Agatha in Amsterdam - Dubai

Houston, Texas, 2021.

Agatha walked out of the office building, gripping her backpack. She’d dressed for success, but she didn’t get it. She didn’t get the job. She wanted to scream and cry. She walked one block, then two, toward the nearest coffee shop.

When she saw that she was alone on the street, she screamed at the top of her lungs, “FUCK!”

The man walking half a block ahead of her turned to see who had screamed. Iñaki. He was on the phone, speaking with his cousin, Nicolas. Nicolas had lived here for the last fifteen years, so once Iñaki moved to Houston, they reconnected and actually became friends. Nicolas was, on this particularly day trying to convince him to go to the Rodeo.

“No podes vivir en Texas y no ir al Rodeo aunque sea una vez, boludo.” Iñaki laughed at how many times his cousin used the word boludo; he was from Argentina, so between boludo, che, and tipo, he barely said anything else. But Iñaki had gotten used to it, and had even started using them himself. His mother, who was also Argentinian, was ecstatic.

Now, Iñaki was curious why this woman had screamed, so he stood still on the street, his phone on his ear until he saw her pass. He watched as she let her hair loose, letting it fall in a dark cascade over her shoulders and back. He watched her pull off her blazer and shove it, crumpled, into her backpack, not caring how it looked. He saw her biting her lower lip, her green eyes rimmed in red, likely on the verge of tears. He felt bad for her. A little. Just as much as you can feel bad for a stranger.

They both were headed to the coffee shop. He wanted caffeine. She wanted something sweet.

She got in line first and checked to see if there was still lemon pound cake, the one she was so obsessed with. She needed sugar, carbs, and fats to feel some kind of reward after failing so miserably. There was only one.

Iñaki was right behind her, and of course, he checked out her from behind. Those gray pants suited her, he thought.

When she reached the counter, all the lemon pound cake was gone. She exhaled loudly in frustration. So, she decided to drink her calories instead and ordered a white chocolate mocaccino with double cream. “Fuck everything,” she muttered to herself, and looked thoroughly annoyed when the barista wrote “Anna” on her cup instead of Agatha.

Iñaki, on the other hand, would never have such a sweet, calorie-laden drink. He preferred an espresso, but he’d learned that in the States, that didn’t really exist—unless you found a small café—so he ordered a cappuccino. In his mind, it was a scam; half the cup was foam, and the foam disappeared in minutes, leaving nothing but a half-cup of milky coffee. He missed European coffee. When they asked for his name, he said, “Charlie.” That was a name no one ever got wrong. Iñaki, well, that one no one ever got right. So he decided to be Charlie. Good old faithful Charlie.

As “Anna” and “Charlie” waited for their coffees, she took a phone call. He listened in, having nothing else to do but wait.

“I didn’t get it.... They said I have what it takes but I need more business experience... I know... one of them was really nice and recommended an EMBA, here in Texas.... I think I’m going to do it... what do you mean how? I have the money... it’s what I want... whatever, Jack, I’m not in the mood for this.” She hung up and muttered, “Asshole.”

Iñaki shook his head as he thought about what a bad day this woman was having.

“Anna! Charlie!” the man behind the counter called. But before Iñaki could grab his coffee, Agatha did. She took a sip, made a face at how bitter it tasted, and turned around. Iñaki stood there, grabbed the very obvious sweet drink with its plastic dome full of whipped cream, read the name “Anna” on it, and started following her, calling out. Of course, she didn’t react; her name wasn’t Anna.

He caught up to her before she could put sugar in his coffee.

“Sorry, Anna? You have my coffee.”

She looked annoyed, but then she read the name on the cup. “Charlie? Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve already taken a sip. I can buy you a new one,” she offered.

But he grabbed the cup. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking a sip to show just how little he cared.

“Mmm… you left it very sweet... sugar.” He offered her a half-smile, then laughed at his own joke.

At first, she looked confused, even shocked that a stranger was simply drinking from the same cup, but then, as she understood the compliment, she laughed.

“Wow, that was so cheesy.”

He was already walking away, but he turned to look at her, taking a few steps backward as he added, “But I made you laugh, beautiful.” And then with a devastating half smile, he winked.

She kept looking at him as he walked away.She was in awe with the stranger, not because he looked good, he did, but because she wished she had that confidence. She was sure she would have gotten the job if she did.

She sat down at a table to drink her extra-sweet cup still smiling at the stranger’s comment. And feeling a bit uneasy at how well he had made her feel. Then she got a new phone call. Jack again. At the same time, Iñaki had a thought. Could he maybe sit with this woman? Get her phone number. Maybe ask her out? As he turned back, he overheard her talking on her phone again:

“I love you too, Jack.”

That was his sign that, no, he couldn’t ask her out. Of course a woman this beautiful has someone in her life.

As Iñaki started walking away with his half-cup of cappuccino—which had already lost its foam —forgetting about “Anna”, the woman having a bad day, completely. Agatha in return never thought about “Charlie”, or his cheesy comment again.