Mimi watches Kalea cross the restaurant. I tap my fork against my glass to get her attention.

“Okay, what was that all about?”

“What?”

“You know.”

“Have some more coffee, Bird.”

“I don’t want any more coffee. Why did we come here? And what did you say to her?”

“You really want to know?”

Of course I don’t want to know. I’m not even sure why I asked, but it’s too late now.

“When we saw the refugees in Budapest, did you want to help them?”

“Sure.”

“But we couldn’t, could we? We don’t speak the language. We had no idea what we could do, what could be done. We were helpless.”

“Okay.”

“Did that feel good? Were you proud of yourself?”

“Mimi . . .”

“But with Kalea, I can do something. I can help.”

“Mimi . . .”

“Or I can mind my own business. Is that what you’re about to tell me?”

“You don’t know her.”

“I know she has a boyfriend that she’s about to marry. I know she’s not sure that she loves him. Last night, you told me that she thought she was pregnant. Do you know what that’s like for a woman?”

“No.”

“No is the correct answer.” Mimi takes a forkful of my pie. “So, she’s not pregnant. After they had sex last night, her period started.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes, that’s good. It means she has a chance to reconsider her decision.”

“To marry Bryce.”

“Would you want to be married to Bryce?”

Across the restaurant, Kalea and Bryce are locked in conversation. Kalea is sitting upright in her chair. Bryce is slumped over his food. Neither of them is looking happy, but I’m too far away to be sure.

“You told her to dump Bryce?”

“Not exactly.”

The groan escapes before I can stop it. “You didn’t tell her the story about fishing?”

“Maybe.”

“The one your mother tells. Just because you catch a fish doesn’t mean you have to keep it? That story?”

Mimi shrugs.

“I’m going to get another piece of pie.”

“You’ve already had one.”

“You ate most of it.”

“If she were your daughter,” says Mimi, “what story would you have told her?

SO WE STROLLED UP and down several streets in Amsterdam with names neither of us could pronounce. The evening light played off the canals, while women in bikinis swayed back and forth in windowfronts.

“You think Uncle Leroy would have visited a sex worker?”

A group of young men came down the street, drunk, laughing, egging each other on. They stopped in front of various windows and stared at the women, and the women stared back. One of the men took a photo with his cellphone, and as he turned away to show it to his buddies, the woman flew out of her room, grabbed the cellphone, and threw it in the canal.