Page 22 of Lavender Moon

Luna, Age 20

The soundof the front door opening invokes a shiver of adrenaline zinging up my body, and I can’t help but give a small start. I look up from the task of shoving random supplies into my art bag and meet my grandmother’s eyes. She holds my gaze steady, reminding me we’ve got this under control, and she briefly pauses, placing my folded sweaters into my duffel to reach out and lay a comforting hand on my arm.

I’m still for a moment, letting each quiet breath that enters my lungs infuse my nerves with incremental steel as I wait. Finally, I hear it. The door slams and I try to stifle the reactive jolt of my shoulders. No question, he saw the box on the kitchen table. It’s go time.

Exhaling the last of my nervous energy through pursed lips, I grab up the bundle of paint brushes from the dresser and shove them in their rightful compartment. I’m so ready for this, but I’m even more ready for it to be over.

“Right behind you, kiddo.” Granna sends behind me as I turn with squared shoulders toward the bedroom door.

“Luna?!” Carter’s bellow echoes down the hallway as I venture down its length, putting one foot in front of the other, adjusting the strap of my art bag on my shoulder. When I emerge into the kitchen, I find pretty much the exact sight I was imagining I would. Carter stands before the kitchen table, steely eyes set on the box half-full with some of my odds and ends. His jaw is set, and his eyebrows are pulled into each other. As he stands with a hand on his hip and the other clutching what looks like today’s mail, hanging at his side.

I know he detects me in his peripheral, but he doesn’t do me the decency of acknowledging me. Ever the narcissist, he needs to control the interaction and make me squirm while he drags it out for dramatic effect.

Not this time, dipshit. I’ve seen the light.

Instead of giving the toddler his cookie, I head towards the lucky bamboo plant on the far end of the counter without a look or a word. Grabbing the plant in its slim glass vase, I walk it over to the table and carefully place it in the corner of the box with my other belongings as he continues to watch in silence.

That’s right, fucker. It’s exactly what it looks like.

“And just what the fuck are you doing?” Carter finally grumbles out, blinking first, so to speak.

As much as I don’t want to, I lift my chin and look him square in the eye as Granna told me to.

“I’m leaving.” The response comes on a shuddery exhale but I don’t care, and divert by turning to lift one of my framed art pieces from off the wall; a speckled owl with black, downy feathers that I drew with charcoal; its wide, yellow eyes standing out from its dark, fluffy face almost looks like it’s thanking me for taking him with me as I place him in the box.

“You’re not fucking leaving,” Carter spits and shakes his head as I start folding down the cardboard flaps, and my head actually snaps up, not at what he said, but the confidence with which he said it.

“You don’t get to decide that – I do,” I grit out, giving him what I hope is a good death stare, and I’m mildly satisfied that it makes his eyes widen slightly in surprise.

This is what Granna pointed out to me one of the last times she was around, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Carter has been engaging control over me so gradually that I didn’t even notice it happening. I didn’t want to believe her at first, but two nights ago… I found the smoking fucking gun.

“Obviously,” he says snidely. “I mean tell me why you’re leaving so that I can fix whatever the fuck you think it is I did wrong.” He tosses the mail on the table right when my head shoots up to regard him.

All of a sudden, the nerves I had about facing him are gone. I’m no longer worried about him saying something charming to try and suck me back in like he has with so many other apologies that I was stupid enough to believe were sincere. I’m not dreading him putting me down, yelling at me, or slamming his fist against something to try to scare me.

Nope. His cavalier attitude about whatever the fuck he did wrong, as he put it, has flipped a switch and rage has taken over.

“Oh?” I ask cynically. It feels like acid is flowing through my veins, but I welcome it, envisioning it fueling me and transforming me into a monster like him as I thrust my hand into my purse and snatch out the thick paper that’s been folded three ways into a rectangle. Shaking it open, I hold it up in front of him. “Can you fix this?”

He sets his jaw, and props to him for keeping his stoney expression intact, but he can’t hide the way his complexion just paled as he looks at the letter I’m holding. The real letter I received from the Novel Institute of Creative Art in Indianapolis – the one that says I was accepted.

“Can you fix the year you took away from me, from my career?”

“Luna, it’s not a career –”

“Shut up!” I cut off his careless words and dismissive headshake and actually make his shoulders jerk a little in surprise. Good. I won’t stand here and listen to him tell me I can’t make something of myself with my art even one more time. “Every word out of your mouth is bullshit, Carter! You actually stood there and told me that my art was brilliant and that they were idiots not to accept me, while I cried over the letter that you typed up and put in their envelope, you son of a bitch!”

“Luna…” he sighs, looking down pensively, and I can see it. I can see the shift. "Honey, we had just got something going and you had made it clear that NICA was your future, and nothing was going to stop you. I needed more time to prove myself to you, that you could be happy here with me.” His voice is somber, but I know now it’s deliberate. He’s been playing me for the better part of a year, changing his demeanor to make me react in whichever way worked in his favor. Right now, he’s trying to appeal to my compassionate side so that he can get the upper hand again. But I’m impervious now. This is unforgivable.

“Again, Carter, every word I hear is bullshit. Do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up,” I tell him through clenched teeth as I fold the paper back up.

“Luna, see, right now I’m trying to explain why I did what I did… the lengths I’d go to be with you because I love you, and you won’t even listen –”

“I don’t need to listen to you!” I cut him off again. He doesn’t get to control this conversation. “I know everything! You found my acceptance letter and switched it out with a rejection that you typed up so that I would feel exactly that – rejected! Then you came in like the comforting hero that was going to pick me up and dust me off,” I mutter, shaking my head as I close up the box. The anger infused spike in my adrenaline is starting to gradually taper down, and that’s fine. I’ve shown this asshole what I’m capable of, and now it’s time to really drive it home with a cool veneer. Nothing says I’m dead fucking serious more than being as calm as fuck when you deliver your message of finality.

“Alright, Luna,” Carter says as he grips the bridge of his nose and rubs at his eyes with one hand before regrouping and squaring his shoulders. “I know what I did was fucked up on so many levels…”

“You act like you just forgot to pay the water bill,” I insert in the middle of his crap proclamation, “You betrayed and deceived me all the while continuing to knock me down! I could actually sue you for what you did, and not even your lawyer cousin would be able to get you out of that one,” I spit out, not even looking at him as I turn towards the fridge to retrieve my pint of Ben & Jerrys. I absolutely love the bitter bitch I’m being right now. Speaking of…

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