Halloween 2012
Following Sam's short call with Puck, he knew he was going to have to talk to his parents before everything blew up in his face. Little did he know that that's exactly what was going to happen anyway. He sat down with his parents that afternoon—a feeling of déjà vu washing over him—and told them outright of his plan to move to L.A. by Halloween. The déjà vu feeling faded at the sight of his parent's faces. His mother looked sad and disappointed, and his father wasn't looking at him at all, but Sam could tell that he was harboring anger.
His mother asked him a few questions—where he was going to live; what he was going to do for school and a job, and if he was planning to come home for the holidays. Sam had answers for all of these. Then came his father's first bit of input in the conversation.
"Well, son…it sounds like you've thought this through a lot. And you're an adult so even if your mother and I didn't approve of you going, we couldn't stop you."
"Yeah, but Dad I still—"
He stopped when his dad held up his palm. He still hadn't looked his son in the eye, which made Sam more nervous than he was letting on.
"I only have one question for you, Samuel. How did you get the money for a plane ticket?"
Sam wanted to squirm in his seat. His dad was staring him dead in the eyes as if "STRIPPING" was scrolling across his irises like a marquee. Instead of shifting uncomfortably, he let out a short, nervous chuckle and said, "From work, Dad."
"Best Western?"
"Yeah. Where else?"
Sam saw his dad's jaw clench, before saying, "Well, that's what your mom and I would like to know. Y'see, I was booked for some renovations at Best Western the other day…"
Sam froze.
"…and imagine my surprise and embarrassment when I mention to them that my son, Sam Evans, works here, and the hotel manager tells me that they don't' have a Sam Evans on staff."
The color drained from Sam's face with the growing angst in his father's voice.
"So…I'm gonna ask you one more time, Samuel: How did you get the money for a plane ticket? And why don't you try the truth this time?"
It had been the worst conversation he'd ever had with his parents. His dad never raised his voice at him his entire life, and that day was no different—even after Sam told the truth about everything, including his time working at Stallionz twice. His dad's lack of yelling, coupled with his mother's profuse tears only made him feel like the worst son on the planet. Days had passed with little-to-no exchange of words between Sam and his parents.
They finally re-visited the conversation, one week before Halloween. Sam was on the verge of cancelling his flight; as much as he loved and missed Mercedes, he hated how much he had disappointed his parents with his lies. But to his surprise, his parents sat him down and encouraged him to go on with his plans for California, with a few conditions.
"Don't lie to us again, Samuel," his father said coolly but sternly. "Your mother and I didn't raise you or your brother and sister to be anything less than honest.
Sam nodded.
"After you get settled, you get yourself enrolled in school. Don't let L.A.'s lights and stars sweep you up and make you forget where you're from."
Again, Sam nodded, but inside he couldn't believe his parents were okay with letting him go.
"If you stay out there past three months, then we're selling your car. You can use the money towards getting a new one, or for rent."
Briefly, Sam felt a little upset about this. He liked his car, but it was likely going to be a burden to his parents, rather than an aid if it stayed in Kentucky.
"You keep in touch with us—your mother wants a call from you—"
"Once a week, Sam," she chimed in with a sad smile.
Sam returned the smile to his mom and nodded once more.
"And last, when you get to California," his father said, "you tell your gal the truth. Mercedes is a good girl and she deserves to know everything from you."
His dad's words kept repeating in his mind like a broken record as he sat in the back seat of Mercedes' Equinox. He couldn't stop staring at Mercedes from in between the seats, even though her face was shielded from his by her curtain of black wavy locks. He could see her still looking down at the photo Santana sent to her phone while the tension rolled off her polyester-clad backside.
The ride back to hers and Puck's apartment was uncomfortably silent. After she stopped him from explaining inside the Hotel Café, they all made to leave, with Puck offering to drive. At one point, Puck tried to lessen the tension by turning the radio on, but Mercedes immediately shut it off and lowered her head back to her phone. Meanwhile, Sam was sitting in the back by himself—shoulders slouched while his face displayed a mixture of frustration and concern.
When they reached Puck and Mercedes' apartment complex, Mercedes grabbed her keys from the ignition and gathered up her purse and bag. Sam watched her quickly leave the car with a slap of the passenger door. Puck looked back at him, brows raised. He shook his head at Sam and sighed, "Go talk to her dude. I'll get your stuff."
Sam pursed his lips and nodded. He opened one of his bags beside him, took out a small box and left the rest behind. His hand twisted the knob to door 8A, and to his gratitude, he hadn't been locked out. For a moment, his eyes took in the apartment; aside from parts of Mercedes' room via Skype, he hadn't really seen what it looked like. His eyes looked to his left—the living room—and when he didn't see her there, he stepped into the place further. His gaze went to the right where he saw three white doors. The nearest of the three was shut but donned a wooden "M" painted purple and hanging in the center.
Drawing a deep breath, Sam approached the door and knocked twice. "Mercedes?"
There wasn't an immediate answer, but the door soon swung open, and he was met with a furious gaze from his girlfriend. She ditched her white jacket but still wore the white bell bottoms and a black camisole.
His grip around the small box tightened in his nervous hand. "I'm sorry, Mercedes."
Mercedes hissed a sigh in response, all the while shaking her head at him.
"I know I shouldn't have lied to you—or anyone about what I was doing."
"It's more than that, Sam!" she snapped back. "You went behind my back, knowing exactly how I felt about that place!"
"I know. I'm sorry. I really am, but I—"
"Or maybe you just don't get how it makes me feel…" she cut across.
"No, Mercedes I do but—"
"Oh you do? You do but you went back there anyway?"
"I—"
Mercedes raised a hand, palm side-up. Her fingers were unsteady but he stopped to hear her say, "I can't talk to you right now."
Sam came up short. He hated when she put distance between them like this; it was different than miles being a barrier—worse, even because he brought this upon himself.
"Mercedes…just let me—"
"Sam." Just saying his name, he could hear the hurt, betrayal and anger she was feeling and showing. His heart began to physically ache at the sight of her glossy, reddening eyes. When she spoke again, her tone had dropped significantly lower, but he still heard the tremors in it as she told him, "If being out here is gonna make you keep secrets from me and your family again, then I don't want you out here."
Sam's lips parted slightly. It felt like her words had slapped him across the face. His pained heart was pulsing loud and hard in his ears; without a chance to collect his thoughts once more, Mercedes closed the door in his face.
He raised his free hand to the knob but stopped before his fingertips touched the metal. His head lowered at the same time that his fingers formed fists. On the other side of the door, his girlfriend was sobbing. Because of him.
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