved into the house on the condition his privacy—and ours—be guaranteed,” she said, twisting her wedding ring. “To be clear, we treat the house as two separate residences.”
“I thought the purpose of the locks was to keep out patients.”
“That too.”
“It seemed silly to ring the bell.”
Katja chewed on her lower lip. “Think of it like an apartment building, if that helps, and Hendrik and I are your upstairs neighbors.”
Anneliese forced a smile. “I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“Don’t give it another thought.”
She felt Katja assessing her attributes and flaws, as if she were compiling a … What had Katja called it during the workshop? A character sketch. She flailed around for another subject.
“Where’s Hendrik?”
“He’s upstairs reading. His latest obsession is gas extraction in the Wadden Sea. Before that he kept bees.”
“Where?”
“At the back of the garden. The hives are gone now. Before bees he collected antique pocket watches. He bought a microscope and tools and learned how to repair them.” Katja glanced at her watch. “How are you feeling? Any morning sickness?”
“On and off. I’ve gained a pound or two. Willem says he likes my round tummy.”
Katja’s expression shifted slightly. “How sweet.”
“Yes. And my sense of smell is insanely acute. You’re wearing perfume, aren’t you? Jasmine?”
“Yes, a dab behind one ear.”
“You see? I could go on a game show where contestants are blindfolded and try to guess what they smell. I would win the prize.” Anneliese knew she was rambling, and she caught Katja glancing at her watch again. She drew a deep breath. “Have you ever been pregnant, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Katja didn’t miss a beat. “Hendrik didn’t want another child. More coffee?”
Anneliese admired the slippery reply. It was neither lie nor truth, and it didn’t actually answer the question. “No, thanks. I’m cutting down on caffeine because of the baby.”
Katja stood up and started gathering the empty cups, and Anneliese racked her brain for something to say before Katja dismissed her.
“Willem said to ask you about your deadline.”
“I’m glad you brought that up. My editor wants a revised draft of my novel by Christmas. He said if I miss another deadline, the notion of a deadline goes out the window. I have to keep my nose to the grindstone. Of course, if you need anything, just ask.”
Anneliese clenched her jaw. The message was clear: Don’t be a nuisance, don’t use your key, don’t come unless invited.
“If I need something, should I WhatsApp you?” she said, keeping a straight face, and her sarcasm seemed to go unnoticed by Katja.
“I mute my phone while I’m working.”
“Should I send smoke signals?”
Katja’s face reddened. “You can leave a voicemail. I check my messages every three or four hours. Shall I show you out? I need to get to work.”
Anneliese did something unprecedented, something that was totally out of character. She burst into tears, surprising herself as much as she must have surprised Katja. But maybe not so surprising. Her life had been turned upside down. She was pregnant and engaged. She lived in a claustrophobic goldfish bowl, though she knew that could be considered a contradiction in terms.
The locks. Her big secret. And now, Katja’s rules—as if Anneliese were one of Willem’s psycho patients. Her hopes for a cozy mother–daughter chat were dashed. She had no reason to think Katja even liked her, and it was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that she was Mirella. If she did, maybe Katja would make time for her—or maybe not.
Katja lowered herself into the chair and handed Anneliese a tissue from her pocket. “I’m sorry I upset you, but I have to meet my deadline. I wish it were otherwise. Can I get you something? Tea or juice?”
Sniffing, Anneliese used the tissue to wipe one eye, then the other. “I’m not the weepy sort. Must be the estrogen.” Or maybe progesterone? Or hCG? One thing she knew: acting snarky would not endear her to Katja. “I’ve taken enough of your time. I can find my way out, thank you.”