“Sure you could.”
“No, Christos.” I dropped into the driver’s seat.
He squatted down beside the open door and smiled at me with his comforting blue eyes.
Why was I panicking? The man I was desperately in love with was asking me to live with him. Wasn’t I supposed to be excited and thrilled instead of scared? Maybe if he’d asked five months from now.
“Why not?” he asked, his brows tight.
Despite all the things Christos and I had been through together, it just seemed too soon.
To say that my life had become a whirlwind of change, both good and bad, was the understatement of my short life. I don’t think I’d experienced so much dramatic change so quickly ever before.
Why was Christos’ offer making me so nervous?
For one thing, I imagined there’d need to be some kind of Manos family conference where everyone sat around in a meeting hall voting on whether or not the family could withstand the terrible impact of me moving into their house.
At least, that’s what I imagined would happen if I asked my parents to let Christos move into their house. Not that I’d ever subject Christos to such a horrid punishment.
Maybe the other thing that bothered me was that if I’d ever entertained thoughts about living with Christos, it was picturing him in my little one bedroom apartment. A romantic little place for a romantic little couple making their way in the world together.
But that wasn’t reality.
Reality was the Manos Mansion and Christos’ family having buckets of money to throw around, and they were already pouring some onto my head. Sure, taking a cash bath under a shower of Benjamin Franklins had a certain appeal. But, I don’t know, I somehow felt indebted just thinking about it. And look where that had gotten me with my parents.
They’d hung me out to dry while the family greenbacks evaporated under the heat of their ultimatums. I think my long face betrayed my sadness and sense of parental abandonment to Christos.
“Look, Samantha,” Christos soothed, “my grandfather has plenty of room. He’s always talking about how the house is too big for just me and him.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose.” It sounded like a weak excuse.
“You saw him in there. He loves you, Samantha. He’s basically calling you his daughter. How much more of an invitation do you need?”
I couldn’t deny his logic. But it felt wrong. It felt scary. The question for me was whether I was scared for a good reason, or scared simply because this was all so new and overwhelming. Was it possible that unconditional love could make a person nervous? Probably. It was doing it to me. I’d never felt it so strongly since meeting Christos, and now I was getting it from his grandfather. I mean, both of them had set up that studio space for me.
For me.
I was freaking out.
My heart jackrabbited into my throat.
I needed to get out of there before I had a heart attack.
“I’m sorry, Christos,” my voice quivered. “I really need to go. I need some time to think about all this.”
“Take all the time you need, agápi mou,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You still have the key to the house, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see it.”
Did he want it back? I panicked, despite my confusion and reluctance. Giving it to him would either be a relief or the biggest disappointment of my life. I fished it from the pocket of my jeans and handed it to him with a shaky hand.
He took it and also took my key ring from my hand. Then he worked the Manos house key around my key ring. “For safe keeping,” he said. “I love you, Samantha. Whatever you decide, whenever you decide it, will be perfect. I will wait as long as you need me to.” He cracked a dimpled grin. “Besides, you live so close, we’re practically next door neighbors.”
He handed my keys back to me.
“Okay,” I said randomly. I twisted my car key in the ignition and started my VW. The engine purred to life. “I should go.”
He leaned into the car and kissed me softly on the forehead.
“You sure you don’t want me to come over and help you look for a job at your apartment?”
“I—”
“Or, we could go to a coffee shop someplace close, for a change of scenery. They’ll have wi-fi.”
I winced. “I don’t know, I just, I—”
He stroked my cheek lovingly. “Samantha, remember. You have options. You don’t need to stress about getting a second job. One is plenty. You have a ton of work ahead of you with all your classes. You shouldn’t spend half your waking hours working in a convenience store or an office supply store, or whatever, when you shouldn’t have to. You should be focusing on your studies more than anything else.”
“I know, but—”
He held a finger to my lips. “It’s okay,” he nodded reassuringly, then stroked my chin with his thumb. “I totally get it. Go home, relax, do what you need to do.” He smiled at me confidently and stood up. “Drive safe.”
I gave him a wave and he closed my door.
I drove home and pulled out my laptop. I searched the job websites with fresh confidence.
Knowing I had some kind of a safety net had filled me with renewed vigor, but I wanted to do this on my own. I needed to prove to myself, and to my parents, that I could handle all my classes and studies, and find a decent part-time job that would allow me to pay all my bills myself, all while maintaining a relationship with the most wonderful man in the world.
Things were going to be great. I was going to show my parents what I could do when I put my mind to it.
I shook my head and laughed to myself.
I mean, seriously, what were the chances I’d be stuck working the late shift at a fast-food joint or some crappy convenience store?
I was totally going to find an awesome job.
Chapter 18
SAMANTHA
Ten days later, I stood behind the counter of the local Grab-n-Dash, an all night convenience store. It was still early in the afternoon, but I was already zombie-tired and had raccoon circles around my eyes.
When the manager had hired me, he’d said I couldn’t work the late shift because it was too dangerous. So he gave me the afternoon shift.
Nothing like two jobs and four classes and tons of homework to tire a girl out.
The neon-urine colored uniform shirt with the Grab-n-Dash logo I had to wear was a nightmare unto itself. Made from some sort of material that only bunched and wrinkled, it made me look like a Chinese paper lantern, or the person with the lowest score on Project Runway’s alternative materials challenge.
So not flattering.
Worse, the shirt trapped odors like a sponge, and I had to hand-wash it in my kitchen sink every night after work or else it smelled like grilled hot dogs.
My manager said the bright color was exciting for the customers. Yeah, maybe if it triggered seizures. I’m telling you, looking at it too long made your eyes vibrate. Beyond that, I couldn’t see what was so exciting about it.
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention the equally glowing Grab-n-Dash baseball cap. My pony tail stuck out the opening in the back.
Super sexy.
But hey, I was getting paid nine bucks an hour to whore out the Grab-n-Dash mantra to everyone who walked through the doors.
“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?”
I had to say it every damn time.
Wasn’t the blinding yellow shirt and cap enough?
My customers were teenagers off from school during the first half of my shift, and people coming home from work during the second.
The school kids always stared at me. I was never entirely sure why. One of them, who couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, talked like a cross between rappers 50 Cent and Eminem. I dubbed him Eminickle, because he was about a tenth the size of 50 Cent. Eminickle asked me out every time he came in. Flattered, but no. He hadn’t even hit puberty, from wha
t I could tell.
The working stiffs were either angry and clearly irritated after a long day of work, or exhausted and mellow because they were too tired to care.
All were jonesing for sugary snacks, cigarettes, energy drinks, lottery tickets, or beer. The high school kids wanted beer and cigarettes too, but they were S.O.L.
I totally felt their pain. I suspected working at the Grab-n-Dash would inevitably turn me into a chain smoker or closet drunk. Maybe my parents were onto something by making me get a crappy job.
I hated them.
:-P
When the shop was slow, things were no better. Like now. Grab-n-Dash was a wasteland. Devoid of all activity. I stared at the clock hanging on the far wall.
The second hand seemed frozen.
I waited for it to tick. Was it stuck? I didn’t remember it being stuck. It had worked earlier. Come on, move, stupid second hand! I stared at it as hard as I could. It wasn’t going anywhere. I kept staring. One of us was going to blink sooner or later.
MOVE!
Nothing.
MOOOOOOOOOVE!!!!
Click.
Finally! What took you so damn long?
Okay, one second down. How many more to go? I did a quick mental approximation. My dad was right. My math skills were always handy. Twenty thousand? I wasn’t going to make it to the end of my shift at this rate.
Amongst sundry automotive items like motor oil, wiper blades, and air fresheners, we also sold radiator fluid. You know, antifreeze. Customers actually bought it now and then. I’d heard it was sweet, and dogs would drink it, not realizing it was lethally poisonous, and it killed you slowly and painfully.
I considered pouring myself a glass.
Mmmm.
So neon green. I bet it would match my shirt and cap.
Groan.
I stared at the ICEE machines. They hummed hypnotically, always tempting me to nap while standing up. They weren’t helping my focus. But I refused to fall under their sleepy spell. That didn’t stop me from thinking about their cool sugary treasure waiting to tickle my tongue.
I’d always wanted to do that thing where you stuck your head under the spigot and filled your mouth until you got brain freeze.
I glanced from side to side. The store was empty.
Now would be a good time to try.
As I walked out from behind the counter to give it a try, the front door’s alarm-bell bing-bonged as a new customer walked inside.
I skulked back to my post at the register. My ICEE high would have to wait.
In the past, I’d thought the sound of those bing-bong bells was kind of cute. I remember, whenever I’d walk through the doors in some random store and heard that bing-bong, I’d go back-and-forth a bunch of times, just to hear the sound. The cheery bell sounded cartoony and funny to me. I’d never understood why store clerks always glared at me when I did it.
Now I did.
I hated that fucking bell.
During peak hours, it went off every two seconds. Recently, I’d started hearing it in my sleep.
I focused on my new customer, who was still nothing more than a silhouette in the blinding afternoon sunlight coming through the front windows.
I couldn’t make out any details yet.
On my first day of work, I’d felt ethically obligated to warn my boss that the name Grab-n-Dash was basically an invitation to shoplift. He utterly denied it.
Since that day, I knew for a fact that at least ten candy bars, seven bottles of water, and a bottle of aspirin had been stolen. Did I catch the snack burglars? No. My manager told me about it at the end of my first week.
I encouraged him to change the name of the store.
He said no.
I had shrugged.
He had jabbed his finger in my face, almost jamming it up my nostril. “No more shoplifters, young lady!” He had very bushy eyebrows.
I had almost laughed, because of his eyebrows, but I wanted to keep my job. Because I totally loved it.
Sigh.
Anyway, now I was hawk-eyed for shoplifters.
Everyone who came in was a candidate for Crook of the Week.
As the new customer ventured further into the store, I could finally make him out. He was a disheveled homeless man, grimy from head to toe. He moved so slowly, I didn’t think he’d try to nab anything while I was watching. But I was going to need to mop up after he left. Ew.
He shuffled through the aisles, literally walking up and down each one. Twice. He was doing laps, almost like a rat in a maze. That’s how I felt when I was here.
The man continued to wander aimlessly.
Was he lost?
I hoped not, otherwise I was afraid I’d have to call an exterminator.
Thankfully, he eventually made it to the refrigerators in back. He grabbed a twelve-pack of beer. Would it be his lunch, because he was a late riser, or an early dinner? It didn’t matter to me. More power to him.
He shuffled up to the register.
“Welcome to Grab-n-Dash. How can I brighten your day?” Yeah, I had to say it to everyone.
He grunted.
Whatever.
I was supposed to card anyone who looked under the age of sixty. I’m pretty sure this guy was over a hundred.
I rang up his twelver of Budweiser.
“$6.99, please,” I beamed.
The guy was squinting at me. They all did. It was the shirt. It had no brightness control. Deal with it.
The man reached into his pants, and I mean, into his pants, like, right down the front, into his cash drawer, if you know what I’m saying.
He pulled out a greasy wad of bills. Like, literally greasy. Dark, stained like they’d been buried in a deposit of petroleum under the earth’s crust for at least a billion years, the same amount of time the bills must have spent in this man’s crusty pants.
He tore off a small wad and dropped it on the counter.
Um, no?
I really needed one of those radiation-proof containment-boxes you see in TV shows, the ones with the windows where you stick your arms inside the rubber gloves attached to the sides? Yeah, those. Maybe I could ask my manager to build one around the Grab-n-Dash cash counter? Or not.
I eyed the black wad on the counter with some measure of revulsion. By some measure, I meant a number higher than modern mathematics has yet been able to count.
Was it even money? Did I have to find out?
I wondered if I could just pick it up with the hot dog tongs and drop it in the register? I would totally throw the tongs away after using them instead of hanging them back on the side of the hot-dog griller. I wasn’t gross. But I suspected my manager would freak out if he found the tongs in the garbage. I didn’t need him yelling at me and adding more stress to my life.
I needed another solution.
I looked between the man, his dirty money, the man, his dirty money.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch the blackened ball.
“I need change,” he rasped.
I was ready to sob.
Then, genius struck.
I grabbed my purse from under the counter and pulled out my own comparatively immaculate cash. “You know what?! Today is your lucky day!!”
He blinked.
“Your beer is free!!!!” I sang.
“Did I win something?” he grunted doubtfully.
“No! I’m paying for it!” I smiled as widely as possible, until my cheeks hurt. I’m pretty sure what I was doing was illegal, since it was beer. Fuck it. My generosity was above the law. I was the Robin Hood of beer, and this man would pay for beer over my dead body.
“Oh, I can’t take your money, young lady,” he rasped, then nudged the wad toward me with his grimy hands. The ball of bills tumbled toward me, almost toppling over the edge of the counter.
I winced, thinking I would have to pick it up. I reminded myself I still had those hot-dog tongs in case of emergency.
“I can pay,” he rasped.
; “Oh, uh, I meant, YOU’RE THE WINNER!!!”
“Huh?” he was confused.
“You’re the, uh, millionth customer today! And every millionth customer gets a free twelve pack of Budweiser!” I’m sure I sounded as sane as Charles Manson at that point.
“Really,” he smiled. “You don’t say?”
“I do say, I really do!” I grit my teeth into the biggest smile I could. “Take it!”
“Thank you, young lady.” He picked up the twelve-pack.
Was he going to take the money? I think it was burning a hole into the countertop. Because it was radioactive. “Your money, sir? You don’t want to forget your money!” Please don’t forget your money!!!
He smiled at me, revealing one tooth. “Thank you, young lady. You’re a peach. You really are.”
“You’re welcome!!” I grimaced.
He set the twelve-pack down, scooped up the wad, pulled the waistband of his dirty cash drawer open, and dropped his wad inside. I know, it was as wrong as it sounded.
The poor man shambled outside.
Toward the end of my shift, the busy after-work crowd had thinned to nothing. I eyed the ICEE machine.
I really needed a brain freeze, otherwise my brain was going to instruct me to drink that antifreeze before the end of my shift. Again, I checked that the coast was clear. I tiptoed over to the ICEE dispenser. Not that anyone would’ve heard me.
I leaned my head under it. It was sort of awkward, but I was determined to get my mouth beneath the spout without wrapping my lips around it. Blue-raspberry, here I come. I was going to drown myself in it and brain freeze away my boredom.
I grabbed the lever with my hand and—
“Sam, what are you doing?!” Romeo laughed.
I twisted around and managed to bang my forehead against the spigot. “Ow!!”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my forehead.
“Shouldn’t you use a cup?” he smiled.
“Uh…we have to pay for them.”
“You don’t get free ICEEs?”
“No.”
“Your boss is a miser.”
“He has bushy eyebrows,” I said. “Didn’t Scrooge have bushy eyebrows? I think the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future visited me today.”
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