Devon Hartford - Reckless

We met for lunch in the Student Center.

“Mads! So good to see you!” I said.

Madison wrapped her arms around me. “I totally missed you, girl!”

“Me too. You wanna get fish tacos?”

“Hells yeah,” Madison said.

We walked into the food court and got in the long line. I worried about spending the extra money, but I couldn’t ask Madison to have protein bars for lunch with me. Meh.

“So, how’s Dorquemann?” I asked.

“Doctor Dorquemann is the greatest sleep aid known to man. I think the medical school on campus has researchers in the lecture hall recording the sound of his voice every day, trying to pin down the exact pattern of frequencies that Dorquemann uses when he lectures. I hear they’re trying to get FDA approval already.”

“That good, huh?” I smiled sympathetically.

“No biggie. If I’m ever going to run my own company, I have to learn this stuff sooner or later.”

“You want to run a company?”

“Yeah,” Madison said, “Jake and I have been talking about it. He wants to start his own line of surf clothes, maybe even open a shop here in San Diego. If he wins a few more competitions and gets some good endorsements, he’ll have enough of a name and enough extra cash that we might be able to do it.”

“Look at you,” I smiled, “Miss Go-Getter. That’s awesome, Mads. I totally think you could pull it off.”

“I just wish I was taking more of the upper division Marketing classes for my major. I need to learn all that stuff, like, yesterday!”

We finally made it to the front of the line and ordered our fish tacos. I tried to pay, but I’d already told Madison about my job hunt, and she refused.

“It’s on me,” Madison said. “When you’re a world-famous artist, you can pay.”

“Thanks, Mads.” I went and filled up salsa containers for both of us. I’d grown increasingly accustomed to hot sauce, and couldn’t seem to get enough. Plus, extra hot sauce was free, unlike extra guacamole. Sigh.

We took our trays outside to eat. It actually started to sprinkle, so we found an inside table.

“So, how’s the new major coming along?” Madison asked.

“Other than my sculpting professor hates my ass, and my looming financial ruin, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you want to move in with me?” she asked seriously.

“Is one of your roommates moving out?”

“No, but I have a big room. We could share.”

I smiled at her, almost in disbelief. I couldn’t get over how supportive she was. I’d never had friends like Madison in high school. I didn’t realize friends could be so generous. My eyes watered, but I did my best to keep my tears to myself.

“What about Jake?” I asked, trying to hide behind my napkin. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“Oh,” Madison groaned, “my cramps have been cramping my style since Wednesday.” She folded over and clutched her belly. “I’ve been having a bad case of the Monthlies all day today.”

“See,” I giggle-sniffed, “you don’t need me adding more blockage to your hoo-ha than you’ve already got.”

She shook her head. “I’m serious, Sam. If it becomes a problem, and you need a place, you’re welcome to my apartment. Jake and I can always go to his house.”

“Wow, Mads, I totally appreciate it. Based on the way my job search has been going, you may have more than one monthly visitor in February.” I hoped my joking would disguise my imminent tears of gratitude.

“As long as you don’t make my cramps any worse, I will consider it a blessing,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m going to give birth to a tampon baby.” She grunted. “I think it’s going to be a redhead.”

Grimacing, I set the remaining half of my fish taco on my plate. “Well, I’m done eating.”

Madison cackled with laughter, “Sorry!”

SAMANTHA

Christos and I had dinner on Sunday night, but that was it. Groan. Had my predictions been right all along? Was he going to always be too busy with his burgeoning career to find time for a relationship with me? I hoped I was wrong.

On Monday, I went to the campus art museum after History class to report for my first day of work.

Mr. Selfridge turned out to be totally cool. He showed me how to operate the cash register and explained the ground rules. This job was going to be cake.

“We don’t get a lot of traffic during the week,” he said, “mainly art students like yourself. They come in to study the paintings and sculpture, and they get in free with a valid Student ID. But you do have to punch them in.” He showed me how on the cashier’s computer. “When it’s slow, feel free to do your homework behind the counter. Just make sure that you set your work aside for any customers.”

“Got it,” I smiled.

“Well, that about covers it. I’m going back to my office. If you need anything, ring my phone. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Mr. Selfridge,” I smiled as he walked back into the museum.

The museum didn’t have a gift shop, but there were a number of books behind the counter for sale. Since no one was coming in, I perused the shelves. One of the books was ‘Retrospective: A life outdoors, the art of Spiridon Manos.’ I picked it up and flipped through it. So much beautiful work. I’d seen a few of these paintings in Spiridon’s home, but most were new to me. He was truly an amazing landscape painter. I flipped to the back of the book and saw that most of his paintings were on display in major museums around the country, even a number in Europe. Wow, Spiridon was a total art rockstar.

And his grandson was on the way to being one too.

Over the next several hours, three people came into the museum. All of them were art students, two I recognized from Life Drawing and Oil Painting class.

This job was super easy, which was perfect because I had homework to catch up on.

During a lull, I texted Christos.

Thinking about you. <3

I hoped for an instant reply. Nope. It took about ten minutes before he texted, I’m always thinking about you, agápi mou. Miss you.

I replied, I miss you more ;-) What are you doing right now?

I didn’t receive a response. Sigh.

I opened up my Sociology reading and did my best to read through the assignments I’d fallen behind on. I kept checking my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed an incoming text. After half an hour with no response, I made sure my alert volume hadn’t somehow been turned off, or that my battery hadn’t died, or that aliens or hackers hadn’t hijacked my phone and changed my phone number.

Nope, everything was fine.

Except Christos was too busy to text me back. Should that have bothered me? I don’t know, but it did. Was I being too needy?

Eye roll.

When it came to being needy, what was the official demarcation between “too” and “the right amount” of needy?

Groan. I didn’t want to be the pathetic desperate girl who clung to her boyfriend’s knees everywhere they went.

Maybe I needed to conduct a poll and figure out a hard number regarding appropriate levels of neediness. Whatever that number turned out to be, I was pretty sure with all of my time apart from Christos, I fell on “the right amount” side of the needy line.

My phone bleeped.

Christos: Sorry, agápi mou. In the middle of things. Ran out of painting medium, had to run to art store. Miss you love you need you. :^*

I sighed contently. Not because I was “too” needy and needed to hear from my boyfriend right at that moment to set me at ease, because I had already established that in all likelihood I fell into “the right amount” category when it came to neediness at all times; no, my contented sigh was appropriate for any woman with the “right amount” of neediness. Because I knew it was “right” that I should be pleased to receive such a text from my boyfriend.