He was so fucking proud of his accounting.

He continued, “In the same way that Spiridon has given Christos a head start, I’d like to think that your mother and I have given you a head start in business. You are well suited for a career in Accounting. You will excel and make good money while you’re at it.”

Something about my dad’s logic infuriated me beyond belief. I’d been hearing it all my life. He was always missing the point. I was so angry, I think the heat of my irritation melted those red glass shards in my feet and they melded back together. Now my heart was pumping red hot resolve through my entire body.

“You don’t get it, Dad,” I said. “I never wanted to be an accountant. Don’t you see that? You don’t, do you? You and Mom have never been able to see what I wanted out of life. You just dumped all your ideas on me like I’d automatically love them. Like I was a junior version of you two. But I’m not. I’m a different person. I don’t want what you want out of life. I have my own dreams, my own ideas. I’m going to live life my way. Not yours.”

“Then don’t expect any more money from us,” my mom laughed.

“I told you before,” I said stridently, “I don’t want your money. I don’t need your money. I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Even if you manage to sell some paintings,” my dad said, “how much do you really think you’ll earn over a lifetime? You told me yourself that Christos has made over six figures already. How much have you made selling your art, Sam?”

“I DON’T CARE!” I shouted. “I don’t care if I never make ANY money! It’s not about the money! I HATE accounting! I want to do something I enjoy. Maybe you guys like what you do, but the idea of going to the office every day makes me sick. I can’t live like you, and I don’t care how much money I do or don’t make!”

My mom chuckled sarcastically, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sam.”

“Sam,” my dad pleaded, “Art isn’t a wise career path. I’m doing my very best as your father to show you that. Can’t you see where I’m coming from?”

“Shut up, Bill,” Mom snapped at him. “You’re giving into her and I won’t have it.” She stood up and glared at me. “I don’t care what you think. We should never have let you choose San Diego in the first place. But I let your father talk me out of making you go to American University. If you’d gone there, you could’ve lived at home and we wouldn’t be in this mess. You wouldn’t be shacking up with some two-bit tough like this Christos Manos and his hippie grandfather.”

“They’re not hippies,” I insisted.

She took a menacing step toward me. Her eyes narrowed viciously. “I don’t care what they are. They’re a bad influence on you. They’re turning you into a rebellious little bitch, and I’m tired of it. I won’t have you throw your life away because Christos and his muscles get your panties hot.”

I felt hate pouring off of her in waves.

I almost crumbled at that moment. I almost made a comment about how my mom was trying to debase my love for Christos, like that was a bad thing. But that would’ve been going on the defensive.

I was tired of my mom’s rants. I was going on the offensive.

I was going to attack.

For once in my life, I was going to show my parents how much fight I had in me.

* * *

“You’re just jealous, Mom!” I growled. “You see that I’m living a life that isn’t boring and bland! You see that I have a romantic boyfriend who loves me with all his heart. And for the first time in my life, I’m happy.” I narrowed my eyes accusatorially, “And you can’t stand it,” I hissed knowingly. “You want me to be as miserable as you are.” I suddenly realized the implications of what I was saying, that I was comparing my dad with Christos. And it was pretty obvious who won that contest.

My dad, who wasn’t a complete idiot, frowned thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with a long sigh.

“Don’t start pointing fingers, Sam,” Mom growled. “This isn’t about your father and I. It’s about you and how you’ve become an ungrateful, spoiled little child.”

I laughed in her face. “Don’t you get it? I’m not a child! And I’m not spoiled! I have a job! I’m paying my own way! You! Aren’t! Paying! For! ANYTHING!!! Why are you even here? Why did you have to come to San Diego in the first place?”

My mom’s brows knit together and her lips pulled back in a terrible smile.

Dad’s head hung between his shoulders where he sat on the couch. He looked up at me, his face weighed down. “Sam, your mother and I think it’s time for you to come home.”

I was stunned and confused. “What?”

“You’ve made it clear that this entire San Diego University outing was a grave mistake,” Mom said confidently. “You’ve had your fun with your boyfriend. I have no doubt he’s screwed your brains right out of your ears. It’s the only possible explanation for your terrible decision making over the last several months.”

Wow, my mom was offensive beyond belief today. The thing that made it worse was that she acted like it was no big deal for her to talk to me this way, like Christos was a worthless nobody who didn’t matter. She had no idea how important he was to me. How he had changed my life for the better. She was so out of touch.

She continued, “Now it’s time for you to leave that boy behind and get serious about college.”

“I’m not leaving Christos! You’re crazy!”

“I am not crazy,” she said. “Christos is a distraction. You’ll be better off without him.”

My heart ping-ponged in my chest for the fortieth time in the last ten minutes. I wasn’t surprised that my parents were trying to ruin my life. It was how they did things.

“Your father and I have already looked into it,” she continued, “you can transfer your credits from SDU to American University and start there in the fall.”

I wanted to launch into a tirade and tell her how awful her idea was. But if I did, I knew I’d lose this argument. I had to stay strong. I took a long, deep breath. Then everything fell into place. I wasn’t a child anymore. I didn’t need to let my parents control me. I had a choice. And I was going to make it. Smirking, I said, “I’m not going to American.”

“You are,” Mom said with certainty, “and that’s final.”

I think she’d missed the calm resolve in my voice. “You can’t tell me what to do,” I said firmly. “I’m nineteen.”

“Oh, we can’t, can we?” Mom said archly. “And how do you plan on paying your tuition in the future?”

“With the loan money I’m already getting and the job I have,” I said defiantly.

“Oh, is that so? Are you forgetting that your father and I have to sign your loan application each academic year for you to renew the loan?”

Oh, shit. My mom had headed me off at the pass.

I was screwed.

* * *

CHRISTOS


Blood red salsa blurted out of the squeezable red plastic container and drenched my carne asada burrito.

“You sure you got enough hot sauce?” my grandad asked sarcastically.

I chuckled. “You know I like it hot. This is just for the first bite.”

He smiled and took a bite of one of his chicken tacos, which had only a light drizzling of hot sauce.

We sat at a table outside the Roberto’s on the Pacific Coast Highway overlooking the San Elijo lagoon, having dinner. It had been my suggestion we go out and give Samantha and her parents some space to talk. I think Samantha had made sure she was never alone with them the whole week on purpose.

“Are you worried about Samoula?” my grandad asked.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“It’s good we left them alone. Her parents probably want to talk to her. I can’t blame them. She is their daughter, after all.”

I sipped on my Jamaica tea. “Do you think they’re arguing right now?” I asked.

My grandad chewed then swallowed. He chased it with a gulp from his big cup of horchata. “Probably.”

Man, I wish I’d brought a flask so I could spike my Jamaica with some vodka or whatever went with hibiscus tea. The odd thing was, I’d cut back on my drinking more and more since Samantha’s parents had arrived. I’d wanted to spend Spring Break with Samantha so she didn’t have to endure an entire week alone with them. It had been so easy to forget about Brandon and my gallery show. As those pressures had faded from my awareness, the urge to drink had faded with them.

But now that Spring Break was coming to a close, I could feel all those old obligations ready to nip at my heels. I was itching for a drink. But the real reason I wanted to get bombed was because I was scared shitless about what I’d find when I got back to the house tonight.

I took a bite of my burrito and chewed thoughtfully. When I was finished, I said, “I’ve been waiting for her parents to go off on her all week. If you’d heard them on the phone when Samantha told them she wanted to move in with me, you’d be pissing your pants right now like I am. They were totally irate and made all kinds of threats about what they would do if she moved in with us. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get back to the house and she’s gone. Probably cuffed and gagged and thrown into a big duffel bag so her parents can haul her ass back to the east coast.”

“Relax, paidí mou,” my grandad smiled. “Samoula is a strong girl. I have a feeling she’s standing up to her parents right now. If they think they can corner her and bully her into giving up and going home, they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.”

He took a big bite of his taco and chomped on it.

“I hope you’re right,” I said before taking a huge bite of my burrito.

I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.