Friendship Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by Lisa Verge Higgins Page A

But she and the girls had just arrived and checked into the hotel, and dusk was already falling. They’d
     have a proper dinner later. This nip of street food would tide them over as they wandered the city before daylight faded.
    The taste burst in her mouth, fresh clean fish and diced onion and pickles.
    Becky choked and held the sandwich away from her, the bite a bulge in her cheek. “Judy—what is this?”
    Monique’s chewing slowed as her brow rippled. She gave her sandwich a good, long sniff.
    “You can’t guess?” Judy asked. “It’s pickled herring.”
    Becky turned toward the railing by the canal. She dislodged the chewed-up wad of sandwich from her cheek and launched it into
     the water. Becky tossed the rest of the sandwich in the garbage nearby, missing the opening entirely. Then she unscrewed her
     water bottle and took a long, wincing gulp. “Well,” Becky said, “I’ve now publicly vomited in a river. We can check that off
     the list.”
     “It’s not that bad,” Monique said, swallowing a tentative second bite. “Vinegary. Kind of squishy. But in a weird-good-sushi
     kind of way.”
    “We’ll find you something else, Beck.” Judy popped the last of her sandwich in her mouth and hoped they ran into a vendor
     who sold cones of greasy frites or spicy bitterballen , breaded, deep-fried meatballs. “Come on, ladies, let’s walk.”
    She headed out of the main square. She knew exactly where she was going. She remembered the salt-smell of the air, the worn
     wobble of the cobblestones, and the clatter of boats bobbing up against the walls of the canal. She remembered the rows and
     rows of three-window-wide brick buildings. She made her way to a main canal street, Oudezijds Voorburgwal, glanced at the
     old familiar unpronounceable street signs—Bethlehemsteeg, Monnikenstraat. Passing one side street, she glanced longingly down
     its shadowed length, knowing that the Flying Pig youth hostel still lay down there. The sky was dimming quickly in this northern
     latitude, darkening the silver of the canals.
    “Um, Judy,” Becky said. “Where are you taking us?”
    “Old stomping grounds.”
    “Well I’d just like to note that we just passed a store with a sign that said ‘condomerie.’”
    “It won’t be the first.”
    “Also,” Becky added, glancing over her shoulder, “I believe we’re being followed by multiple clones of Gina’s ex-boyfriend.”
    Judy followed Becky’s gaze and noticed the two guys following them, men who’d just stumbled out of a nearby coffee shop. They
     were laughing and swaggering, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. One had a tattoo up the side of his face. The other
     peered at Monique through swollen, red eyes, cataloging her attributes from her sensible flats to the jean jacket she pulled
     closed over her dress.
     “Just ignore them, they’re harmless stoners.” Judy pulled Monique closer, giving her a little squeeze. “And you two call
     yourselves New Yorkers.”
    “I’m no New Yorker,” Monique said. “I’m a suburbanite from New Jersey. I don’t walk red light districts in strange cities
     at night.”
    “Maybe we ought to plan a trip to Flatbush.”
    “Right,” Becky scoffed, “because Gina doesn’t bring enough ‘harmless stoners’ into my house.”
    “Think about it,” Judy said. “What kept us, back in Jersey, from taking a bus just to wander around some new part of New York
     City?”
    Monique made a scoffing noise. “Common sense?”
    “Expectations. When we’re home we have those we put on ourselves, and those imposed on us by others. So we avoid adventure
     altogether. Come on, let’s cut down here.”
    Monique resisted. “That’s a narrow street.”
    Judy grinned. “Winding and mysterious.”
    “I think,” Monie said, “that we should stay by the main canal.”
    Judy blew out a breath. “Honestly, is this how it’s going to be for the next two weeks?”
     “Do you want to get mugged in a foreign