FINALLY! I was happy that school was back in session! I couldn’t WAIT to get back to campus. I LOVE school. I was good at it, carrying a solid 3.5, majoring in Architecture. I was reasonably hot, so there was no shortage of guys trying to get with me. But mostly, I loved school because my mother wasn’t there. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother. I did, I mean I do, but she was still so bitter and angry that any time spent with her felt like penance for some great injustice.
Look, I support everyone’s right to their own pursuits of happiness, and I’m perfectly willing to let ‘you do you.’ But sometimes, one person’s happiness causes someone else’s pain. That’s what happened in my family. In fact, you’ve probably heard about my family’s issues. Let me explain.
My name is Breen Sullivan. My parents named me Sabrina. My big sister, Allyson was only three when I was born, and she couldn’t pronounce ‘Sabrina’, so she called me ‘Breen.’ I liked it, and somehow it stuck. Anyway, you’ve never heard of me. But I’m sure you’ve heard about my sister Allyson and my father Roland Sullivan.
Our family went on vacation when Allie graduated from college two years ago. We wanted a cruise, and Dad decided to rent a yacht for the week, so it would just be us. On the first day, my mom and I got really seasick, and ended up spending the week at Atlantis, where we had a fantastic time.
Dad and Allie stayed with the private boat, and a freak storm at sea crashed their boat into a huge rock. They ended up stranded on some deserted island. They were missing for over six months. When they were found, Allie was four months pregnant! I know, right??!!
That story was on every fucking screen in the world for a week or so. “Father rescued with 4-month pregnant daughter after being alone for six months”. It was friggin’ everywhere! I had just started college when they were found. My friends wouldn’t shut up about it. Reporters were calling. I went to the same school Allie had just graduated from, so a lot of people knew her. People were whispering and pointing. “That’s the sister. I wonder…” But as bad as it was for me, mom had it worse. I mean, basically, her husband left her for her daughter. That’s gotta hurt.
She was a good mom, but she was never Little Miss Sunshine. She was always a lot stricter than dad. She’d get upset over things while he’d shrug things off and let them go. And once the transgressions were over, he’d forget all about it, while she remembered every mistake and misstep, and constantly brought it back up. Still, she didn’t deserve what happened. Like I said, her husband left her for their daughter.
What Dad and Allie did was illegal, but they were never charged. They managed to get on a plane to St. Maarten before the Bahamian authorities ever decided to arrest them. One news writer even suggested that the Bahamians had no appetite for such a sensationalist case, and purposely dragged their feet on charging them until they were safely away. That way, they were someone else’s problem. Whatever the case, they still live in St. Maarten with my new niece, Madison. Or sister/niece, I guess.
I’m not angry with them, and we still talk. While what they did was wrong according to, well, most everybody, they are adults, and their decision was theirs. Yes, mom was hurt, but if he’d run off with one of Allie’s friends, it would have hurt just as much, while society wouldn’t have said a word. Like I said, I’ve always believed in ‘You do you.’ I’ve only seen Madison in pictures and via FaceTime. Dad said he’d send me a ticket to visit, but I know that if I go, at least for now, mom will cut me off, too. I don’t want her to be alone.
My friends have asked me, what if it had been me on that island. I told them pretty confidently, nothing would have happened. My father is objectively good-looking, and I can certainly see what Allie sees in him. But I just can’t see him like that. He’s just my dad, He’s a good dad other than, you know, impregnating my sister, and he was always good to me. But he and I were never as close as him and Allie. And once she turned 18, the way she acted with him made me blush. So, when I saw them get off that helicopter and saw that she was pregnant, I wasn’t entirely surprised.
And now you’re all caught up. But this is not their story. This is about me, and what started in my junior year in college.
Dad had told me that Junior Year is very important. He said that that’s when you get into the meat of your professional education classes. So I was looking forward to Principles of Architecture 301. The first really core class I would take. I got to the classroom early, chose a desk and settled in. As my classmates filed in, and people who’d shared classes before greeted each other, I was looking through the textbook, adjusting the font size on my tablet. The class got quiet as the professor walked in. I looked up, and just like that, I fell in love. Well, lust at least.
He spoke. “Good morning, everyone. My name is Professor Julian Santoro. Welcome to Principles of Architecture. The course number is ARC 301, but everyone calls it Arc 101, since this is where you first learn what it means to want to be an architect.”
The man looked like he was drawn from every schoolgirl fantasy I ever had. He was tall, easily over six feet, Hispanic with lovely olive skin, thick black hair with a two-day stubble, and a solid build. At first, I thought he looked too young to be a professor, but as I raised my eyes from his smoking hot Latino body and looked in his dreamy face and smoldering eyes, I could see he was an older guy who looked young. Even better. I was mildly surprised to realize he reminded me of my dad.
Not in looks, because they looked nothing alike. It was more in the way they both carried themselves. They both had this casual grace that comes from being truly comfortable in your own skin, and confident in what you bring. His speech, his movements, even his smile oozed a confident sexiness. I looked at the other girls in the class. They seemed equally smitten. If he was a professor, then he’d been teaching for years. Heaven knows how many young, impressionable girls had hurled themselves at his feet. I resolved not to be one of them!
As the class went on, I was more and more mesmerized by him, in spite of my resolution. You could tell… this man knew his stuff. By the end of that first class, I’d made a new resolution… do well enough to impress him. Then maybe he’d write me a good recommendation for my first job. Much better plan. He warned us to be ready on Wednesday, since that was the beginning of the end for some of us.
I have no idea what happened for the rest of the day, since I couldn’t stop thinking about one Julian Santoro. It also bears mentioning that I had completely managed to convince myself that I did not find his age, his being older, attractive. There are no lies as compelling as the ones we tell ourselves.
I managed to pay attention in all my other classes, just enough to keep abreast. But for Arc 101, I read the first three chapters of The Structure As Art. Not only read them but read them and understood them. Wednesday came, and I was more than ready.
It was a good thing, too, because the sweet, cool, and sexy Professor Santoro was gone and in his place was an architectural tyrant. He’d expected the class to read the first two chapters, and he dived into them with gusto. I was one of only two other students who took that seriously. We were answering questions and asking good follow-up questions. The other two were guys, and we were three little brown-nosers. I didn’t care… this was a real course, and it was my future career. I took this seriously. As the class ended, I caught him smiling in my direction. I was elated.
The next two weeks went much the same, with me being an overachiever for this Latin heartthrob of a professor. The bonus was that I was learning a lot in his class. I learned things that I found helpful in other classes. After the last class of the third week, he asked me to come by his office for a chat, if I had time.
The Romantic in me was elated… ‘We were going to make love in his office!’. The Feminist in me was appalled… ‘How dare he think we’re going to make love in his office!’ The College Girl in me was outraged… ‘Does he think I’m going to fuck him for a better grade?!’
Those three different girls were fighting like demons in my mind as I walked behind him to his office. Goddammit, even his stride was sexy!
We got to his office, and he let me go in first. I took a seat in one of chairs as he sat at his desk. The bastard even had a very comfortable-looking tan leather sofa on one wall.
‘The nerve!’ said College Girl.
“Thanks for seeing me, Breen,” he said. “I teach hundreds of students a year. Maybe five of them are serious about the craft. You seem like one of them.”
“Umm, thanks, Professor Santoro,” I replied, the three Girls inside me still wary.
“Don’t thank me,” he said, smoothly. “You’re the kind of student that makes teaching worthwhile. Students like you are why we teach. At least, that’s true for me.”
‘Here it comes,’ said the Feminist. ‘Yeah,’ agreed the College Girl… ‘here comes the offer for “extra tutoring”! Asshole!’ ‘You really think so?’ asked giddy-ass Romantic.
“Anyway, you’re clearly very bright, and you seem to have no problem staying ahead of the curve in class. That’s why I think you should change your major.”
“What?!” asked the four of us. “If I’m doing so well, why do you want to kick me out of the major? What the hell?!”
He just sat there with a sly little grin, waiting for me to end my rant. What had I ever found so sexy about him anyway?
He leaned forward across the desk and his dark eyes bored into me, with that handsome face (‘Oh, yeah, that’s what it was,’ said Romantic). “Let me ask you something,” he said. “Do you want to be an architect, or do you want a similar career that makes a lot of money?”
“Can’t I do both?”
“Yes, but,” he replied.
“’Yes, but?’ I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you can be an architect, and yes, you can make a lot of money, but it’s really hard,” he answered. His face looked serious now.
“But you just said how well I’m doing. I know this is just Arc 101, but what, you don’t think I can hack it in the fourth year?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Suddenly, a fourth Girl popped into my head… the Serious Girl.
‘Shut up, you crazy bitches! He’s not trying to fuck us! He’s trying to help us! Shut up and listen!’
She was usually in charge and kept the other ones in check. Thank goodness she finally showed up!
He went on, “Architecture is sort of like being an actor or a singer.” I was about to interrupt and say I didn’t understand, but he held up his hand and continued, “For every big-name pop star selling out arenas, there are thousands of singers you’ll never hear about, working in night clubs and doing proms, barely covering the rent.”
I stayed quiet and kept listening.
“When you see big, gorgeous structures and there is a plate saying, ‘Designed by the firm of Fat, Rich, & Happy,’ just remember that for every architect like that, making six or even seven figures, there are hundreds or even thousands of others barely scraping fifty grand a year, if that. And half of them aren’t even working in the field.”
“Are you serious?” I ask. “Then why become an architect? This is a hard field of study.”
He smiled as he answered. “For the same reason people become singers or actors… for the love of the craft.”
“So what are you saying I should do?”
“I think you should change your major to engineering. Preferably civil or construction engineering.”
“Engineering? Why?” This was certainly not what I expected when I walked in.
‘I told you bitches that!’ snarked Serious Girl.
He answered, “Well, just like architects are like singers, engineers are like lawyers and doctors. For every big-name lawyer handling famous cases and making millions, there are 10,000 other lawyers quietly earning six figures and sleeping like a baby at night. Same thing for doctors.”
“But I don’t wanna be a lawyer or a doctor,” I whined stupidly.
“That’s not what I said.” He suddenly got excited. “You know that new stadium that finally got approved? Some engineering firm will get that contract, and they’ll make millions, right? Well for every big-name firm like that, building stadiums and skyscrapers, there are 10,000 other engineers quietly making six figures every year without breaking a sweat.”
“But engineering is so much more math and science.”
“It is, but I have no doubt that you are up to the task. Look, Breen, you’re majoring in a sexy career where you’re going to start in the fifties at best. Make that little adjustment to a much more boring sounding field, and you’ll make at least double that, if not triple.”
“You really think so?” I asked. “You think I can cut it?”
“Absolutely, no question,” he responded confidently. “To get that big job, though, you’ll need to leave here with top grades.”
College Girl piped up. ‘Here comes the tutoring offer! Just watch!’
“But,” he continued, “you don’t seem to be obsessed with the next big party like a lot of girls here. Keep studying, you’ll do fine.”
I sat there and considered what he had said. “That’s a lot to think about, Professor Santoro. But I want to build things. I don’t know if I want to give up on that dream.”
“You don’t have to. Look, you’re not trying to be a carpenter. You’re not going to swing a single hammer. You going to be a part of a team that builds things… big things. Architects and engineers are all parts of that team. The engineers just make more money.”
I sat there, quietly thinking it through.
“I think you’d do well in either Civil or Construction engineering. And you wouldn’t even be wasting a class here. Arc 101 is a required course for both. So take your time and make a smart decision.”
“Thanks for all the advice.”
“Well,” he said, standing up. Apparently, we were finished with our talk. “That’s what I’m here for. At the Junior and Senior level, we’re not just your instructors. We’re your advisors as well. That’s what this is. Have a nice weekend. Remember, we’re jumping to Chapter 23 on Monday.”
As I walked back to my dorm, Serious Girl said, ‘See?’ Every guy isn’t just trying to fuck us.’ ‘But what if we want to fuck them?’ asked Romantic. Typical.
That weekend, I called my mom for her advice. She wasn’t a whole lot of help, though she tried. She just offered, “Do what you think is best.”
I asked her what was wrong.
“You know, just when it looked like I’m finally getting over the whole thing, I saw this couple with a small child. The guy looked fifteen, maybe twenty years older than the woman. Well, Breen, that was enough to make me sick.”
Damn! Why did I ask her what was wrong? You know what’s wrong! “I see, mom. That’s awful.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But I thought maybe that’s the kid’s grandfather, but then she kissed this old fucker! It was all i—”
“Mom!” I had to stop her before she spun completely out of control. “I know it’s awful, but you can’t keep letting strangers set you off like this. It’s not healthy,” I said. “Anyway, I’m getting another call that I need to take. I’ll talk to you next weekend, okay?” I managed to escape that time.
I called my dad, who answered on the first ring. “Breen! Hey, kid, how’s it going?” He sounded disgustingly happy, considering how miserable my mom was. But I vowed not to get in the middle of it.
“Hey, Dad,” I said. “How are you guys?”
“We’re great,” he responded. “My little consulting business is growing, and Allie is loving being a mother. Her and Maddie are out with Sierra and her kids.”
“Sierra? Who’s that?” I asked.
“That’s her new BFF. We met her and Dex when we first moved here.”
“Are they incestuous perverts, too?” I asked, laughing.
Without missing a beat, dad laughed and said, “Yep. They’re just like us. And there are others, too. It’s like a little club, you know,” he continued.
He knew I’d try to make him feel weird about the situation, and he never let me get away with it. He’d simply lean into it. Honestly, it made it easier for me to deal with it all.
“Anyway, I need my dad, not my brother-in-law,” I quipped.
“Okay. This is your father speaking. If you need money, talk to your mom. She got most of it!”
“No, I’m all good there. I need some career advice,” I said.
Then I explained what Professor Santoro said and asked my dad what he thought. I was surprised when he agreed with Professor Santoro. He even made the same references, about singers and architects.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I would have given you that same advice when you got started. But at the time, we were, you know, kind of in an upheaval. I’m sorry…