“Good,” Owen said. “Because you do know that the odds of you having a child like your—you know.”
“Stop. Stop,” Luna said. “You don’t understand. I’m not having a kid. Ever.”
“You might change your mind,” Owen said.
“I won’t,” said Luna.
“Have you talked to Griff about this?”
They were too young to have such conversations, Luna thought. It was the kind of topic that made it sound like you were rushing things.
“No,” Luna said. “I think I’m afraid to.”
Luna wasn’t the sort of person who thought much about the future. But she thought about it then. If she and Griff had a fundamental incompatibility, wouldn’t it be better to end things sooner rather than later? Luna was the kind of person who’d want to get pain out of the way.
“He wants kids, right?” Luna asked.
“Of course,” Owen said.
Owen didn’t know anything for a fact. But it was hard to imagine Griff not following the traditional trajectory of life.
“He’d make a good dad, wouldn’t he?” Luna said.
“Yeah, he would,” Owen said.
Another week passed. Griff and Luna hadn’t spoken, as far as Owen knew. The next weekend, Luna was locked in her bedroom, fighting inertia and trying to finish a philosophy paper due on Monday. She’d even left her phone in the kitchen to avoid distractions.
When she went to bed Sunday night, her phone was still on the kitchen table. Owen knew she’d need it in the morning, so he plugged it into the charger. That’s when he saw Griff’s text.
Why won’t you call me back?
Owen stared at the text for what felt like hours. When he replied, it seemed like the most natural thing to do.
Owen typed: Sorry. Been busy.
Griff: Can u talk?
Owen: No.
Griff: tmrw?
If Griff hadn’t just accused Owen of murder, it was unlikely that he would have made such a bold move. But he saw an opportunity that he might not have again. One that could solve the one lingering problem in his life that he didn’t think he could get over.
Owen typed: This isn’t working.
He waited twenty minutes for a response. Luna’s phone rang. Griff’s name popped on the screen. Owen silenced the ringer and sent the call to voicemail. His heart started racing. Then another text came in.
Griff: Is this about Owen?
Owen typed: No. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Griff: You want to break up?
Owen typed: Yes.
Owen deleted all texts exchanged that day and the notification of Griff’s call. He hung on to the phone for the rest of the night, waiting for Griff to send one final message, leave a voicemail, make one more attempt at repairing the relationship. Owen was split in two regarding his own behavior. One side experienced the natural guilt and fear of doing something so utterly wrong. The other side was so angry at Griff that he just didn’t care. Owen didn’t think Griff and Luna would last anyway. If they were over, really over, he might save her some future heartache. That’s what he told himself.
It was so simple. Too simple, Owen thought. For months after, he was afraid of being caught. With time, he recognized the depths of his betrayal. One thing comforted him, though. If they were meant to be together, it shouldn’t have been that easy to break them up.
October 16, 2019
As Luna drove away from Griff, she scrolled through the past seventeen years, revisiting key memories, reconfiguring them with a new set of parameters.
Sending that text was so calculating, such an extreme betrayal, that it briefly eclipsed the whole murder thing. That text changed her life, Griff’s life. Why? What was the point of it? Because Owen liked having Luna all to himself? The leap from liar to murderer isn’t easy or obvious, but lying was a crime that Luna could deal with head-on.
When she showed up at Owen’s front door, her cheeks ruddy from tears, her eyes narrowed in rage, he couldn’t register what was happening. His brain was still tripping over his forgotten night with Irene. What it meant. Why she never told him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Owen said, turning back inside his house, waiting for Luna to follow. “I got a copy of the picture. You need to see it.”
He picked up his phone and found the photo.
“I know,” Luna said, pacing back and forth in his living room. “I know what you did. Griff told me.”
It took Owen a moment to get out of his own head, his own skewed timeline.
“What did I do?” Owen asked.