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‘Here!’ Dory proffers the Pornstar Martini before my butt hits the chair.

I only take a sip, before ordering a virgin one, because I have to work again. Wanda hates me enough already; she doesn’t need to smell alcohol on my breath.

‘Regardless of how badly you need it, to put up with the bitch who makes your life miserable,’ Dory, my patient ear for my frustrations at work, points out.

‘We are all ears,’ Bea singsongs, tapping her fingers on the table.

‘It was…nice…’

‘Keep going.’ Lola waves her hand, and the other two nod.

So I tell them the truth: David is a lovely man. We had already established that he’s a looker. He’s also a good conversationalist, who showed interest in my life and didn’t panic or pretend to be cool when I told him about the kids. He’s been single himself for a year, after he amicably parted ways with his high school sweetheart. He works at a large architect’s office that has designed some recognizable buildings around the city.

‘If he’s responsible for our national bathtub, feel free to ditch him,’ Bea says, and we all laugh, sharing the same dislike for Stedelijk Museum’s “update”, an eyesore none of us has warmed up to over the years.

I shake my head. ‘I did ask him, using similar words…’

‘There’s a reason we are friends: good taste!’

We drink to Dory’s statement, and I’m grateful for the breather, before getting to the gist of the thing. Plus, they have no idea about the surprise visit, so my sip is more like a gulp. To quote my very American mom, although her posh Boston accent is hers and hers only, ‘It is called Dutch courage for a reason.’ Never mind that mine is free of “courage”.

‘Other than the architectural appraisal of the city’s modern buildings, what else did you talk about? Don’t tell me that all my personal stylist’s prowess was for nothing!’

‘Bea, dear, it’s always great to know an architect in this ouwetje of a city,’ Dory says in her most British fake accent, and we all laugh.

Oldie… It takes one word for Luuk’s handsomeness to be superimposed on last evening’s images. ‘Actually…’

Rather than for effect, I pause because I don’t know how to explain what happened, yet effect I have—their necks stretch and now their eyes are glued on me as heads turn simultaneously like the flamingos that my kids love to watch when we visit the Artis Zoo.

‘You had sex…’ Lola almost whispers.

‘Luuk paid me a surprise visit shortly before I left for the date.’

The heads move backwards, as if wanting to avoid being hit, but only Dory speaks. ‘And?’

‘We talked for a bit, then he walked me to the bar. Don’t look so shocked! Luuk just flew thousands of miles; I wasn’t going to ignore him.’

‘The sneaky cockblock!’

We all giggle, but Bea does have a point. I don’t know whether the date would have been more successful had Luuk not arrived when he did; or had he not walked me to the bar, although David did make a clumsy joke about me “double booking”, before I explained that Luuk is an old friend. I don’t know what it’d take for this tug towards Luuk to stop, because it’s pure emotional torture. I don’t know who can incept the natural way he slips back into my life every time, how it’s as if he never left since that day the twins were born. Since before that, actually, since that first day we met, seven years ago. But I won’t keep him at a distance. Or keep him a secret. The mere thought is ridiculous: people—women—would shout their friendship with him from the rooftops, and the one who actually has it is trying to hide it?

‘David is nice…’

Dory facepalms. ‘Nonono…Nice is never a good sign.’

‘Neither is his live-and-let-live take on country music.’

‘He is right, though. You can’t ditch a good one, based on his poor taste in music.’

We cackle at Bea’s verdict, but I’m still not off the hook.

‘Yes and no. Imagine having to listen to weepy André Hazes songs nonstop.’

Lola speaks from her own experience. Her ex was a huge fan of our national singer, and she only half-jokes that one of the advantages of him leaving is that she won’t have to listen to another André Hazes song again, and that she’ll make sure that her child is exposed to music she likes. At this point, it’s mostly shrieky cartoon songs that Kalvin enjoys listening to, but hope isn’t lost.

‘So, will you give him one more chance?’ Bea goes for the kill.

‘We…left it open,’ I say, convincing absolutely nobody.