Reckless

“Do we have a bad connection? It’s hard to understand you.”

“I’m eating.”

“What?!”

“I’m eating!!”

“Oh. Well, your mother and I wanted to check in on how things are going. Hold on, let me get her on the other line.”

I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t wait.

“Hello, Sam,” Mom said.

“Hey,” I said.

“She sounds garbled,” Mom said. “Is there a bad connection, Bill?”

I rolled my eyes again.

“She’s eating, I think,” my dad said.

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to talk with your mouth full?”

I chewed, rather than answer.

“Sam?” she asked.

“I’m chewing, Mom!” I mumbled over my extra-helping of exasperation.

“Mind your manners, young lady,” my mom barked.

“Can’t you wait to eat until after the call?” dad asked.

“I’m starving,” I argued.

“Your tone, Samantha,” Mom warned icily. She only used my full name when she was pissed. Good.

My dad cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. Good luck. “So, uh, Sam? Have you found a job?”

“Two.”

“Two?” he asked, confused. “Two what?”

“Two jobs!” I hollered. Man, they were killing me. Somebody get them some Q-tips.

“Samantha!” my mom growled.

I took another huge bite and chewed, pretending I was grinding my mom’s nastiness between my teeth.

“I can only assume that you’ve taken two because neither one pays sufficiently to cover your expenses?” my dad asked.

Damn, he was right.

“What, may I ask, are your two jobs?” Mom said sarcastically.

“I work at the art museum on campus and a convenience store.”

Mom chuckled. “A convenience store?”

O. M. G. She was as rude as Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse tonight. “So? It pays.”

“How much?” Dad asked.

“Do we have to go into this?” I asked, swallowing and wiping guacamole from my lips with a napkin.

“Your mother and I just want to make sure your jobs pay sufficiently to cover your living expenses,” Dad said.

“The museum pays ten an hour, and the convenience store pays eight-fifty. I have enough hours at both jobs to cover all my expenses. After taxes. Happy now?” I said snidely.

“Well that’s good to hear,” my dad said.

Nothing from my mom on the subject.

That was it? Geez, a congratulations would’ve been nice.

“Have you changed your major back to Accounting?” Dad asked. He was all business tonight.

“No,” I said.

“Oh?” my dad said thoughtfully.

That was strange. I’d expected my dad to be on the warpath when I told him.

I smelled a trap.

“You must be pretty busy with two jobs and classes,” Dad said.

“I guess.” I still smelled that trap.

“Sam,” my dad said with a distinct smile in his voice, “all you have to do is change your major back, and your mother and I will be glad to cover all your expenses once again.”

Spring! There went his trap.

“Think how nice it will be not to have to work two jobs,” he continued. “You can focus on your classes and have time left over to relax with your friends.”

Yeah, my dad sounded like the devil. He had that nice guy voice the devil always used when he was telling you how great everything would be after you signed away your soul in blood.

“I’m not changing my major back,” I said calmly.

There was a long, long pause from my parents. I enjoyed the silence, but I knew it wouldn’t last.

“Well,” Mom blurted with a cackle, “I hope you like working at a convenience store. I’m sure their retirement benefits are stellar.”

“I’m not going to work there for the rest of my life, Mom.”

“What,” she scoffed, “are you going to be an artist?”

“Now, Linda,” my dad said, trying to calm her. “Sam is working. Two jobs, no less. We should cut her some slack.”

That sort of surprised me. He was usually on Mom’s side.

“No, Bill. Your daughter is making terrible choices. And you know what? I bet it’s that Christos character.”

“I don’t think—” my dad said.

My mom interrupted him. “It is him, isn’t it, Sam?”

I was shocked into silence.

“I’m right,” Mom said. “I knew it. He’s filling your head with all these crazy ideas about being an artist, isn’t he, Samantha?”

“No!” I protested. I pushed back my chair from my dining room table and began pacing the living room. I felt like I was suddenly on dangerous ground, and wanted to move, like I needed to run away from my parents. What else was new? Sigh.

My mom’s tone suddenly went friendly, which scared me. “Samantha, are you telling me that you’re no longer seeing Christos? Or have you found some other boy to waste your time on?”

“No! I mean, yes, I’m still seeing Christos!”

My mom chuckled throatily. “That’s what I thought. Bill, your daughter is spending so much time with this boy Christos, she’s lost her head. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”

There was something so disgusting about the way my mom had said it, like she was calling me a dirty harlot, just because I was in love. There was nothing dirty about my relationship with Christos. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom,” I growled.

“I don’t?” she chuckled.

“Calm down, both of you,” my dad said in an even tone. “Whether or not Sam is dating anyone is not what’s at issue. Sam has shown initiative, Linda. She has secured two jobs and is paying her bills. As long as she keeps her grades up, her personal life is irrelevant.”

Geez, did my dad think I was a robot? A computer to be programmed and set about a specific task? The way he’d called my personal life “irrelevant” spoke volumes. Groan. At least he was getting my mom off my back.

“Further,” Dad continued, “there’s no sense in her withdrawing from her current classes this late in the term, only to have to repeat them later. Sam, can you apply both your Oil Painting and Figurative Sculpting credits toward your General Education requirements?”

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“Excellent. I believe that, when combined with Figurative Drawing from last quarter, you will have completed your Humanities series, correct?” Dad was on the ball, as always.

“Yeah,” I said.