Groan.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Dad said. “You have to assume the cost of supplies. Conservatively, let’s say ten percent for paint and whatever other materials artists use, another ten for the frame. I’m sure the gallery gets some kind of commission, so another, oh, fifteen for that. Now we’re down to $65.00 for that painting of yours. That comes out to $8.13 an hour, Sam. You’d make more pouring coffee at Starbucks. And I hear some of the big corporate coffee chains have decent health insurance plans these days, which aren’t cheap. Working as a barista would put you significantly ahead of the guy who painted that painting in my office.”

My mom smiled at me with a mixture of superiority and, I hate to say it, glee. “Your father’s right, Sam. Being an artist is a bad idea.”

I felt something close inside me at that moment, like my parents had somehow proved with total certainty that it was impossible to be an artist.

I remember trying to swallow a bite of mashed potatoes, and it knotting in my throat like a ball of lead. When I went to my room that night, I buried all the drawings I’d been working on in the bottom of my closet.

SAMANTHA

PRESENT DAY

Christos said, “That’s rough.”

I wrapped my free arm around his chest and hugged him while I sobbed weakly. “Now you know why I don’t want to tell my parents.”

“I don’t know if you realize this, Samantha, but your parents are ignorant.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s thousands of different jobs out there for artists. Your dad, as smart as he may be with numbers, doesn’t know shit about the art business. He is literally ignorant of the options that exist for artists.”

“But I still have to convince them of that. I don’t know what you know, so I feel like they’d try to change my mind over the phone, and who knows, maybe by the end of the call, I’d be agreeing with everything they said all over again.”

“That’s not true,” Christos said encouragingly. “Didn’t you tell me you took Life Drawing last quarter, even though they wanted you to take Economics instead?”

“That was an elective class. I had to take one anyway. Actually changing my major is a whole ‘nother level.”

“If you want, call them while I’m here. I can cheer from the sidelines. I’ll get some pom-poms and do those goofy clapping high kicks. Then you’ll be able to see my underwear,” he chuckled. “Not that I’m wearing any.”

The idea of Christos, in a skirt, with no underwear, kicking his legs high while his jewels jiggled made me wrinkle my nose.

“Okay, maybe I’d wear underwear for the high kicks,” he grinned. “But seriously, I’ll totally back you up. I’ll talk to your parents if I have to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you, agápi mou.”

“Thank you, Christos. That means so much, I can’t even tell you.”

“You want to call them now?”

I almost said no, but then I felt something I’d never felt before. Anger. I was suddenly mad at my parents. No matter what I’d tried to do to shape my own future, they’d always pushed back, steering me away from where I wanted to go. I could let this go on forever, always caving into them, but I was tired of being bullied by everyone, and that included my parents.

I’d chosen San Diego University for college because it would put me far away from their constant control, and I would be free to make my own choices for myself. And I had stood up to Damian when I’d broken my silence about Taylor Lamberth.

Back then, Damian had threatened to kill me. Now, my parents were threatening to kill my dreams. It almost amounted to the same thing, in my book. One just took longer.

Screw it.

I was going to call them.

It wasn’t quite 10:00pm on the east coast, and my parents were usually awake until eleven. I dialed the house and put my phone on speaker. My nerves went nuts before the phone even rang. I stood up from the couch and started pacing my living room. I held my finger up to my lips and made a shhh face to Christos.

He nodded understanding.

“Hello?” my dad said.

“Hey, dad,” I sighed.

“What a pleasant surprise. It’s so good to hear from you, Sam. Your mother and I thought you wouldn’t call for a few more weeks. How is Micro Economics?”

Jesus. A “How are you?” would’ve been nice. In general, I felt like my father was more of a manager to me than a father. His relationship with me was something he calculated, weighed, considered. The feelings and love parts were glaringly absent.

“Sam?” he prompted.

I steeled myself. This was it. “I’m not taking Econ.”

“What?” My dad was shocked. “Sam, we talked about this.”

I rolled my eyes to Christos.

He made a compassionate sort of wince. At least he understood.

“You talked about this, Dad. I mostly listened. I don’t want to take economics.”

My dad pushed out a hard sigh on the other end of the phone. “Fine. But you can’t keep putting it off if you plan to graduate in four years. What about accounting? How is Managerial Accounting? I always enjoyed that topic.”

OMG. “I’m not taking it. I dropped the class.”

“What?!” my dad panicked. “Sam, what are you doing? You can’t take the upper division classes for an Accounting major if you don’t finish the lower division foundation courses first!”

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is, because I changed my major.”

“What?!” My dad was going to explode at this rate. “To what?”

“Art.” I expected him to explode. A hot flush bounced through my body, and not in a good way. I fanned my face. This was about to get ugly.

“Hold on, Sam. I’m going to have your mother join us on the extension.”

Like I said.

While I waited for doomsday, I glanced at Christos. He took the cue and walked over to me. He placed a comforting hand on the small of my back and rubbed it gently.

A moment later, I heard my mom pick up the other line. “What is going on, Sam?” she demanded sternly.

“I’m changing my major to Art.”

“You can’t do that!” my mom said.

“I meant, I already changed my major.”

“Then change it back,” she said stridently.

I’m pretty sure my apartment was shrinking around me. Was I sweating? My arm pits felt like furnaces. I took a deep breath.

“Sam? You will change your major back. Immediately,” my mom commanded.

This was it. “No.”

I think I had expected the ground to open beneath my feet or maybe a giant asteroid to crash into San Diego at that moment. But all I heard was silence.

I had never stood up to my parents like this. Could it be this easy?

“Bill?” my mom asked. “Did you hear what your daughter just said?”

I’d always loved how my mom disowned me the second I disobeyed.

“I’m nonplussed,” my dad said. I don’t think I’d ever heard him sound so exasperated before. “Aaaah…” he mumbled. “Linda?”

I had the distinct sense that the phone in my hand had started to heat up to like two hundred degrees. I know that was silly, but I knew something was about to go thermonuclear.

“If you insist on disobeying your father and I, then you—”

I cut her off. “Disobey? This is my life, mom. I don’t want to be an Accountant. I want to make my own decisions about what I’m going to do for the rest of my life. I’m nineteen, for god’s sake!”

“Watch your mouth, young lady!” my mom barked. “And don’t use that tone with me! You will march down to the Registrar’s Office first thing tomorrow morning, and you will change your major back to Accounting. And that’s final!”

“Do what your mother says, Sam,” my dad grumbled.

I sighed petulantly. Did my parents still believe I was in junior high? “No, mom,” I said softly. “I’m not changing my major.”

“Do not disobey me!” my mother shouted.

“I’m not doing it, mom.”

“Bill! Talk to her,” my mom said, flustered.