Page 76 of The Girl with No Name

Her expression is even, with just the hint of a smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“You okay? I mean, this is a fucking amazing night!”

“I’m okay,” she assures me.

“Seems like you’re deep in thought.”

“No, not really.”

17

LUNA - 10 MONTHS EARLIER

“SLEEP ON MY SIDE” – MEGAN MORONEY

We gather at Aunt Sarah’s grave to lower her ashes into the ground on a rainy, humid day in September. The somber atmosphere matches the heaviness in my heart. The rain falls softly, mixing with my tears.

The minister’s words are solemn as he offers prayers for Aunt Sarah’s soul and words of comfort for those she left behind. I stand beside Gatsby, my pillar of strength in this moment of sorrow, his presence a bittersweet reminder of my new system of love and support.

“It sounds like your aunt lived a really full life,” Gatsby says, his voice a gentle murmur.

I nod, filled with memories of Aunt Sarah’s vibrant spirit, her passion for art, and her unwavering belief in living life to the fullest. Above all, she was there for me during a time in life when I desperately needed someone solid.

As the urn is slowly lowered into the waiting earth, I feel a pang of loss, a void left by her absence that seems too vast to fill.

Afterward, we go to the luncheon. I prepared a slideshow for those in attendance that includes highlights of Aunt Sarah’s life.My mother and father have flown in—separately, since they’re divorced—and stand among the sparse crowd in attendance.

That night, Gatsby insists we go out with some of his friends to one of our favorite watering holes. He’s texting on his phone most of the night while I chat with one of his friends they all call Pepe.

“Babe, some bad news,” Gatsby interrupts at one point. “Tom’s having a bad night again. I’m going to have to go see him.”

“Really? Tonight? But?—”

“I’m really sorry.” He kisses me on the forehead. “See you later tonight. See you all later!”

He leaves without another word, and I continue drinking with his friends. One by one, they filter out until it’s just me and Pepe sitting at the bar.

“You’re really going for it,” he says. “I’ve never seen you drink this much.”

I shrug. This has been a hellish two months. Aside from Aunt Sarah’s passing, I terminated the pregnancy and quite honestly, have been shocked by the absolute lack of support I’ve gotten from Gatsby. But I’ve realized that started almost the moment I moved in. It was like he became a different person. And something in me has shifted as well. I’ve stopped painting completely, too busy and exhausted from taking care of Aunt Sarah. I feel constantly drained. I was even written up at work for being rude to a customer, something completely out of character for me.

“Stress,” I admit to Pepe. “Lots of stress lately.”

“Hey.” He puts his hand on my arm. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“It’s about, uh, Gatsby.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “What?”

He looks away a moment. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. We all agreed to keep secrets. But it’s been bothering me, and I can’t take it. Don’t tell him I told you.”

“Tell me.”

“There is no friend named Tom.”

The air grows thick as Pepe’s words hang like a heavy cloud, suffocating my senses. The bar seems to shrink around me, the dim lights flickering with the erratic beat of my heart.

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