Help someone
Annie stood outside Costas’s door, her hand hovering an inch away from it. Buster was snuffling around the edges of the door, unused to seeing it shut. She should knock. She knew that. But she’d never done it before, preferring to text him or leave passive-aggressive notes (actually, she wasn’t much better than Sharon in that respect). On the other side of the door, she heard another gulping sob. It was unavoidable—Costas was crying.
“Maybe we should give him some space,” she whispered to Buster. The little dog cocked his head at her and gave out a soft whine.
“Fine, fine, okay.” Sighing, she knocked gently. “Costas?”
Instantly he went quiet. After a moment he said, “Yes?”
“Um, are you okay?”
“Fine, fine!” It was like a parody of his usual chirpy tone.
“Listen, I heard you. I know you’re not.”
The door opened and there was Costas in his work T-shirt, his face red and swollen. “What happened?”
He wiped a hand over his face like a kid. “Is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
Dejected, he said, “Is work. I was in kitchen, dancing to the—the Magic FM, you know. My favorite song.”
“And what was that?” As if she didn’t know.
“Mariah Carey, of course. And these men, the one who delivers the cups, they laugh at me—call me a bad word.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fag.”
“That’s horrible. I’m sorry, but they’re just a bunch of bigots.”
“I did not think it would be like this here. I thought was okay to be gay, you know.” His face wrinkled up, his breath hitched, and she recognized the symptoms of someone on the verge of a full crying jag. “And all I do is make the coffee. I wanted to work in fashion, Annie. This is why I come to London, you know. We have no fashion in Athens. But instead I just learn to make the swirly patterns on the latte.”
“Well, that’s good, too.”
He snuffled some more, his gym-honed arms folded over his chest. “I miss home, Annie. I am missing my mother and my sisters. They are so far away. I come all this way away from them and I get nowhere in my life. Just the pictures in the coffee.” He sniffed. “I…I am sorry, Annie. I know this is a stupid thing, when your friend and your mama are sick, but… I am sad.”
And all this time he’d been on the other side of the wall, and Annie hadn’t been able to hear him over the sound of her own heart breaking. “I’m so sorry, Costas. That really sucks.”
He nodded, more tears coming up. “Is okay. I will be okay. Is just…a setback. At least we have the puppy. Come here, baby.” He lifted Buster in his arms, and the dog began to lick his tears, making Costas giggle. They’d have to get rid of the puppy soon; he couldn’t live in a flat forever. But how could she do that to Costas?
Annie looked at her watch—two o’clock. She’d been planning to spend the day in bed with her favorite fictional doctors (and not think about her favorite real-life one). “Listen, shall we go out? This flat is depressing enough to be in, no wonder we feel down. How about I treat you to the British tradition of Sunday lunch in the pub? We can even bring Buster if you like.”