2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 74

Green or blue?

I've been digging through stacks of tiny ceramic bowls and saucers for well over half an hour. The friendly shop keeper is giving me weird looks. On the last day of my stay in Istanbul, I spent the entire afternoon shopping for souvenirs for Matt, scavenging a whole street of bazaar stalls, nearly missing my flight. In Czech Republic, I went all the way back to Old Town to get him the Prague Starbucks mug for his city collection. Again, nearly missing my train.

When I finally plopped down on the train seat minutes before it pulls out of the station, I could barely contain my excitement. The train is headed for Amsterdam where Matt would be landing in a few hours.

Matt is coming to Europe to see me.

What could this mean?

I wondered if he meant anything by this grand gesture. Is he trying to show me how important our relationship is to him? Or am I overthinking the whole thing? He wants to see Greece and Italy. I want to see Greece and Italy, so why not do it together while I'm here?

Or, is there perhaps a deeper purpose? After all, Santorini is the go-to destination for honeymooners. Could he be thinking of... proposing?

Oh. My. God.

I really let myself dip into a fantasy of what it would be like to stand next to him on the altar of Notre-Dame Basilica in Montreal, with their pretty cobalt lights shimmering in the background. How I would be wearing Kate Middleton's wedding dress. How he would be Prince Matthew in shining tuxedo.

Ahem, I may be getting a little ahead of myself here...

Oh, but we had such a great time together when he was snapping pictures of everything, and I was the leading lady of his every frame. We went on boat trips and road trips. We hiked to the top of the Duomo and swam to the bottom of the Aegean Sea, planned the most amazing food journeys we would take across Italy together. We ate gelato and sipped cappuccino on the banks of Venice, watched laughing gondoliers slip and fall into the water canals, and we fell into the rhythm of each other's footsteps. We rode trains, ferries, buses, and donkeys together. He plucked a flower for me and he tucked it in my hair.

In Cinque Terre, Italy, we stayed in the loveliest Airbnb yet, on the sea cliffs of Vernazza – a tiny fishing village of winding stone steps and potted plants. Our balcony is practically above the water. I don't think we could go any further into the sea without falling in. Our room was painted white, with a black wall of exposed rocky cliffs. Which, combined with the white walls and dim-lighting, gave the space a cozy cave feel. We could hear the sound of waves at night, and see the tides wash the restaurant terrace clean.

When I emailed my friend Jasmine to report the marvel in excitement of the Euro trip, she replied, "Four weeks is a real test to see how you get along for such a long period of time."

I thought the way she said it sounded like a bad omen, and tried to brace myself for whatever that might come up. It turns out, petty irritations and annoyances began to surface as early as Berlin. One morning, Matt and I rose early for a walking tour of the city. We wanted to be there 15 minutes ahead of the tour, so he could buy a mug from Starbucks with the word "Berlin" written on it. I was slow. As usual. We got there in time for the tour, but not in time for the mug. I tried to assure him we can still buy the mug after the tour, but he was insistently grumpy.

We followed the tour guide, who took us through the major landmarks of Berlin. She talked for a bit, then stopped at the Holocaust Memorial, one of Berlin's more solemn open spaces. She took a break there and let us explore the massive expanse of concrete slabs by ourselves. This monument was built in 2003 by the architect Peter Eisenman. Arranged in a grid pattern, 2711 "stelae" or concrete slabs of irregular heights – some below the waist, some towering over the head – spread out on a sloping field. Navigating it, you must be careful, or the path you thought would take you to the other side can quickly narrow into a dead-end and you will lose yourself in the maze. Of course you could step on the lower concrete slabs to get yourself out of there. But no one did. The slabs looked so much like gravestones. Eisenman intended for the sculpture to give off an uneasy, confusing atmosphere, symbolizing a supposedly ordered system that has lost touch with human reason.