Free Say When by Tara West Page B

offering you. A lifetime of security and comfort. Do you want to end up like that tramp friend of yours? I saw the lowlife in that hideous truck.”
    “Just because I don’t want to marry that asshole does not mean I’m going to end up like Karri.” Sure, I haven’t had the best taste in men (Jackson is a case in point) but I’m not a total idiot like Karri.
    Mom clucks her tongue. “How else do you think you’ll end up if you don’t find someone to take care of you? You’re studying art for Christ’s sake. Do you honestly think you can support yourself?”
    I hang my head in my hands and groan. My mom has never supported my love for art, but when I came home with that ring from Jackson, she said my creativity would come in handy, as refined wives need to show an appreciation of the arts. Other than that, nothing I’ve created has impressed her, not until last summer when Jackson’s family took me to their home in The Hamptons and I was given the chance to paint murals for several of Jackson’s parents’ wealthy friends. She didn’t look at the pictures of my artwork I sent her. She didn’t care that they’d paid me an ungodly amount of money for painting scenic landscapes on their walls. The only thing she cared about was that wealthy people had approved of my art, and their validation meant I’d be accepted into affluent society.
    “Mom, can you just do me a favor and back off? Please.”
    “And watch you throw your life away?”
    When I look up at her, she’s got this wild look in her eyes. I realize she’s terrified. I suspect it’s because she knows she’ll look bad in front of all her country club friends. She’s been pushing us to set a date, probably so she could brag to her rich friends, no doubt. My daughter has reeled in a big fish, so now I get to rub it in all of your faces.
    Now she’ll have to explain to them that I let my big fish get away. I bite back a laugh. I’m so tempted to tell her I had to throw him back because his penis was under the legal limit, but she doesn’t look in the mood to handle a joke right now, so I opt for the truth.
    “I’m not throwing my life away. I’m actually living my life the way I want to for once.” I turn and march up the stairs. I hear her gasp behind me, and I know she’ll try to follow me to my room and pester me some more. “I’m done talking about this,” I call over my shoulder.
    Once I get to my bedroom, curiosity gets the best of me, and I finally check those text messages from Jackson.
    Call me , he writes. No please or would you. It’s a directive. So like Jackson. All business unless he’s trying to get his pecker sucked.
    Next message. Where are you?
    I check the time he sent it. Twelve-thirty last night. I smile as I think back to where I was at half-past midnight. Oh, yeah, I was fucking a hot guy. One who actually had the ability to reach my G-spot without a rubber extension.
    Final message. Not in the mood for games, Teenie. If you want this ring back, you’ll call me now.
    Uh, fat chance, pencil dick , I think as I delete all three messages. I wonder if it ever occurred to Jackson I didn’t want the ring back. Really, could a guy be so thick-headed?
    I notice one more message, from Grace, asking me how I’m doing. I fire back that I’m dealing with life and she quickly responds.
    I’m going to Dylan’s. Wanna come?
    Dylan’s? Just the thought of going back there makes my pulse quicken. What if Andrés is there again? How will I face him after the way I ran out this morning? I don’t know. I write back. Let’s just hang out at your place.
    I hate myself for being such a chicken. What happened to the Christina from last night, who told off Jackson and made a serious move on a sexy Latin stud?
    And do what, Christina? Sulk?
    Her message makes me pause. She pretty much nailed it. That’s exactly what I’d do. Watch a movie about two people breaking up, drink a few beers, and then pass out on her couch. Sounds