Claire had a fight with Owen. There was nothing unusual about this, of course, since most couples bicker from time to time, but on this particular night, it got out of hand. The quarrel ended with Owen leaving the house to stay with Barry for a while. Despite the gravity of this occurrence, Claire couldn't quite remember why she had started the argument in the first place. She remembered using the word "immature" several times, so there was one clue. Truth be told, Owen demonstrated childish behaviors upon occasion, from shirking responsibility when he broke something to trying to repair a leaky faucet with bubble gum. These events seemed to come out of nowhere, because for the most part, he was a responsible adult. Yet even though he made himself useful around the house, his handiwork wasn't always enough to make up for the fact that he'd leave his underpants strewn across the carpet, for example. He oscillated between two opposing states of being, and thus it was hard to reprimand him for his behavior. Claire felt guilty for accusing him of being a big baby, but she was partly correct. Perhaps he felt the same way when he claimed that she was uptight: although she could be spontaneous, there was always a chance that she'd earn his criticism by ironing his underpants etcetera. But what did he expect when he left them out- Oh, but it didn't matter. They were both mad at each other, even if they didn't quite understand why.
And so, Claire sat on the couch watching sad TV movies with a bucket of chocolate ice cream cradled in her arms. There were also three empty buckets beside her, but she wasn't counting them. Speaking of which, she was running low. As she reached over to grab another bucket (she had two more on standby), she shrieked. At the other end of the couch was a young boy, about six years old. She rolled onto the floor and crawled backwards. The boy looked just as frightened as she did.
"Who are you?!" she yelped.
"You talk!" he gasped.
Claire frowned.
"Well, of course I-"
She fell silent. For a moment, she had forgotten that it was unusual for hybrid dinosaurs to talk. Or to exist, for that matter.
"Look, I don't have to explain myself," she snapped, "You, on the other hand, are trespassing on private property."
The boy shrunk away fearfully.
"You're not gonna eat me, are you?"
Claire rolled her eyes.
"No. Of course not. I'm a herbivore, and even if I wasn't, I wouldn't eat people. But you really shouldn't be here. I'm going to call your parents and have them pick you up. Do you live nearby?"
"I don't know."
Claire snorted.
"You must know. Did you walk here?"
He shook his head rapidly, making his hair shake.
"Nope. I was sitting at home, mindin' my own business, and suddenly, I'm here."
Claire frowned.
"A likely story. What's your name?"
"Owen."
"Last name?"
"Grady."
Claire's heart skipped a beat. She batted her eyelashes.
"Okay, stop kidding around. What's your name?"
"I'm serious!" the kid squeaked, "That's my real name. I don't know what you want me to say."
Claire gulped.
"Something weird is going on here."
"I'll say! I'm talking to a dinosaur!"
Claire gave an unhappy rumble.
"If someone is putting you up to this, I'd like to know right now."
He pouted.
"Look, lady, I'm just as confused as you are."
Claire sighed and rubbed the front of her frill.
"Okay. Fine. Your name is Owen Grady. That could be a coincidence."
"Coincidence for what?"
"Nothing. Wait here. I'll get you a phone."
"You have a cordless? Neat."
Claire scoffed.
"Everyone has a cordless."
"Nope. Not me. My family doesn't even have a phone."
Claire narrowed her eyes.
"That might make it hard to call your parents . . ."
"I live with my mom. My dad is away right now. He's coming back, though."
Claire nodded absentmindedly.
"Right. How are we going to get you home?"
He shrugged.
"Dunno. But I'd like to stay here for a while. I've never met a talking dinosaur before. This feels important."
"I'm not a dinosaur. I mean, I am, but-"
She looked into his deeply confused eyes. Clearly, she wasn't getting through to him.
"You know what, why don't you grab yourself a bowl of Froot Loops. They're in the kitchen cupboard."
The way his face lit up made Claire wonder whether he really was Owen. She knew for a fact that he loved Froot Loops, because she had made a point of buying him a box on his birthday. She wanted to feel happy about the memory, but she was still angry at him for whatever it was that he had done to piss her off earlier that day. Speaking of which, it was about time to check up on him. She pulled a large phone out of her coat pocket and began tapping it with one of her horns.
Did Barry take you in?
She didn't have to wait long for a response.
Yes.
You forgot your toothbrush.
One night won't kill me.
Claire rolled her eyes.
Do you want me to bring it over?
There was no reply. Claire thought about it, then gave in and decided to ask him about this strange occurrence.
If I needed to identify you, how would I go about it?
There was a pause which she imagined was filled with confusion.
What?
If I needed to ask you a question to prove that it was you, what would I ask?
Is this some sort of trick question? Shouldn't you know that?
Claire bit her lower beak. She should know what to ask him. But this child was different from the Owen she lived with. Everything she knew about her boyfriend had to do with the adventures they'd shared, or at the very least, his career at Jurassic World. Theoretically, a young Owen wouldn't remember any of that. So it was time to find out just how much she really knew about her partner.
When she entered the kitchen, Claire was put off by the volume of his cereal. He had poured a veritable mountain, but he was digging into it like crazy. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was rather scrawny, but then again, most children were.
When she sat down beside him, he offered her a spoonful of Froot Loops. She pushed his hand away slowly.
"I'm not an animal."
He shrugged and went back to eating. Claire took a deep breath.
"You said that you live with your mother, right?"
He nodded.
"Don't you think she'll be worried about you?" she pressed.
"She knows that I can take care of myself."
Claire rubbed her chin.
"Owen, do you know anything about raptors?"
"What?"
"Raptors."
"Like eagles and stuff?"
Claire looked down.
"Nevermind."
She lifted her head suddenly.
"Owen, do you want some Gummy Bears?"
He shook his head.
"I can't eat them or . . . I can't eat them."
Claire nodded.
"Would you like some strawberries instead?"
"I'm allergic."
So far, everything he said was pretty much aligned with what she knew about Owen. She'd have to be crazy to believe that this child would grow up to be the person she knew, but then again, weirder things had happened to her. Her tail was proof of that.
She left the room unceremoniously to text the real Owen and clear things up. She was surprised to find that she had received a text of her own.
Glitch in canon. Don't panic. Keep new Owen occupied until we sort this out.
Claire frowned. She was no stranger to the term "canon" and its implications. She wasn't exactly sure how this whole multiverse thing was supposed to work, but the more she pondered it, the more she worried. It was therefore something she wasn't keen to ask about. She did remember that her winged friend had mentioned some sort of maintenance that involved clearing out certain unnecessary worlds humanely. Perhaps this was linked to that initiative.
What do I do?
Have him stay the night. Keep him nearby. He'll be gone in a day or two.
A day or two?! That was about three days longer than Claire wanted him around. But if it had to be done, it had to be done. She was beyond questioning the will of her guardian angel.
"Excuse me?"
Claire whipped her head around. The small Owen was standing in the doorway.
"I need to use the bathroom."
She sighed.
"Down the hall. First door on your left."
He waddled away, and Claire turned back to her phone. She typed up a short reply, then lumbered over to the staircase in order to prepare the guest room. Owen came out of the bathroom before she could go upstairs.
"Did you wash your hands?"
He turned around and went back in. Claire rolled her eyes. Typical.
When Owen was clean (relatively speaking), he followed her upstairs. She opened the door to the guest bedroom and pointed at the bed.
"This is where you're going to sleep. I don't want you up in the middle of the night. Stay put."
"What if I have to pee?"
"You can go, but don't wander around. I'm not your babysitter."
Owen crawled under the covers. It would be a pain to wash them, Claire thought. She turned to leave, but Owen reached out for her.
"Wait!"
"What's the matter?"
"You never told me your name."
"It's Claire."
"What kind of dinosaur are you?"
"Stegoceratops. Go to bed."
He looked down.
"Okay."
Claire left him like this, praying to god that he wouldn't run away by morning. If he was as unpredictable as the regular Owen, it was very much possible that he would try.
*************C*************
When Claire saw that Owen wasn't in bed the next morning, she panicked. It was impossible to tell how long ago he'd left, but she could probably sniff out a trail if she was quick. Oddly enough, she couldn't pick up his scent . . . mostly because her nostrils were filled with the smell of fried vegetables. She galloped down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Owen was flipping green flapjacks on a pan that was half his size. Hell, he was even standing on a dictionary. Claire rushed over and turned off the stove.
"Hey!" he whined.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
He scuffed his toe bitterly.
"Jus' making brek'fust. That's all."
Claire growled.
"Well, it's lucky you didn't burn the house down. What are you even making?"
"An omelet. Without eggs."
"It's not an omelet if you don't use eggs."
"You said you only eat plants."
Claire blinked.
"Wait . . . you were making that . . . for me?"
He nodded.
"Yeah. I wanted to surprise you. You seemed mad that I was staying here."
"I'm- I'm not mad. Christ, why can't you be this nice all the time?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
Claire picked him up by the armpits and lowered him to the floor, kicking the dictionary away gently.
"Go make your own breakfast."
"Already did."
Claire gave him an impressed look.
"You get up early."
"Not really. It's noon."
Shit. She overslept again. Well, at least she didn't have to worry about making breakfast.
As she brought the omelet to the kitchen table, Owen followed her like a gadfly. He stood beside her as she ate, making her feel very uncomfortable. She decided that he was probably waiting for feedback.
"It's good."
Owen smiled and rubbed her snout. She snorted angrily.
"Stop that. I'm not a horse."
"I know. You're a stegocer'tops."
He grabbed one of her plates and started flapping it.
"What does this thing do?"
She made her plates flutter, scaring him away.
"Don't touch me."
Owen's lip quivered. He looked down in shame. Claire gave a deep sigh and turned her eyes to the ceiling.
"Why don't you watch TV or something?"
"I'd rather watch you."
"Too bad: I'm not here to entertain you. Stay in the den. There's probably a kid's program on."
Owen dragged himself out of the kitchen and flicked on the TV. Claire gave a satisfied nod and marched up to the itinerary that was taped to the fridge. The first chore on her list was doing laundry. She figured she'd put that off for a while, since the adult Owen wasn't making his usual mess. Second was dusting. That was simple enough.
Claire picked up a feather duster with her beak and ran it along every horizontal surface she could find. She couldn't help but notice that Owen was watching her. Every time she'd turn around, however, he would pretend to be invested in whatever was on the television screen. After a while, she grew tired of this game.
"Why are you staring at me?"
Owen gulped.
"No reason. I just never seen a dinosaur before, that's all."
Claire snuffed.
"Get used to it, kid. You'll be seeing a lot of them, and they aren't all as friendly as me."
Owen looked down.
"You don't like me very much, huh?"
Claire gulped.
"Well, that's not entirely true . . ."
"It's okay. I won't bother you anymore. I know it's hard to put up with me."
He turned back to the TV. Claire bit her lower beak, then crept up behind him timidly. He avoided making eye contact with her.
"What do you mean, Owen?"
"Hm?"
"You said it's hard to put up with you."
He shrugged.
"I'm not very smart, and I get in the way. That's why most people don't like me."
Claire felt her stomach twist. She took a deep breath and sat down beside him on the couch. When he didn't acknowledge this, she nodded to the flickering screen.
"Do you like this show? It looks pretty cool."
"First time I seen it. I don't have a TV."
Claire gulped.
"Oh . . . Well, do you like it?"
"I guess."
She had never seen a child look so depressed, and that was saying something, given her previous interactions with non-adults. It might be worth the effort to cheer him up a little, even if it would prove to be a pointless endeavor once he was out of the house for good.
"Hey, Owen. You wanna see something cool?"
He batted his eyes. Claire took that as a yes. She held out her thagomizer for him to see. Slowly, she pressed the tip of her tail against one of her spikes. A thin, translucent thread appeared where they met, feeding out of a barely-visible hole. She proceeded to tap her other spikes against the first in a continuous pattern, drawing more and more silk out of her body. Soon, she had a sticky rope hanging from her tail. Owen's jaw dropped.
"AWESOME!"
Claire smiled.
"Really? You think so? I didn't know how you'd take it. I mean, I haven't even told . . . um . . . Well, I haven't told anyone about it yet. It's kind of gross."
Owen strummed her thread like a guitar.
"This is way cool. Can I keep it?"
Claire was surprised.
"Um . . . Sure?"
He plucked the sticky fiber from her tail and rolled it around in his hands. When he was done playing with it, he put it in his back pocket.
"Do you know any other tricks?"
Claire grinned.
"Remember how you were wondering what I use my plates for? . . ."
*************C*************
Owen was having the time of his life. Although flying drained Claire's energy faster than most activities, his gleeful laughter kept her going for a solid half hour. She dove and spiraled and even did a loop. He held onto her frill and screamed excitedly, bouncing up and down on her neck and demanding that they go higher.
And they did.
Their flight took them above the clouds, then just over the treetops. They soared along a mountain river and through a dusty canyon. It was a beautiful trip, and when Claire landed by the front of her house, Owen was ecstatic. While she grazed to replenish her energy, he ran around the meadow with his arms spread out like an airplane. Claire smiled whenever he passed her. It was magical.
Later that night, Claire made popcorn, and they watched Finding Nemo. It just happened to be playing, so she sat down and let him lean against her like a pillow. The peculiar thing about their viewing experience was the fact that every time a sad part came along, Owen would sniffle and make a pouty face, but he never cried once. Claire had seen him do this before as an adult, most notably when he thought she was dumping him because she made him sleep on the couch after an earlier fight. Maybe it was time to figure out why he behaved so oddly.
"Owen?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you cry so infrequently?"
"What's 'infrequently'?"
"It means not a lot."
"Oh. Well, I never cry."
"I've seen you cry."
"When?"
"When we-"
Oh. The moment she was thinking of hadn't happened yet from his perspective.
"Nevermind. I might be wrong. Why don't you cry, Owen?"
"Because I'm a man."
Claire laughed, but soon realized that he wasn't joking. She examined his offended mien with worry.
"Owen, there's nothing wrong with crying. It's what makes us human."
"Not you."
"What do you- . . . oh, right. Look, whatever you've been told, it's okay to cry."
Owen shook his head.
"That's not what Dad said."
"Well, he was wrong. I don't think he was a very good role model."
Owen's lip started trembling.
"That's a lie!"
Claire shook her head.
"Owen, no one has all the answers, and judging by what you've told me about your father, he has less answers than most."
Owen whimpered.
"You're wrong! You don't know anything about him!"
He was kind of right. She didn't know much about Owen's relationship with his father, because she had never bothered to ask. Well, maybe she had tried once or twice, but he always seemed keen to brush it off. Judging by the way he reacted to her queries, it was clear that his father had never returned like he hoped. But why was he so fixated on the idea of having a father? God, that question answered itself, didn't it? To have such an important person just walk out of your life one day . . . Claire couldn't imagine what it must have been like.
"What about your mother?" she asked, "Is she at home all the time?"
Owen nodded.
"Yes. I take care of her."
That seemed kind of backwards.
"What's your house like?"
"It's a trailer."
This just kept getting worse and worse.
"Why haven't you told me this before?" she asked.
"We only just met each other."
Claire closed her eyes.
"Right . . . Owen, suppose someone else you knew was wondering about your family. Would there be any reason at all why you might not disclose this information?"
"What's that mean?"
"Tell people about it."
He shrugged.
"I guess if I thought they couldn't handle it. Sometimes, when I tell people about the way I live, they don't like me no more. I guess I'm not the kind of person they want to be friends with."
"Why not?"
"Because I was born poor, and I don't think that's ever gonna change. I'm not smart enough to get a real job."
"You're smart . . . sometimes . . ."
"Yeah, but I'm not Einstein. Even if I was, no one would want to hire me because of the way my family is. Just about everyone on Earth is better than me."
Claire gave him a hug.
"No, Owen, no. Don't say that. I know for a fact that you'll do great things."
"Like what?"
"You'll get a good job, make lots of money . . ."
"Not enough to support a family, though."
"Well . . . I mean . . . maybe someday . . ."
Owen kicked his feet idly. He leaned back and took a deep breath.
"Claire, I've been thinking about it, and I want to st-"
Her phone started buzzing on the table. She picked it up and read the newest text message. Her heart dropped.
"Owen . . ."
"Yeah?"
"It's time for you to go home."
His eyes went wide.
"No . . ."
"I'm sorry. You have to."
He clung to her snout, sniffling helplessly.
"No, Claire! I don't wanna go! You're the only person who listens to me! I want to stay here forever and ever!"
"You can't."
"Why not? I thought you liked me . . ."
Claire sighed.
"I do, Owen. Believe me: I do. But your mother will be worried."
She felt wetness on her muzzle. He was crying.
"Claire . . . I don't wanna go. What if we never see each other again?"
She touched his cheek.
"Owen, I promise we'll be together eventually. I'm one hundred percent sure of it. You need to trust me. This isn't goodbye."
She let him stroke her snout. It was funny: she was starting to cry too. She closed her eyes and tried to fight her sorrow. When she opened them, she could see her scales through his hand. He was fading away.
"Claire . . ."
"Don't be afraid. You're going back to where you belong."
"But I'd rather be here."
She smiled.
"You'll be back someday. You just have to be patient."
He sniffled and hugged her neck.
"I love you, Claire."
"Me too. Don't forget it. I'll see you later."
He disappeared completely. Claire sat quietly for a moment, then rested her chin on her front feet. There was a knock at the door. She knew that the current Owen had returned, but when she let him into the house, her eyes went wide.
"Wow, you're tall."
"I haven't grown since you last saw me."
"I know, but . . . That's not important. First off, I want to let you know that I'm sorry."
"No need to be."
She gulped.
"No, there is. I've been kind of hard on you lately, and that's not fair."
"Life isn't fair."
"But I shouldn't make it harder."
"It doesn't matter."
She noticed that Owen hadn't looked her in the eye once. Something was on his mind.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine. I just spent the whole day being bossed around."
"By whom?"
"Someone who will never change."
Claire wasn't sure what he meant, but he didn't sound too pleased. He was headed for their room, but Claire cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Owen?"
"What."
"You know I respect you, right?"
He froze with his hand on the railing.
"What? . . ."
"I respect you."
He turned around.
"Why?"
Claire shrugged.
"Well, why not? I mean, there's nothing wrong with you."
"Not a whole lot right with me either."
Claire shook her head.
"You're wrong. You have a lot to be proud of."
He laughed bitterly.
"You don't fool me. You're just trying to make me feel better."
Claire darted in front of him and gave him a kiss. His eyes went wide. She put her chin on his shoulder and hugged him tightly.
"Owen, please don't ever think that I look down on you. I know it doesn't always seem like it, but I admire the things you do. In many ways, you're a better person than I am."
His jaw dropped.
"How?"
"You're good with people . . . I mean, in a different way. I can manage clients just fine, and if I have to, I can act pleasant. But it's all a show. You're honest. When you say you like someone, you mean it, and a lot of people like you back. Nobody really feels that way about me. All of my relationships are coated in endless layers of lies and manipulation. All except this one. Owen, you're not perfect, but to be completely honest, you're closer than I am."
Their shared gaze was not broken immediately. For a split second, it was as though they understood each other, even though they were complete opposites. They kissed again.
"Owen?"
"Yes?"
"I love you. Also, I can make webs with my tail."
"Cool."
"Yeah."