Reckless (48 page)

“Your mother and I were calling to find out if you had registered for Spring Quarter classes yet?”

Registration was just around the corner.
 

 
“Not yet,” I sighed.

“Well, I wanted to be the first to break the good news,” my dad said.

“What’s that?” I asked, pretty sure my parents’ idea of good news didn’t match up with mine.

“I noticed in the online schedule of classes that Managerial Accounting is indeed offered Spring Quarter. Isn’t that terrific, Sam?”

Wow, my parents were totally stalking me. I rolled my eyes to myself. They were so not getting me.

“Now you can change your major back and continue with your Accounting classes without falling behind,” Dad said with a smile.

I steeled myself. It was time to put this issue to bed once and for all, even if it killed me. “I’m not changing my major.”

“And why, pray tell, are you not?” my mom asked snidely.

“Because I don’t want to?” I sneered.

“I told you, Bill,” my mom growled, “it’s that
Christos
. He’s putting all these silly ideas in our daughter’s head.”

“No, Mom,” I said confidently, “if you remember, art was
my
idea. Remember you guys said I couldn’t go to art school because it was too expensive? Well, SDU isn’t too expensive, and it turns out the university has a great art program. For the same price as an Accounting major.”

“We’re not throwing away good money on an
art
education!” my mom scoffed.

“I have to agree with your mother on that,” my dad said.

I shook my head. “It’s not throwing away. There’s all kinds of jobs for people in the arts.”

“I’ll bet,” my mom huffed dismissively.

“Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I—“

“Pardon me?” my mom barked.

I tried to calm myself. “Mom, the more I learn about art, the more I see there are jobs out there.”

“If there were so many
art
jobs, what are you doing working at a convenience store?” Mom sniveled.

“I don’t know, Mom, but it’s not like there were a bunch of accounting jobs for undergraduates either. I scoured the job websites and never found a single one for someone who’s only taken two accounting classes.”

Mom was silent.

“She has a point, Linda,” my dad said.

I was shocked into silence again. That was probably the first time in my life my dad had conceded that I wasn’t an idiot.

“I don’t care
what
sort of point she has,” Mom growled, “I’m not happy about this whole art thing. And I don’t care
what
you say, Samantha, it’s this Christos who’s put you up to this. You were never this defiant before he came along. I’m telling you, Bill, this Christos is steering our daughter in all the wrong directions.”

I sighed and wondered if now was the time to tell them that I planned on moving in with Christos, on top of everything else?

Hmmm. Maybe not.

I eyed the END button on my phone.

Maybe I needed to terminate this call before my parents made plans to terminate me.

“That boy has you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he, Sam?” my mom said, her words suddenly dripping with foul judgement.
 

Why did I suddenly feel like guided missiles were pointed at my heart?
 

“I bet you two are having plenty of sex, aren’t you?” she sneered. “Well, I hope you’re using protection.”

I was shocked into silence. Not because we were discussing sex and birth control. That was nothing new. It was the pure hatred pouring out of my mom’s mouth like a fire hose. Or maybe a sewage hose. I never imagined she could be
this
harsh.

“I knew he looked reckless the second I saw him with his leather jacket and his tattoos,” she sneered. “Ever since you met that young man, you’ve turned reckless yourself, Samantha. He’s bringing you down to his level, and he’s going to ruin your life. Mark my words,” she said ominously, “whether it’s two weeks or two months, that Christos character
is going to lose interest in you. He’ll forget your name in no time, and in a few years, he won’t even remember having slept with you. Then where will you be? Huh? Tell me that.”

“He’s not like that,” I argued, suddenly on the verge of crying, “Christos loves me!” I hated that I was shouting like an irrational teenager, but my mom was always good at clawing my heart.

“Sure he does,” Mom snapped venomously, “that’s what they
all
say,”

“All?” my dad asked, confused. “All
who
? Linda, what are you—”

Mom cut Dad off definitively, saying, “I bet your
Christos
is no better than that Damian,” she hissed.

“
You don’t know anything about Christos!!!
” I wailed at the phone.

“I may not know him, Sam,” my mom said confidently, “but I’ve known men
like
him.”

“You have?” my dad asked. “That’s news to me, Linda, I—”

“Shut up, Bill,” my mom barked at him.

Whoa, Mom. I’d never heard her this crazy. She had lost it. “You’re wrong, Mom,” I said through my tears, finding new strength. “Christos asked me to move in with him.”

Mom chuffed out a harsh laugh. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

“What?! No!” I protested.

“
Not yet you aren’t,
” she shouted stridently. “
But you will be! Give it six months, maybe a year, and he’ll knock you up! Then he’ll be gone! Just like that! Make sure you have enough saved up for the abortion!
”

Mom had gone crazy. Why did I think she was talking about herself all of a sudden? That didn’t seem remotely possible. I couldn’t picture my mom getting knocked up without a business plan in place.

Whatever.

All I knew for sure was that I suddenly felt like I was the parent of a tantrum-throwing infant. Oddly, this gave me a measure of confidence I’d never felt with my mom before. Her heightened irrationality allowed me to remain calm. “I’m using birth control, Mom. I’m being responsible.”

“
I knew it!
” she cheered. “
You’re having sex!
”

“So? People have sex all the time. It’s not the end of the world. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, Christos asked me to move into his grandfather’s house.”

“So you’re going to be freeloading?”

“It’s not like that! They’re good people.”

“And we’re not?”

“No, Mom. You don’t understand.” I was getting confused. My mom had pulled herself in and was going for logic. I was on dangerous footing.

“We have supported you your entire life, and you think you can just waltz into some random family and they’ll take care of you like your father and I have?”

I paused to think through my words carefully. I worried I was getting in over my head. But I wasn’t giving up. “Yes.”

“Hah!” my mom blurted. “And pray tell, Sam, why is that?”

“Because Christos loves me,” I reiterated calmly. I knew I was repeating myself, but it was the truth. What more did anyone need to know than that? It was all I needed to know.

Long, loud, laughter erupted from my mom. She went on for at least an entire minute. “You, you think
love
is going to fix everything, Sam? You think this puppy love crush you have on Christos is going to bring world peace? Heal all of mankind’s ills? I’ve got news for you, Sam,
it doesn’t work that way.
Let me put it another way, Sam. Are you listening?”

I refused to answer her.

“Sam, Christos does
NOT
love you—”

I stabbed the END button on my phone.

I’d never hung up on my parents before, but I’d never been this freaked out by them either. I set the phone down on the coffee table and backed away from it, afraid it might attack me. I imagined my parents’ arms reaching out at me through the screen on my phone, trying to choke me from three-thousand miles away.

That was silly. I smiled at my own lunacy.

My apartment was deathly silent and suddenly seemed cavernous. I’d never felt so alone in my entire life, as if their parental support had evaporated over the course of that brief call.

Forever.

When the phone rang, I jumped. It was the ringer for my parents.

Of course they were calling back. They were probably furious. I’d never disobeyed them this blatantly before. I half-expected them to call 911 and have the cops send over a car to round me up and take me downtown for Disobeying a Parent’s Orders.

The phone continued to ring. Each time, the shrill sound stabbed my brain and I had to fight my deeply conditioned urge to answer. It took everything I had not to. The funny thing was, my parents weren’t even in the room, yet I felt nineteen years of parenting compelling me to answer.

My hand reached out…

Who the heck was moving my arm? I was being remote-controlled!

No!

I wouldn’t do it!

Fortunately, my phone went to voicemail after the fourth ring. I heaved a sigh of relief. I felt like I’d narrowly escaped with my life.

I was afraid if they called back a second time, I might answer. Against my will. And if I did that, I feared I might very well cave to their orders. After nineteen years, they had that much power over me, for good or bad.

I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

I wanted to throw up.

I ran to the bathroom and my burrito missiled right out of my stomach.

I needed Christos. He was the only one who could set my heart at ease. After brushing the barf out of my mouth with my toothbrush, I walked into my living room and reached for my phone to call him.

I nearly had a heart attack when it rang in my hands.

CHRISTOS

I sat in my grandfather’s studio, kicked back in an old office chair, a fresh glass of whiskey in one hand, my phone in the other.

I was nicely buzzed.

Maybe a bit drunk.

The thing about being a cocky bastard was that I could
appreciate
I was a cocky bastard. I enjoyed it. I hadn’t always been one. I’d had to earn it.

The proof was in my phone.

I scrolled through dozens of unanswered messages from as many hot women, all of which had come in on my phone in the last twelve hours. By hot, I didn’t mean Nebraska hot. I meant L.A. hot. Hollywood hot. There was a difference.
 

The messages:

Tiffany:
What do I have to do to get you to paint me nude again? If it’s not the money, tell me. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything.

Paisley:
Adonis! When are we going to go blading (and other things) again?

Skylar:
I need you Adonis. It’s been months. Why haven’t you called? Remember Onyx? I’ll never forget it…

I’d forgotten it. Who the hell was Skylar, again?

Mercedes:
I’m in town, Adonis. I’m staying at the Hotel Del until Saturday. My room number is…

Tiffany:
Please, Christos. Anything you want. Do I have to spell it out for you? S-E-X. Oops, I meant, A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G
 
;-)

That one was kind of funny. Tiffany was a clever girl, despite her personality flaws.

Destiny:
I’m having two of my girlfriends over this weekend, Adonis. Do you want to come and party with the three of us? Clothing optional.

There were another twenty or thirty just like these. Yeah, some of them were stripper names, some of whom were actual strippers, but not all. Chicks like that seemed to find me wherever I went.

I thought about the fact that any guy I knew would kill to have their own phone filled up with blatant propositions like mine. The only problem? Those dudes still wouldn’t have been me.
 

Imagine if I found some Maynard on campus, you know the kind with the thick glasses and 4.0 GPA, and gave him my phone? Imagine the look on Mercedes’s face when Maynard knocked on her door at the Hotel Del later tonight.
 

He’d tell her, “Christos sent me.”
 

She’d freak.

I chuckled to myself.
 

Shit, knowing Mercedes, she’d probably quote Maynard a price. Maynard would be the one with the look of utter confusion on his face. But if he had two-hundred bucks cash on him, Mercedes would give him a dance routine that would spin his head around. She was a Vegas Showgirl and knew how to move. I was sorely tempted to track down the closest guy at SDU who fit the Maynard bill, pay the two-hundred myself, and give him a show from Mercedes he’d never forget.

I was nothing if not generous.

Anyway, now that Samantha was in my life, I could chuckle at the fact that I used to be “that guy,” the one who, three months after becoming exclusive with Samantha, was still getting dozens of requests from hotties who wanted more of my patented cock-doctoring. Hey, it wasn’t my fault those girls were all sick for me.

I had every right to be a cocky bastard.

Without giving it a second thought, I punched buttons on my phone and deleted all of the messages.
 

That Maynard guy was on his own.

I called Samantha.

“Christos!” she answered.

The biggest, most genuine grin I’d ever grinned widened across my lips. “I missed you,
agápi mou.
” I sounded only slightly slurry from drinking.

Who needed cocky when you had Samantha? Thank fucking Christ, because I was sick of all that posing that led to having a phone filled with meaningless messages from meaningless women.

“Christos!” she sobbed. “I need you to come over right now! Please!”

The sound of her panic got me freaking out in a heartbeat. “Are you okay? Samantha! Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
 

“My parents…”

“What? Are they okay? Did they get in an accident? Samantha, what’s wrong? Talk to me?”

“They’re evil…” she sobbed.

Shit. That wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ll be right over,” I said quietly.

I ran outside and hopped in my Camaro. I stuck to the speed limit and came to a full stop at all STOP signs. I knew I was on the edge of legal to be driving and didn’t need a fucking DUI.

Fifteen minutes later, I was running up the stairs at Sam’s apartment. I knocked on the door and she opened it quietly.