“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 ;-)