Without Merit

Do you have trouble concentrating?

I’ve made it through this list, so I can answer no to this one. I don’t check the box, but before I move on to the next question, I start to think about this question a little more. I haven’t been able to focus on my crossword puzzles like I usually do. And one of the reasons I stopped going to school is because I was getting so antsy in class, it was hard to pay attention. I draw a check mark, but make it lighter than the rest. I’ll count it as a no if I need to.

Have you noticed changes in your sleep patterns?

Well . . . I didn’t used to sleep all day. Check. But I think that’s just a side effect of skipping school.

Have you had a change in appetite?

If I have, I haven’t noticed it. Finally! One I’m not checking.

Or . . . wait. I’ve been skipping meals lately. But that could also be a side effect of skipping school.

Do you ever feel indifferent?

Check.

Have you cried more than usual?

Check.

Have you ever had thoughts of suicide?

Does just once or twice count? Check.

Have you ever attempted suicide?

Check.

I stare at the list with a knot in my stomach. My hands are trembling as I look over the list and realize I’ve checked off every single box.

Fuck this stupid list. It’s no different from any other online symptom checklist that leads people to falsely believe they’re suffering from some terrible disease. Have a headache? You must have a brain tumor! Have chest pain? You’re having a heart attack! Trouble sleeping? You’re depressed!

I crumple it up into a ball and chuck it across the room. Five minutes pass as I stare motionless at the wad of paper on the floor. I eventually force myself to snap out of it.

I’ll go check on Wolfgang. At least he won’t torture me with conversation or questions.

“You want to help me feed Wolfgang?” I ask Moby as I make my way through the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, watching cartoons, but he jumps off the couch and beats me to the back door.

“Is he mean?”

“No, not at all.” I fill the pitcher up with dog food and open the back door.

“Daddy said he’s mean,” Moby says. “He called him a bastard.”

I laugh and follow him down the steps. I don’t know why it’s so cute when kids cuss. I’ll probably be that mother who encourages her kids to say things like “shit” and “dammit.”

When we make it to the doghouse, Wolfgang isn’t inside it. “Where is he?” Moby asks.

I look around the yard. “I don’t know.” I walk around the doghouse, yelling his name. Moby spins in a circle with me as we scan the dark yard for him. “Let me go turn on the back porch light.” I make my way back to the porch when Moby calls my name.

“Merit!” he says. “Is that him?”

He’s pointing to the side of the house. I walk around the corner and Wolfgang is crawling out from under the house, right next to the window to the basement. I sigh, relieved. I don’t know why I’m oddly attached to this dog, but I was about to start panicking. I walk back over to Wolfgang’s bowl and fill it with dog food. He slowly makes his way to the bowl and begins eating. “Getting your appetite back, huh?” I pet him between the ears and Moby reaches out and does the same. Guess that means he’s not depressed.

“How’s he doing?”

I spin around to find Sagan making his way over to us. He’s acting so casual, like nothing even happened last night. Two can play at that game. “He looks a little better.”

Sagan kneels down next to me and runs his hand across Wolfgang’s stomach. “Yeah, he does seem a little better.” He moves his hand to pet Wolfgang on the head and his fingers brush against mine. It sends chills up my arms and I’m so glad it’s almost dark. The last thing I need him to see is that he still flusters me.

“Can he sleep in my room with me tonight?” Moby asks.

Sagan laughs. “I don’t think your dad would like that very much.”

“We don’t have to tell him,” Moby says.

His comment makes me laugh. My father is going to have his work cut out with this one.

The headlights from my father’s car scroll across the property as he pulls into the driveway. “Pizza’s here!” Moby yells. It’s so rare that Victoria allows him to have pizza, he forgets all about Wolfgang and runs back into the house. I don’t want to be left alone too long in the awkwardness between me and Sagan.

“I’m starving.” I grab the empty pitcher and Sagan follows me toward the back door. As soon as my hand is on the handle of the screen door, Sagan grabs my other hand and tugs on it, not wanting me to go inside yet. I close my eyes momentarily and sigh. When I turn around, I’m a step higher than him, so we’re eye to eye.

“Merit,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry about last night. I was up all night thinking about it.”

He sounds sincere. I open my mouth, but then I clamp it shut again because I lost his attention to the ring of his phone. He’s digging in his pocket, stepping back down onto the grass, bringing his phone to his ear.

“Wow,” I whisper. I shouldn’t be shocked that I misread his apology as sincere. He couldn’t even silence his phone long enough for me to respond?

I leave him to his urgent phone call and let the screen door slam shut behind me.

I walk into the kitchen just as my father and Victoria are walking through the front door with the pizza. “Moby, they didn’t have gluten free,” Victoria says. “You can have regular pizza tonight, but don’t get used to it.”

Moby’s eyes light up and he climbs onto a bar stool and pulls a box toward him before Victoria even has a chance to set it on the counter.

“That’s not how being gluten intolerant works,” I say to Victoria. “You can either have it or you can’t.”

Luck covers my mouth with his hand. “Merit. Let the mother allow her child some gluten tonight.”

I pull my head away from Luck’s hand and mutter, “I’m just making a point.”

Honor is next to me, pulling a stack of paper plates out of the cabinet when Sagan walks into the kitchen. “You need any help?” he asks her.

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

That wasn’t a friendly nope. I’m curious if she’s mad at him, too. He scoots around her and grabs some cups. Moments later, we’re all seated at the table, sans Utah.

Honestly, it’s strange not having him here. I can’t help but wonder where he is right now and where he spent the last two nights. Or how long my father is going to be mad at him before he allows him to come back here.

Honor is staring at the empty spot where Utah usually eats. “It wasn’t enough that you kicked him out? You went and got rid of his chair, too?”

My father glances at the empty spot. “The chair broke,” he says, failing to mention that he’s the one who broke it when he smashed it against the wall.