“Thanks, Mads.” I went and filled up salsa containers for both of us. I’d grown increasingly accustomed to hot sauce, and couldn’t seem to get enough. Plus, extra hot sauce was free, unlike extra guacamole. Sigh.
We took our trays outside to eat. It actually started to sprinkle, so we found an inside table.
“So, how’s the new major coming along?” Madison asked.
“Other than my sculpting professor hates my ass, and my looming financial ruin, I couldn’t be happier.”
“Do you want to move in with me?” she asked seriously.
“Is one of your roommates moving out?”
“No, but I have a big room. We could share.”
I smiled at her, almost in disbelief. I couldn’t get over how supportive she was. I’d never had friends like Madison in high school. I didn’t realize friends could be so generous. My eyes watered, but I did my best to keep my tears to myself.
“What about Jake?” I asked, trying to hide behind my napkin. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“Oh,” Madison groaned, “my cramps have been cramping my style since Wednesday.” She folded over and clutched her belly. “I’ve been having a bad case of the Monthlies all day today.”
“See,” I giggle-sniffed, “you don’t need me adding more blockage to your hoo-ha than you’ve already got.”
She shook her head. “I’m serious, Sam. If it becomes a problem, and you need a place, you’re welcome to my apartment. Jake and I can always go to his house.”
“Wow, Mads, I totally appreciate it. Based on the way my job search has been going, you may have more than one monthly visitor in February.” I hoped my joking would disguise my imminent tears of gratitude.
“As long as you don’t make my cramps any worse, I will consider it a blessing,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m going to give birth to a tampon baby.” She grunted. “I think it’s going to be a redhead.”
Grimacing, I set the remaining half of my fish taco on my plate. “Well, I’m done eating.”
Madison cackled with laughter, “Sorry!”
SAMANTHA
Christos and I had dinner on Sunday night, but that was it. Groan. Had my predictions been right all along? Was he going to always be too busy with his burgeoning career to find time for a relationship with me? I hoped I was wrong.
On Monday, I went to the campus art museum after History class to report for my first day of work.
Mr. Selfridge turned out to be totally cool. He showed me how to operate the cash register and explained the ground rules. This job was going to be cake.
“We don’t get a lot of traffic during the week,” he said, “mainly art students like yourself. They come in to study the paintings and sculpture, and they get in free with a valid Student ID. But you do have to punch them in.” He showed me how on the cashier’s computer. “When it’s slow, feel free to do your homework behind the counter. Just make sure that you set your work aside for any customers.”
“Got it,” I smiled.
“Well, that about covers it. I’m going back to my office. If you need anything, ring my phone. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Mr. Selfridge,” I smiled as he walked back into the museum.
The museum didn’t have a gift shop, but there were a number of books behind the counter for sale. Since no one was coming in, I perused the shelves. One of the books was ‘Retrospective: A life outdoors, the art of Spiridon Manos.’ I picked it up and flipped through it. So much beautiful work. I’d seen a few of these paintings in Spiridon’s home, but most were new to me. He was truly an amazing landscape painter. I flipped to the back of the book and saw that most of his paintings were on display in major museums around the country, even a number in Europe. Wow, Spiridon was a total art rockstar.
And his grandson was on the way to being one too.
Over the next several hours, three people came into the museum. All of them were art students, two I recognized from Life Drawing and Oil Painting class.
This job was super easy, which was perfect because I had homework to catch up on.
During a lull, I texted Christos.
Thinking about you. <3
I hoped for an instant reply. Nope. It took about ten minutes before he texted, I’m always thinking about you, agápi mou. Miss you.
I replied, I miss you more ;-) What are you doing right now?
I didn’t receive a response. Sigh.
I opened up my Sociology reading and did my best to read through the assignments I’d fallen behind on. I kept checking my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed an incoming text. After half an hour with no response, I made sure my alert volume hadn’t somehow been turned off, or that my battery hadn’t died, or that aliens or hackers hadn’t hijacked my phone and changed my phone number.
Nope, everything was fine.
Except Christos was too busy to text me back. Should that have bothered me? I don’t know, but it did. Was I being too needy?
Eye roll.
When it came to being needy, what was the official demarcation between “too” and “the right amount” of needy?
Groan. I didn’t want to be the pathetic desperate girl who clung to her boyfriend’s knees everywhere they went.
Maybe I needed to conduct a poll and figure out a hard number regarding appropriate levels of neediness. Whatever that number turned out to be, I was pretty sure with all of my time apart from Christos, I fell on “the right amount” side of the needy line.
My phone bleeped.
Christos: Sorry, agápi mou. In the middle of things. Ran out of painting medium, had to run to art store. Miss you love you need you. :^*
I sighed contently. Not because I was “too” needy and needed to hear from my boyfriend right at that moment to set me at ease, because I had already established that in all likelihood I fell into “the right amount” category when it came to neediness at all times; no, my contented sigh was appropriate for any woman with the “right amount” of neediness. Because I knew it was “right” that I should be pleased to receive such a text from my boyfriend.
Telling me he needed me.
I wasn’t needy at all.
Nope.
I was normal.
I texted Christos back, I miss you too, my love. Can’t wait to see you tonight! <3 <3 <3
Was three text-hearts too needy? No. Four text-hears would definitely have been too needy, but I’d only used three, so I was good.
Too bad I ended up alone in my apartment that night and fell asleep cuddling my history textbook because Christos had too much work to do and told me it was best I not come over.
Was I disappointed? Of course.
Was I being “too” needy?
NO!!
It was “the right amount.”
No more, no less.
Sigh.
SAMANTHA
On Saturday morning, a knock at my front door woke me up from my lonely bed. I dragged myself out from under my snuggly covers and trudged to the living room. Wow, my week must have been harder than I’d thought! I needed coffee badly.
I opened the door.
Christos held up a big cup of coffee for me. “Morning, sunshine!”
“Christos!” I was so glad to see him. It seemed like forever since we’d been together.
“I thought you could use some TLC this weekend, agápi mou.” He leaned in and kissed me before walking inside my apartment. “Venti Americano, half coffee, half half-and-half, right?”
“Perfect,” I smiled, taking the cup in both hands and inhaling the wonderful aroma before sipping some.
“I brought appetizers,” he said, holding up a bag of apple fritters. It turned out, Christos had known all about Thai Doughnut and their awesome apple fritters long before I did. “I also brought breakfast,” he said, holding up a bag from the grocery store.
I grabbed a plate from the kitchen and set one of the apple fritters on it. Christos and I pulled pieces off and nibbled on th
em while we sat at my little round dining room table and sipped our coffees.
“You ready for an omelet?” he asked.
“Sure!”
“Okay, you sit, and I’ll cook.” Christos went about dicing onions, tomatoes, and mushrooms, chopping up a bell pepper, and heating up some butter in one of my skillets on the stove. He cracked eggs into the pan and put some bread in the toaster. When the eggs were solidified into a spongy yellow disc, he sprinkled cheese and vegetables on top, then folded it over before serving it up with buttered toast and strawberry jam.
“Wow, Christos. You cook better than I do. You got everything ready all at the same time. That’s an art form.”
“Practice,” he smiled as he set the plate in front of me. “Dig in, before it gets cold.” He poured me a glass of orange juice, then he cooked an omelet for himself.
“Are you going to make yours with a dozen eggs? Like at The Broken Yolk?”
He smirked. “No, I’m good with six today.”
“What’s the plan for our mentor date?” I asked.
“You want to hit up the library? Show the kids your newfound crayon skills?”
“Oh yeah, Crayons with Christos!” I smiled.
He smiled back. “Why didn’t I think of calling it that? It was ‘Drawing with Christos,’ but I like your name better.” He held his hands up and spread them apart, like he was picturing a huge sign, the kind with the changeable movie-theater marquee letters. “We should call it ‘Crayons with Christos and World-Renowned Master Crayon Artist Samantha Smith’.”
“Would it be up in lights?” I pondered. “Our sign, I mean?”
“Totally. Like forty feet tall and two hundred feet wide. Right over the library. You’d be able to see your name from space.”
I giggled at the thought.
“Don’t laugh, you’re going to be famous one day.”
“You’re going to be famous,” I parried.
“Don’t doubt yourself, Samantha. In twenty years, people will be calling me Mr. Samantha Smith.”
My brows knit together while I smiled. “Wait, what? That was like a hundred things all rolled into one.”
“I was suggesting that as your skills develop and you make a name for yourself, people will forgot about my work, and I’ll just be along for the ride while your career goes into outer-space.”
“That’s crazy,” I said dismissively.
Christos poured himself a large glass of OJ and took several swallows. “Not at all,” he said, grinning wide. “You have the raw talent, which you’re going to develop in the coming years. Then you’re going to take over the art world like wildfire. Everyone will want to buy your work. By then, I’ll have retired because we’ll be able to live off your earnings alone. I’ll be kicking back at home playing Mr. Mom while you’re busy schmoozing with clients and creating masterworks in oil on canvas. Or, who knows, maybe you’ll revolutionize the art world by resurrecting the medium of crayon. Anyway, my job will be to make sure our house is clean, diapers are changed, and dinner is waiting for you every night when you get home from being famous. You’ll walk in the door and our kids will dog pile all over you while I kiss you on the cheek and ask you how your day was.”
I smiled, picturing it. “That sounds pretty good. Will you be wearing an apron?” I sipped on my orange juice.
“Well, before the kids are born, I will only be wearing an apron when you come home. You know where that kind of behavior will get us…at least three kids. After they come along, I’ll be wearing daddy clothes with spit-up on them, and the apron.”
I was really getting into this fantasy of his!
“After we spend each evening playing with the kids and put them down for the night, we’ll sit on the couch together and I’ll give you neck, back, and foot rubs until you fall asleep. Will that work for you?”
“What if I miss you and the kids?” I asked. “I mean, maybe I don’t want to be gone all the time.”
“No problem. You can work in your home studio, sort of like I do now at my grandpa’s house. While you’re painting away, I’ll be home-schooling the kids, either in the next room, or in the studio. Me and the kids’ll be around as much as you desire,” he grinned. “However you want it, agápi mou, we’ll make it happen. We can build the perfect life together.”
I smiled. I was about to open my mouth when sudden panic lanced through my belly. He was practically proposing marriage to me, living together, having kids, everything. It all seemed so perfect. But would it be perfect? Would it really happen like that? If it did, OMG, I couldn’t imagine a better life.
Christos sat down at the table with his own giant omelet and toast. He gazed into my eyes with his impossible blues, casting a spell of love and fulfillment I’d never known before.
In moments like this, Christos’ eyes made me believe that the impossible came true for him every day. And today, he was sweeping me into his fantasy life with him.
Was it possible that the impossible fantasy Christos was proposing would come true for me too? I dove into his gaze and let the magical feeling of certain joyful bliss fill me up.
Life with Christos. A family and a successful art career with the most amazingly beautiful, thoughtful, kind man in the world. I shivered thinking about it, barely conscious of my breakfast as I indulged in our loving daydream.
After finishing our food, we drove to the library for Crayons with Christos and World-Renowned Master Crayon Artist Samantha Smith. Christos must have called it that twenty times on the way over. I was starting to like it quite a bit.
Mrs. Elders greeted us when we walked through the main doors. “Good morning, Christos! You too, Samantha! What a pleasure to see you both. Some of the kids have been asking about you two since Christmas.”
“Hey, Mrs. Elders,” Christos said, hugging her. “I missed you, too.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Elders said, patting his back. To me, she said, “Isn’t Christos such a nice boy?”
“The nicest,” I said.
“Well, the children are waiting for you,” Mrs. Elders smiled.
Christos and I walked into the room where the kids waited. As always, they erupted with excitement when they saw us.
Some of them chorused, “Christos!” while others hollered, “Samantha!”
Christos winked at me. “See, you’re already famous.”
One of the little girls, named Abby, ran up to both of us in a frilly pink dress. “Did you go on a honeymoon together?”
I knelt down beside her, smiling. “What do you mean, Abby?”
“When I didn’t see you and Christos since forever, I told my mommy you got married. She said when a daddy and a mommy got married, they go on a honeymoon.”
I smiled at her while thinking about everything that had happened since my trip to D.C. with Christos. Despite both our crazy schedules and all the ups and downs, the last several weeks of my life had felt like a honeymoon to me. Especially when I compared them to the last few years of my life.
Bitch. Slut. Whore…
Emo. Goth. Suicide Watch…
Yeah, compared to my past, my present was most definitely a paradise. I repressed a shudder and closed the lid on my old demons before they could pull any tears from my eyes today. As much as I wanted to sweep away my past forever, it still haunted me.
Looking into Abby’s beaming, joyful eyes made it easy to focus on the present. I smiled my biggest smile at her, “That’s so sweet, Abby,” I sniffed, “but Christos and I aren’t married.”
“Why not?” she asked innocently.
I looked up at Christos, surprised by the huge grin on his face. My eyes were watering.
“That’s a good question, Abby” he smiled.
Gulp.
I totally needed a tissue.
“All right!” Christos bellowed to the roomful of kids. “Who wants to draw today?!”
“We do!!!” the kids chorused.
Oh well. Tissues later, kids and crayons now!
SAMANTHA<
br />
The drawing lesson with the kids was a blast. Afterward, we said goodbye to the children and walked outside.
“That was so much fun!” I said. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed those kids.”
“Yeah,” Christos smiled, “I never get tired of them.”
“So, what’s next?”
Christos suddenly looked nervous, and ran his hand through his hair. I think this was the first time I’d ever seen Christos nervous. “Would you be bummed if I had to work today?”
Of course I would be, but I didn’t want to say it and sound like a complaining baby. So I half-smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
“I really have a lot to do at the studio today,” he said regretfully. “I’ve got a model coming in half an hour.”
“Oh.” I think my disappointment bled through into my voice. I couldn’t help it. I knew what “a model” meant. It meant a nude woman sitting in front of Christos while he stared at her for hours. I wanted to be the only nude woman he ever stared at. But I knew he couldn’t make a career out of painting portraits of me in the nude, over and over again. Who would buy them? Probably no one. Lame.
Besides, I didn’t want to be painted in the nude anyway. It would almost be like I was getting lumped into the same category as all his other trophy nudes. I felt special because he had not painted me nude. Best to keep it that way.
“Agápi mou, I know last year we had mentor dates every Saturday, but with all the work coming in from Brandon, I don’t think I can swing it today. Maybe next weekend? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
I sighed. We hadn’t seen much of each other since classes had started. All I wanted to do was spend the day with Christos, but we both had lives and commitments to attend to. I really was determined not to be “too” needy. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “I really need to look for a job today anyway.”
“That’s right,” he said, sounding relieved.
I hoped not too relieved. Stupid nude models.
“I wish I could help with the job search,” he said with genuine regret, “but I don’t have time.”
“It’s fine,” I said, wishing he could too, but I knew his work was important right now. Just like my job search. It had to get done. Meh. “At least Romeo is coming with me.”
Reckless Page 22
