Page 28

Shall we aim for dinner next week?

Me

I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.

David

Sure, let me know.

David

Have a good evening. x

Before I start doubting my decision, my busy phone buzzes again.

Lola

Cycling your way, see you soon.

Ten minutes later, two hyper kids barge into the house, more eager to see our guest than they have ever been for Sinterklaas. Lola leaves with Kalvin, reminding me of the promise to bring Luuk to the group, and then it’s the reverse morning routine again, laced with questions about when he is coming. I pop into the bathroom to make sure those eagerly washed hands won’t end up creating a flood.

A bruise on Ada’s shin makes me frown.

‘Where did you hit your leg again, bug?’

Ada is rather fascinated by the suds on her hands, but Otto provides the answer. ‘Menno kicked her.’

The blood that drains from my face goes directly to my veins, where it starts bubbling. It’s not the first time the little shit kicked her, but whenever I brought up the matter, their teacher was dismissive, with something along the lines of kids being kids, and making sure that they sort out their differences by themselves. Ada, however, seems almost chill about the whole affair.

‘Ada? What happened?’

She rinses her hands with the thoroughness of a surgeon, then shrugs and starts drying them, still not looking at me. ‘I kicked him.’

Am I a mean bitch for wanting to fist-pump the air and cry Yes, well-done, baby? Maybe, but I love that my girl can fend for herself. Still, I ask, ‘Why?’

‘Because Menno asked our teacher about Vaderdag,’ Otto explains, not making much sense.

‘Isn’t Father’s Day in June? That’s a couple of months away, baby.’

Ada shakes her head, finally hanging the towel in a neat way that’s so not her. ‘Nee, Mama. Menno told Kalvin he doesn’t have a papa and then he told him that this is why we are friends, because we also have no papa.’

The words make my eyes sting at the meanness of a five-year-old, who for some reason wants to inflict pain and chooses the one thing that will hurt both my kids and also Lola’s son: the fact that they have no dad. My kids, because Johan died before they were born; Kalvin because his dad chose to not be present in his life.

Blinking slowly, I listen to Otto continue the story. ‘So Ada pulled his hair, and he kicked her, and then Ada threw sand at him, and he kicked her again.’

‘So I kicked him back,’ Ada says, pragmatically. ‘And then he stopped.’

‘He said he will tell his mama,’ Otto warns for the potential call from their teacher, that right now I give exactly zero fucks for.

I crouch in front of her and tilt her chin to look in her eyes. ‘How are you doing?’

She shrugs. ‘I’m okay, but Menno is een idioot.’

If my girl combines her two mother tongues in the same sentence, she is definitely not okay. I cup her cheek, gulping to dry my welled-up eyes, and try to look into the depths of hers, while plotting the little shit’s demise. I hate the excuse that kids can be mean. Sure, their filter is almost inexistent, but compassion isn’t a matter of filter; it’s a matter of education, and this mom here, who always second-guesses herself, feels pride for my little person who stood up for her friend, herself and her brother.

‘What Menno said wasn’t right. But please don’t throw sand in people’s eyes, even if they’re mean.’

‘Fine,’ Ada says, halfheartedly, then her eyes brighten up. ‘But is it okay to kick them?’