When they enter the house, I stand and wait to greet them as is proper, but then none of us know which traditions to use. Oma closes her eyes and purses her lips to kiss me three times at the same time I open my arms for a hug. I drop my arms to my sides and extend my hand while Opa places his palms together and bows to me. We all shift on our feet, and Oma says something to me in Chinese. Her accent is really weird. When I look at her blankly, Opa chirps in Dutch.
Finally, Oma gives me a weak little wave of her hand and says, “Hello.”
I follow them into the living room. Willem pats me on the shoulder and winks. I wish he would stop touching me at every opportunity. I am dismayed to find that all of the chairs have been arranged in one large circle. I am forced to sit between Willem and Lukas on the couch. We all face each other, every expression, gesture, and word laid bare to everyone else in the group. If this is what Dutch parties are like, how in the world do they manage to flirt here?
Silence again. I clear my throat and say to Willem, “Are your parents coming too?”
Helena enters the room with the coffee and tea and says, “They died in China. Long ago.”
Oh. We sit in silence as Helena passes around a plate of boterspritsen, swirled buttery shortbread cookies that melt in your mouth. I missed breakfast, since the family ate extra early today, so I take two, even though I notice Opa watching me. When the plate gets to Oma at the end, it is empty.
I cringe in my seat.
Oma waves her pudgy hands like she didn’t want a cookie anyway, but Helena, careful not to look at me, goes to the kitchen and returns with a single botersprits on the plate, which she then gives to Oma. Opa waggles his eyebrows at me.
“I didn’t know we were only supposed to take one each,” I whisper to Lukas. I try to ignore Willem, who sits close to me, his legs pressed against my thigh and knee. He has swiveled his head to stare at me.
Lukas snickers. “Welcome in Holland. People count the number of cookies here.”
Willem taps me on the back of my hand and says, “Did you do something with your hair, Amy? You seem different today.”
I try not to move away too abruptly. “No. It’s just that I’m wearing my contact lenses.”
Willem throws his head back and laughs as if I’ve made a great joke. “Ah, that is it. You look very much like . . .”
“Sylvie,” Helena finishes for him when his voice trails off. The lines around her lips and eyes tighten. She bares her teeth in a way that is more a gesture of aggression than a smile. “How are you enjoying Holland so far?”
“Very much. But why do your parents live in Belgium?” She had told me they drove in this morning. Is it safe to have Opa behind the wheel of a car?
“I grew up in this village, but when Willem and I married, we took over my parents’ restaurant in Amsterdam. They had a business opportunity in Antwerp, so they moved away. They have a number of restaurants there now.” So that’s why Helena had to hijack our grandma to care for Lukas and Sylvie instead of asking her own parents to help.
Oma leans forward and says to me, “How you sister?”
My stomach churns and I feel my insides quiver. I wring my hands. “We don’t know. No one has heard from her.”
Lukas translates for me while Oma clucks sadly, shaking her head. He rubs his hand over his face and massages his eyes, as if he’s as worried as I am.
I’d been hoping to bring this up later, after Oma and Opa left, but I can’t wait any longer. We have to take action before it’s too late. I turn to Helena. “Actually, I’ve been considering something. I heard about an organization that searches for missing people.”
Helena’s head jerks back and she gives me an incredulous look. “What is this?”
I continue anyway. They have to agree. We have no other choice. “They have a very impressive website, in both Dutch and English. I could show you.”
She taps her lipstick-reddened lips with a finger. Her voice is high. “And who will pay for it?”
Is that all she cares about? They’re rich and Sylvie was practically their daughter. What does money matter at a time like this? I’m fuming and cross my arms as I stare at the two uneaten cookies on my tea saucer. “I don’t know yet. We’ll figure it out, but the most important thing is that Sylvie might need our help.”
“She is fine.” Lukas’s eyes are feverish and overbright. His gaze darts around the room. “She has to be fine.”
“I thought you were on my side,” I snap. I thrust my arms out wide. I hate them all. “Don’t you want to find her?”
“No one wants to find Sylvie more than I do!” Lukas yells. He dares to jab a finger in my face. Oma and Opa can’t understand a word and appear alarmed. “Where the hell do you think I go every night?”
I slap his hand away. I’m shouting as well now. “What? You’re looking for her by yourself? That’s fine, but why can’t we bring in professionals too? Why are you all resisting me on this?”
“Calm down.” Willem tries to put his arm around both me and Lukas.
I jump up off the couch, upsetting the saucer on my lap. My cookies fall onto the floor and break, leaving crumbs everywhere. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I am almost in tears. I fall to my knees to clean up the mess.
“Stop, I will do it.” Helena grabs me by the arm and pulls me upright. She settles me back on the couch and quickly removes the saucer and cookies. She speaks slowly and clearly, as if I am an imbecile. “This organization is not necessary. It is a waste of money. She will turn up. You mark my words.”
I need to remain calm; alienating them won’t help. “I know you want to believe that, but what if it’s not true?” All of my despair sinks into the pit of my stomach. I’ve been trying Sylvie’s email and phone nonstop and there’s been no response. It’s been too long. My hope is deflating like an old balloon. The possibilities for a happy ending are dwindling.
Lukas, stiff, uptight prick that he is, says, “We should not involve extra people. We will get in the way of the police. I have heard of these types of organizations and I do not trust them. They specialize in finding people who are—” He swallows his words suddenly and hugs his chest, rocking on the couch. There is such a look of despair and anguish in his eyes that I almost feel sorry for him.
Willem says in his smooth voice, “I do not think we should interfere either. The police know their job. We should let them do it.”
Opa, who has probably only understood the word police, says, “We want no trouble.”
And everyone takes this as the final word on the subject. I sit on the couch and try not to scream. This is just like dealing with Ma and Pa: everyone afraid of any tiny change. Why are they all so scared? I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that there are things no one is telling me about Sylvie’s visit. But she still hasn’t come home and if I don’t do anything, it’s possible that she never will.
It’s now Monday morning. The neighbors have heard rumors of Sylvie’s disappearance, and yesterday evening, after Oma and Opa’s strained visit, Helena found a casserole and a bouquet of tulips by the front door. Only a few of the people in our building in New York even know who Sylvie is. I am grateful for this kindness.