Both Ways – Part 1: What She Already Knew

The café on the Prinsengracht had mismatched chairs, bad coffee and the best view of the canal in the whole city. Femke had chosen it for that reason. Robin had chosen it because he knew she would be late, and he needed the time to talk himself out of leaving.

She arrived with bicycle clips still on her trousers and two stroopwafels in a paper bag.

"You look like you're about to confess to a crime," she said, sitting down.

"I might be."

"Good. I love a good confession. Go on."

He stared at the water. A houseboat drifted past, a woman in a red scarf waving from the deck, and he felt his throat close.

"I'm bisexual," said Robin.

Femke didn't blink. She took a bite of stroopwafel, chewed, swallowed, and then reached across the table to put her hand over his.

"I know," she said.

He stared at her. "You know?"

"Robin. You've been looking at Daan's shoulders for three years. You went very quiet in the bar when Sanne kissed that girl at the solstice party. And when you talk about your ex, you always mention his name, not hers, and then you look like you've swallowed a stone." She smiled, warm and fond. "I've known for ages. I was waiting for you to say it."

His eyes stung. He didn't trust his voice.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked eventually.

"Because it's yours to say," said Femke. "Not mine to guess at. But I'm so glad you did."

They sat in silence for a while, the canal shimmering in the afternoon sun. Bicycles rang their bells on the bridge. Somewhere behind them a street musician was playing something slow on a violin.

"I thought you'd be angry," said Robin, quietly. "Or hurt. That I didn't tell you before."

"I'm a little hurt," said Femke honestly. "We've been best friends since the first week of uni, Robin. But I'm not hurt that you're bi. I'm hurt you thought you had to hide it from me."

"I didn't want to lose you."

"You won't," she said. "But you might have to share your bed with a few more people, if you'd like to try the whole thing properly." Her grin was sudden and wicked. "Just kidding. Or not."

He laughed, shaky and relieved, and it felt like the first full breath he had taken in months.

"Can I ask you something?" Femke said.

"Yes."

"Are you happy? Right now, sitting here with me and a stroopwafel?"

He looked at her, really looked: her messy hair, the bicycle clips, the steady kindness in her eyes.

"Yes," said Robin. "I think I am."

"Good," said Femke. "Then let's finish these biscuits and go and find somewhere to dance."

"Green?" he asked, half-joking, half not.

"Very green," said Femke, and squeezed his hand.