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After a breakfast where we are colder to each other than the soggy muesli, we head out to meet Otto and grab content. Who knows how we are doing with the itinerary? Since Otto has taken it over it’s impossible to differentiate between Aisha’s mandate and Otto’s intervention, but I’m trying. Despite how things are between us, I want this to be a success for Brady.

“You have to imagine it without the American fast-food chains which ruin this area.” Otto points to the neon signs advertising McDonald’s and KFC next to the Checkpoint Charlie museum. “Where we are standing used to be the demilitarized zone. Focus on the artifacts that remain, the sign instructing that you are leaving the American zone, the sandbags creating a blockade and the small guard booth where there would be heavily armed enforcement officers.” He points with each phrase.

We’ve spent the morning learning about the darker side of Berlin. It’s part of the fabric of the city and impossible to escape. To my surprise and dismay, Otto has been an excellent tour guide. His great-grandfather was a political dissident who lost everything during World War II but miraculously survived due to the kindness of some other members of the resistance who worked as double agents. Otto walked us through the Topography of Terror, a chilling memorial on the grounds of the former Gestapo prison a few meters away from where the wall separated the city. Otto was born in a unified Germany before moving to the States but his parents lived in the East so he grew up hearing stories about food shortages, media censorship and informants. He’s painted a complex and vivid picture for us today.

“You should take a picture here” Otto says.

Brady squeezes his lips together. “Hmm, I don’t know. The history is important but maybe we should respect the spot.”

Otto shrugs. “Tourists do this all the time. But whatever you say.”

So much heartache, pain, and misery in the history here, but also resilience and hope. Otto has been able to capture all of these elements without showing off or making any of his flirtatious digs. There is something about this guy that annoys me, but I also see he isn’t the asswipe I thought he was.

“Also, it’s not on brand at For Us,” Brady explains. “They’re more focused on upscale images of the city showing a happy couple at happy sites.”

My body clenches at the phrase “happy couple.” I think about how excited we were to earn that bonus, and then I remember Aisha being so disappointed in Brady assuming he was some nepo hire. But he has totally taken on the challenge and succeeded. If he knew how he got the job it would break his confidence, so maybe this is all for the best.

We walk toward our next destination down a more residential street with terraced buildings and white window boxes with bright red geraniums. We are on our way toward the Ku’damm, a crowded shopping district in the former West. Across the street elementary school students are walking out of a building in perfect rows, two by two. Each one has a sturdy backpack and a brown bag lunch. I notice Brady looks over wistfully. Damn, he would be such a great teacher. Why can’t he see that?

“Isn’t it summer break?” Brady asks.

“Sommerferien?” Otto responds. “Yes, but in Germany the kids only get about six weeks and it rotates all around the country so not all the schools have it at the same time. It’s not like the US where summer is so long for everyone.” Otto looks at the school kids with a sneer. “I find children exhausting.” He keeps walking.

“I don’t,” Brady says, and that makes me smile.

After strolling down the Kurfürstendamm, we walk through the Tiergarten and spend the rest of the afternoon covering roughly 3,000 years of art on Museumsinsel, from the mysterious and elegant bust of Nefertiti to the glowing blue glazed dragons and animals on The Ishtar Gate to the colorful early pointillism of Manet and Monet. It’s the stuff we learned back in school and to see it with two of my former classmates makes me nostalgic for that time when everything was so much easier. All I wanted then was to get good enough grades to get a scholarship and go to medical school and become a doctor. I knew it wouldn’t be easy but I was confident it wouldn’t be complicated. I got through life going step by step by step until…

“Oh, my God! There she is. Can you believe. It’s actually her,” Brady shrieks and a few older tourists stare. Brady is, of course, oblivious to them. He takes my hand and pulls me closer, leaving Otto behind. “Athena. Isn’t she fabulous?”

We are standing a few feet below a sculpture flanking the steps of the Pergamon Altar. Athena’s dress is a voluminous wave of undulating folds and rippling fabric all sculpted in smooth marble. I know Brady has loved this sculpture since he took a class in Ancient Greek Art. Athena is graceful and elegant even as she battles a ferocious titan. It’s electric for Brady. I can feel it. Otto can feel it. The tourists wearing headphones with their audio guides can feel it. That’s what turned my simple step-by-step plan into a glitter-bombed zig-zag detour. His energy is a magnet and no matter how hard I try to avoid it, it pulls me in.

After Brady is done admiring his favorite sculpture, Otto has to leave. Brady and I are alone for the rest of the afternoon. As much as I don’t like being around Otto, he’s been a good tour guide, and more importantly a good buffer. My plan is to head back to the hotel and go for a run but when I tell Brady that he says, “We have one more stop before we can head back.”

“I thought the afternoon was free,” I say.

“It’s not,” Brady says with a coy smile and a playful raised eyebrow.

I follow him out and into a car. We drive away from Museumsinsel and in a direction I know is not toward the hotel. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He calmly scrolls his phone. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on but something about Brady’s voice and attitude makes me think I should be more curious than anxious. “I told Aisha we needed an afternoon free in Berlin for this.” He doesn’t elaborate. I crane my neck to see if I recognize anything that might be our destination.

The car enters a hospital campus in the center of the city and before I can wonder what we are doing here we’re stopped in front of a sign that reads “Berliner Medizinhistorisches Museum der Charité.” Even though I don’t read German I know exactly where we are. “I’ve heard about this place.” My voice is louder and higher than usual, unable to contain my excitement. “It’s a medical museum.”

We get out of the car and stand in front of a red brick building with exhibition posters in German and English. Each one makes my heart race with excitement. “Small World: The History of Microbes and Microscopes”, “The Cutting Edge: Surgical Tools in Context” and “Blood Vessels and Other Capillary: Images from the Archives.” Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by how exciting these topics are?

“I researched this place before we left and I wanted to make sure you had an afternoon to explore,” Brady says casually, like he didn’t just give me the most amazing gift possible. He planned this. Found the museum and made sure I had a chance to visit. While I have been outlining all the reasons a relationship between us could never work and reconstructing my walls, he’s been planning something incredible for me.

“It’s amazing! I can’t believe they have an exhibit on microbes. You know microbes are such an important part of how we understand disease. A lot of people think microbes are only single-celled, but the fact is there are multicellular and acellular and…” I catch myself mid ramble, my mouth getting ahead of my brain. Brady looks up at the building, admiring the architecture, and I notice the curve of his neck. I remember when he finally agreed to go to a basketball game with me and looked up at the scoreboard. I memorized that curve for the first time.

Things have not been great between us but he made sure there was time for me to visit here. He could have skipped it and gone back to the hotel, and considering how bad things have been I wouldn’t have blamed him. But he did this. He did this for me.

My heart is beating harder and I don’t know if it’s because of my appreciation for Brady or the fact that I see one of the posters advertising an exhibit on Vesalius vs. Galen and their competing understanding of anatomy. Fuck yeah.

“Thank you, Brady. This is going to be incredible. Do you want to start with…”

Brady walks back over to the car. “I’m heading back to the hotel.” He reaches for the door handle. Is he still mad at me? Has my behavior distanced him that much?

“Are you sure?” I ask, pleading with my eyes.