Happy

by Chris Scully

  On Kosta’s second day in the hospital, Elena, his ex, called to check on him. She’d heard the news, and since she’d always been the most caring person he knew, it came as no surprise that she would reach out. The sound of her voice, still so warm and tender after so long, almost made Peter break down over the phone. They talked for an hour, and when he hung up with a promise to drop by, he would have given anything to go back to those simpler times.

  The next morning found Peter sitting in his parked car in front of the tidy brick house not entirely sure why he was there. Louie’s words about Elena’s husband, Nick, came back to him and made him uneasy. Was that it? Was he here because the need to know had never been very far from his mind? Or was it something more?

  He took a deep breath for courage, climbed out of the car, and approached the house cautiously, smiling a little at the front porch with its unmistakably Greek concrete balustrade and columns. The door opened before he could even ring the bell, as if she’d been waiting for him, and despite everything, his breath caught at his first sight of her. She was as beautiful now as she’d ever been. A wave of memories swept over him and left him paralyzed. “Shush, Nicky’s sleeping,” she explained in a hushed voice, ushering him inside.

  Peter entered, shaking off his momentary daze. Except for the occasional passing nod at church, he hadn’t seen Elena since her wedding to Nick. Then, she’d been radiant and beautiful. Today, barefoot and dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a red blouse, she was gorgeous. The thick mane of chestnut curls he had loved so much was tied up on top of her head, allowing a few tendrils to escape and frame her heart-shaped face.

  She seemed to hesitate before giving him a brief hug. “How are you doing? How’s your dad? I’m so glad you came over. I would have come to you, but getting out of the house with a baby isn’t so easy these days.”

  He assured her he was fine. Pop was fine.

  Looking back, Elena was the closest he’d ever come to being in love. For the longest time, he’d thought he was. He’d even asked her to marry him. Still, something had held him back from taking the final step. After a while, she got tired of waiting and ended their stalled engagement. He couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t even say he’d truly been brokenhearted at the time.

  His memories receded as Elena led him through a cluttered living room, scattered with enough toys to start a daycare. His steps slowed as he passed the wedding portrait hanging over the fireplace. He scrutinized Nick’s smiling face for hidden signs of discontent.

  “Ma made some bougatsa. I know it’s your favorite,” Elena said. Peter left the photograph and followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries into the sun-filled kitchen. A tray of the cream-filled puffed pastries he loved was laid out on the table. She had obviously gone to some trouble.

  “Have a seat. It’s so good to see you again.” Elena poured them each a mug of coffee and passed him the sugar. She set one pastry on a small plate in front of him. “You look….”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Elena reached out and stroked his face. “I was going to say you looked tired.”

  “And you’re as beautiful as ever.” Elena blushed and pulled her hand away. Her eyes glistened and he had the sense that maybe he’d been too serious, too quickly. “Very maternal. In a hot and sexy way, of course.”

  That made her giggle. “Thank you. I think.” She sipped her coffee. “I don’t get out much these days, but I ran into your mom at church the other weekend. She took great pleasure in telling me you were seeing someone.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s Ma for you.”

  “I think she still hates me.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m the one still in the doghouse for letting you go. She brings it up at least once a month. ‘If only you’d married Elena.’” He did a dead-on impersonation of his mother that made Elena laugh again.

  “Really? I always had the impression no one would be good enough for her boy. I think she’d keep you with her forever if she could.”

  Peter was horrified. He shuddered at the thought.

  “Do you ever wonder how things might have turned out with us?” Elena asked thoughtfully.

  “Sometimes,” he answered honestly. In fact, he had wondered, right up until the moment he set foot in this house. But he had his answer now. This wasn’t his life. It was strange, but he didn’t feel like he’d missed out.

  Elena stared into her coffee cup for a minute. “Sometimes I find myself thinking what it would have been like to marry you instead.” She cleared her throat. “So? Is it serious? This relationship of yours.”

  He thought of Demetra. And then Louie. “It’s complicated,” he hedged.

  “What does that matter? Sometimes you just know.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “I’m glad you’re here, Peter. Really. But the past is the past. We have to move on.”

  Peter blinked. She thought… she thought he was still moping over her. He looked away so she wouldn’t see the truth in his eyes. “What about you?” he asked. “Things are good?”

  She looked tired and drawn around the eyes, but her smile was warm and genuine. “Nicky’s started teething so….”

  He had no clue what that meant, but he gathered it wasn’t something to look forward to. “And Nick?”

  Her arm hesitated a fraction as she raised her cup for a sip. “He’s good. Working hard.” Something flickered in her eyes, but she turned her head away and he lost it. “He got promoted at work. It’s kept him very busy.” She grinned suddenly. “He’s a great father, Peter. He adores Nicky. Let me show you.” She immediately produced a cell phone and called up some pictures.

  A loud wail erupted from somewhere upstairs and she winced. “So much for adult time. I’ll be right back.”

  Peter finished his coffee and listened to the sounds of footsteps overhead. The crying tapered off.

  Elena reappeared carrying a chubby dark-haired baby on her hip. He gnawed on a bright blue plastic ring, his chin shiny with drool. “This is Nicky,” she introduced him.

  Peter waved. “Um, hi, Nicky.”

  “Want to hold him?”

  He held his hands up in self-defense. “I’m not very good with babies.”

  Elena laughed. “I remember. Don’t worry. That will change when you have your own.”

  Peter cringed and wished he didn’t tense up every time someone mentioned babies.

  “It’s exhausting,” Elena confessed, bouncing Nicky on her knee. “But so worth it.”

  “Don’t your parents help out?”

  “Oh definitely. Ma is over almost every afternoon. And my dad helps out with the house stuff. But I wish Nick….” Her hand fluttered. “Never mind. Married people stuff.”

  Peter squirmed as the baby stared at him with piercing intensity over his teething ring. Louie was right, he realized with a start. Lying to yourself was one thing, but how could you look into those innocent eyes and lie to your child? Okay, lying might be a strong word. But how could you teach them about honesty and love if you weren’t living it? How could you raise them to believe anything is possible if you couldn’t believe it yourself?

  The weight on his chest suddenly shifted.

  “Are you okay, Peter?”

  He broke out of his daze to find Elena staring at him in concern. He felt like he’d just discovered something vital. “What? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

  And just like that he was.

  They talked for a bit longer, until the coffeepot was empty and the bougasta was nearly gone; the conversation was light, as if by mutual agreement they had decided against discussing the past.

  Finally, Peter glanced at his watch. “I should go. I have to visit Pop this afternoon. And then work this evening.”

  Elena set the baby down on a blanket in the living room and walked him to the front door. Her light touch brushed his arm. “Peter… I’m really glad you stopped by.”

  “Me too,” he replied. With one hand on the doorknob, he turned around to face her.
“Are you happy, Elena?”

  “Of course.” Maybe it’s because he knew what to look for, but he thought the smile was tight, the eyes flat—like a mask. It was one he usually wore too.

  She enveloped him in a tight hug, maybe too tight, because as it went on it seemed almost as if she were clinging to him. Her hand slid down his back in a gentle caress. The smell of her shampoo, the feel of her breasts against his chest—it was all so familiar. His body responded.

  Then Elena raised her head, brushed his mouth with warm, soft, clinging lips. It was Peter who took the step back, easing her away as gently as he could.

  “Oh my God. I-I’m sorry.” Elena covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “It’s okay, Elena.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and then she was sobbing. “With the baby, and Nick’s extra hours…. It’s not how I thought it would be. Sometimes I get so lonely, Peter.”

  He let her lean on him, cry on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and breathed in her comforting scent. Nicky crawled over to them and stared up at his mother in confusion, a steady stream of drool dripping from his chin. If ever Peter needed a sign he’d made the right decision, this was it. Whatever Nick was up to, it was affecting more than just him.

  Finally Elena quietened. She moved out of his arms and wiped at her eyes; her face was pink with embarrassment. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened there. I get so emotional since Nicky was born.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing her damp cheek with the back of his fingers. “Maybe you and Nick need some time alone,” he suggested. “Leave the baby with your parents.”

  The brief flare of hope in her eyes made him feel guilty for suggesting it. “You’re right. That’s a great idea. I’ll talk to Ma this afternoon.”

  Peter made his exit, promising not to be a stranger, but he knew he probably wouldn’t see her again. She was the past.

  Somewhere out there was his future.

  THE CONFIDENCE Peter had discovered earlier at Elena’s lasted until he stepped into the quiet sterility of the cardiac care unit. Then suddenly he was ten years old again, waiting for his dad to get home from the restaurant so his mom could report how he’d skipped out on Saturday-morning Greek school. With each passing minute, his dread would build, until the waiting became worse than the actual punishment.

  After the noisy chaos of the emergency room, the silence was startling and always took a moment to adjust to. He signed in and cautiously looked around. Eight private cubicles were clustered around a central nursing station. Each cubicle held a bed, two chairs, and a shitload of beeping, blinking medical equipment. The tiny rooms were fronted by sliding glass doors so that anyone behind the desk could quickly see all patients with a glance.

  Peter stood outside his dad’s cubicle and watched him talk with Father Theo. The black-robed priest had been a frequent visitor these past few days.

  Without his perpetual Greek captain’s hat, Kosta seemed so vulnerable. His normally robust frame appeared almost shrunken in the bed. The gruff, imposing father who had inspired such fear was gone. Here was a mortal man. Wires ran out from beneath his blue hospital gown and into nearby machines. Peter watched the blips on the screen, reassured by their steady rhythm. Kosta looked old and drawn, but his skin no longer had that unhealthy gray cast.

  Only one visitor at a time was allowed in the room, so Peter found a seat and waited until Father Theo was done. When he emerged, he greeted Peter warmly. “I’m glad you’re here. Your mother asked that I speak with you.”

  Peter stiffened. He should have known she wouldn’t let it go, that she’d send the priest to do her dirty work. He was suddenly furious with her. He drew up, ready for the attack. “I know what you’re going to say, but—”

  Father Theo held up a hand to cut him off. “Your mother is understandably upset. But how can I tell you not to love when love is His greatest gift?

  “There are some—no doubt many—who would tell me I am wrong, my own church among them, but I cannot in good conscience preach to you what I do not believe myself. Only you know what is in your heart, Panagiotis. But you should be true to it. Lies and deception, no matter how well intentioned, are what breed evil. They can only inflict pain,” the priest continued with a small smile. “And that is what I have counseled your mother. It’s what I have counseled others. But change takes time, eh? We will see if your mother listens to her own heart.”

  Peter was speechless, his throat clogged with emotion as he struggled not to cry. The remaining weight on his chest seemed to lift. Father Theo gave his arm a comforting pat and then departed.

  When he had himself under control again, Peter ventured into his father’s room. He forced a smile to his lips as he entered. “Hi, Pop. How are you feeling?”

  “This place…. The food is terrible.” Kosta’s voice sounded weak and thin, not the booming baritone he was used to. “How they expect a man to get healthy on that slop, I don’t know. I asked your mother to bring me some kleftiko.” This was so like the man he remembered, Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His pop would be okay.

  “Don’t even think about it, Mr. Georgiou,” the nurse warned gently, as she brushed past on her way to read one of the many monitors. “Do you want to end up right back in here?”

  “Doctors, meh,” he said with a wink as she departed. “What do they know?”

  Peter ventured another step farther into the room. “Quite a lot, it turns out.”

  His father cleared his throat. It sounded like the engine of their old Cadillac turning over. “Are you going to stand all the way over there? I am too tired to shout,” he grumbled, switching to Greek. When Peter still hesitated, he added, “Your mother is praying in the chapel. It will take her a while.”

  His throat tight, Peter drew up a chair near the bed and sat down. “Have they said when you can go home?”

  “A few days. Apparently it is no big deal to cut a man open these days.” He sighed. “But the doctors say no more work for me. For good this time.”

  “But what about the restaurant?”

  “We will sell it.”

  “Sell it?” Peter repeated. “You can’t sell it. You love that place. It’s everything you worked for.”

  “I worked for my family, Panagiotis. Maybe I forget that. Maybe I wasn’t so good at showing it.” When he sighed, his breath rattled alarmingly in his lungs. His eyes grew glassy, and for a second Peter thought his tough and fearless dad was on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to be an old man sitting on the porch. But my time is past. And as you say, things are changing. Business is not so good.”

  Peter gulped. It was unthinkable that the place he’d grown up in, the place he’d spent so many hours in, would be gone. Another overpriced coffee shop, maybe? As much as it had always seemed a chain around his ankle, it was still home. He hadn’t known how much it truly mattered until now. “I’m sorry, Pop.”

  “For what? What do you have to be sorry for?”

  “For letting you down. For not being what you wanted me to be.”

  “When have you let me down? Did I ever say that?”

  “You didn’t need to.” To his horror the tears Peter had struggled to hold back began coursing down his cheek. He hung his head.

  His father made a choked sound. “It is I who should be apologizing.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. I am sorry we made you so unhappy, Peter.”

  He blew out a breath. “You didn’t, Pop. I think I made myself unhappy.”

  Silence filled the small room. After a few minutes, Kosta spoke again. “Do you remember your papou, my father?” Peter had vague memories of an older man, but since Pop was always working and they rarely went back to Greece, he knew very little about his relatives. “He was a fisherman in our village. From a young age I learned from him, worked beside him on the boats. It was his wish that I follow in his path. And when I grew olde
r, what did I do? I took a wife and came here. Why? Because I did not wish to be a fisherman.

  “Now, I have done to you what my father did to me. I am not proud of that. I did not treat you like a man. I have talked with your mother, and as soon as I am well enough, we will sell the restaurant and take a trip home. You will live your own life, not ours.”

  Peter’s heart wrenched. Not only was he losing the restaurant, he was losing his family too. “You’re leaving?”

  “Not for good. For a few months only.”

  “And Ma is okay with this?”

  “She is not happy, but maybe when we come back… things will be different?” One white bushy eyebrow arched in silent question.

  It took Peter a second to realize he was referring to Louie. “Oh. Ma talked to you.”

  Kosta nodded. Sweat beaded Peter’s forehead. They were giving him an out. He could go back to the way things were. Everything would be forgotten and never spoken of again.

  Except he didn’t want to go back.

  It hit him then. This was his choice. And it wasn’t nearly as difficult as he had feared.

  “They will be different,” he asserted. “I’m different. But I’m not giving him up, Pop.” Peter sat up straighter, putting all the confidence he’d felt earlier into his words. “Not if he still wants me. I… I care about him. A lot. I’m happy with him.”

  Bold words. But he still couldn’t quite meet his father’s silent stare. He gave a start when Kosta grasped his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever touched him, not as a child and certainly not as a grown man. “Your mother is a good woman. So we will go back to Greece for a while and maybe she will grow accustomed to this other thing….”