“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
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?”