Without Merit

He nods. “Me, you, Honor, Utah, Victoria.” He sets his coffee cup down. “I think it’s a few years overdue.”

I smile, because I’m relieved. So relieved. I’ve already decided I’d go to therapy, especially after that stupid crumpled-up piece of paper on my bedroom floor and the cheesy conversation it led to last night. But I really did think it was a little unfair that no one else in this family was being required to go. My father is right. This family is long overdue. “What about Mom? Will she be going to therapy?”

His face is sullen. “I’ll try my best with her. I promise.”

“You promise what?” Utah asks. He’s walking through the back door with Honor.

My father stands up straight and clears his throat. “Clear your schedules after school Monday. We’re going to family therapy.”

Honor groans. “That sounds terrible.”

“Is it too late to be emancipated from you?” Utah asks.

My father laughs. “You’re eighteen, you’re already an adult.” He starts to walk out of the kitchen, but stops short and takes a step back. “Merit? What the hell is on your back?” I feel my father’s fingers brush my back and I immediately freeze. Crap. I pulled on jeans and a tank top when I got out of bed, which doesn’t fully cover my skin. The tattoo.

“Um . . .” I hear the screen door slam and look up to see Sagan standing there.

Honor leans around me and looks at the tattoo. “Uh . . . I drew it. It’s only temporary.”

“Yeah,” I quickly agree. “It’s . . . like henna.”

“Honor doesn’t draw that well,” my father says.

I turn around and face him so he’ll stop looking at it. “Dad, of course she does. Sagan’s been teaching her.” I look to Sagan for backup and he’s immediately nodding his head.

“Yeah, Honor wants to be an artist. She’s really good.”

“I’m so good,” Honor says.

My father watches all three of us, but then decides he can’t tell who’s lying. He gives up and walks away.

“Thank you,” I mouth to Honor.

She winks at me and then says, “Feel like cooking breakfast?”



We’re almost finished with the eggs when Victoria walks out of her bedroom.

“What’s going on?” She’s looking at us suspiciously.

Honor takes over the eggs while I start with the rest of the stuff. “Giving you a break,” Honor says.

“Is this a trick?” Victoria asks.

“No trick.” I pour water into the pancake batter. “Just making you breakfast.”

Victoria doesn’t stop with her suspicion. She walks slowly to an already made pot of coffee and pours herself a cup, never taking her eyes off us. “The eggs should be cooked last.”

I smile. “We’re learning. It’s our first time.”

Victoria takes a seat at the bar. “I’m enjoying this too much to stop watching.”

I’m still stirring the pancake batter when I decide to lay things out in the open for Victoria. “Listen,” I tell her. “I’m Moby’s big sister. And sometimes big sisters do things like sneak donuts to their little brother. I’m not going to stop doing that because that’s mine and Moby’s thing. But . . .” I look up at her. “I’ll cut it down to like once a week. If that’s okay with you.”

Victoria looks at me like I’ve been possessed. Then she nods. “I would appreciate that, Merit. Thank you.”

And just like that, we come to an understanding that’s been long overdue.

I turn around and pour the first pancake into the pan, just as Sagan walks in from another trip to the old house. He stops in his tracks and takes in the scene. Me and Honor cooking breakfast. Victoria standing by with a smile on her face. He soaks it up and then walks over to Honor and kisses her on her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

When he reaches me, he wraps his arms around me from behind in a much more intimate gesture than how he just said hello to Honor. He kisses the back of my head and then rests his chin on my shoulder as he looks down at the pancake I’m trying to make. “You win beauty pageants, bowling tournaments, track meets, and now I find out you’re a chef? I think I might keep you, Merit.”

“If I let you,” I deadpan. I would absolutely let him.

“Sagan, look!” Moby says, barreling into the kitchen. Sagan picks him up and sets him down on the bar. Moby hands him a drawing.

“Oh. Wow,” Sagan says, folding it in half. He immediately shoves it in his pocket.

“What is it?” Victoria asks.

Sagan shakes his head, obviously hiding something. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I drew all the dead bodies the king shoved inside the mountain!” Moby says excitedly.

Victoria looks at Sagan. Sagan just laughs and pulls Moby off the bar. “Maybe we should practice drawing plants before we move on to dead bodies.”

Utah intercepts Sagan and Moby and he grabs Moby and plops him into a chair at the table. “Are you excited about today, Moby?”

“Yes!”

“How excited?”

“So excited!” Moby giggles.

“How excited?”

“The most excited!”

Honor leans over me and looks down at the two pancakes I’ve managed to burn. “We’re gonna need some practice. I think I just ruined the eggs.”



Half an hour later, almost everything is done and I’m working on the last pancake when Luck walks into the kitchen. He’s wearing his regulation Starbucks shirt . . . but he’s paired it with his green kilt.

I hear Utah laugh from the table. “Are you trying to get fired?”

Luck grabs a cup from the cabinet. “If they don’t let me wear my kilt to work, I’ll sue for religious discrimination.”

I take the last pancake out and flip it onto the plate. Honor has just finished putting the rest of the food on the kitchen table when I set the pancakes down and take a seat between Sagan and Moby.

Moby takes a bite of a pancake and, with a mouthful, says, “Are you gay, Utah?”

We all immediately look at Moby. Utah spatters laughter.

Victoria clears her throat and says, “Where did you hear that word, Moby?”

Moby shrugs. “I heard it like ten years ago. Somebody said Utah is gay. Is that like a bastard?”

Utah laughs and says, “Being gay just means a guy might like to marry another guy instead of a girl.”

Victoria adds, “Or a girl might marry a girl.”

Luck nods. “And some people like guys and girls.”

“I like Legos,” Moby says.

“You can’t marry a Lego,” Victoria says to him.

Moby’s face drops in disappointment. “Why not?”

My father points his fork at Moby. “It’s not a living thing, son.”

“So it has to be alive?” Moby asks my father. “Like the puppies you showed me last night?”

My father immediately shakes his head. “You have to stick with your own species. You have to marry a human.”

Moby pouts. “That’s not fair. I want to marry the puppies.”

I laugh. “You’re learning early that life isn’t fair. Took me seventeen years.”

Victoria forks another pancake onto her plate. “This is really good, girls.”

“It is,” my father agrees.