She set it for 2.5 liters a minute —six hours before I’d need a change—and then I got up.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Good,” I said. “Great. How was the Vondelpark?”
“I skipped it,” she said. “Read all about it in the guidebook, though.”
“Mom,” I said, “you didn’t have to stay here.” She shrugged. “I know. I wanted to. I like watching you sleep.”
“Said the creeper.” She laughed, but I still felt bad. “I just want you to have fun or whatever, you know?”
“Okay. I’ll have fun tonight, okay? I’ll go do crazy mom stuff while you and Augustus go to dinner.”
“Without you?” I asked. “Yes without me. In fact, you have reservations at a place called Oranjee,” she said.
“Mr. Van Houten’s assistant set it up. It’s in this neighborhood called the Jordaan.
Very fancy, according to the guidebook. There’s a tram station right around the corner. Augustus has directions.
You can eat outside, watch the boats go by. It’ll be lovely. Very romantic.”
“Mom.” “I’m just saying,” she said. “You should get dressed. The sundress, maybe?”
One might marvel at the insanity of the situation: A mother sends her sixteen-year- old daughter
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