There's a knock at the basement window. "Merit," Utah says, his voice muffled from behind the glass. "Come out here."
I run up the stairs and go outside, around to the basement window where Utah is kneeling on the ground. "You aren't going to believe this," he says. He lifts something up and motions for me to come closer.
"What is that?"
"A puppy," he says. "Two of them."
I immediately fall to my knees next to him. "You're kidding. Where in the world did they come from?" I grab one of the puppies from Utah. It's black and tiny and can't be more than a day or two old. I glance around. "Where do you think their mom is?"
Utah pulls the other puppy to his chest. "I suspect she's buried near Pastor Brian."
Wait.
Wait.
"Wolfgang was a girl?"
"Looks like it," Utah says, laughing.
"But . . ." I look down at the puppy in my hands. "They're probably starving. How are we supposed to keep them alive now?"
Utah hands me the other puppy and stands up. "I'll see if I can get in touch with an emergency vet. You take them down to Mom so she can see what's been keeping her awake."
I gather both the puppies in my arms and carry them inside the house and down to the basement.
"What the heck?" Honor says, immediately grabbing one from me. "Where did these come from?"
Surprisingly, my mother grabs the other puppy. "Oh, my goodness," she says. "So you're the culprit, huh?" She nuzzles the puppy with her nose. "Oh, you're so cute."
"Turns out Wolfgang was actually a girl. Utah is calling the vet to see what we can do for them."
"I want to keep one," my mother says. "Do you think I can keep one?"
I reach over and pet the puppy in her arms. "I don't know, Mom. It'll be kind of hard to raise a dog in a basement."
"Yeah," Honor says, giving me a knowing look before looking at Mom. "But I bet Utah would let you keep one if you moved back to the old house with him. It should be ready in a few weeks."
My mother doesn't say anything for a moment. She just stares down at the puppy while she smooths her hand down its back. "You think he would?" she says quietly.
Honor looks at me and smiles.
I have no idea if she'll actually move back to our old house, but this is the closest she's come to entertaining the idea of leaving the basement in a long time. That's progress.
Utah comes back down the stairs. "I found a vet who wants me to bring them in. He says there's a formula we can syringe feed them, but we'll have to do it every couple of hours for the first week."
"I can help," my mother says with eagerness. "Will you bring them back down here when you get back?"
Utah nods as he takes the puppies from her and Honor. "Sure. It might be a while, though. I'll wake you up when I get home."
"I'll go with you," Honor says, running up the stairs after him. Once they're gone, I look over at my mother. She's walking around her small basement apartment, tidying things up, preparing for the return of the puppies. It makes me smile, seeing her this excited about something.
"Did Utah say Wolfgang is their mother? Is that the same dog your father used to hate so much?"
"One and only."
She laughs. "I don't know why, but that makes me like those puppies even more." She drops down onto her couch and yawns. I watch her for a moment, until she notices me staring. "What is it?"
I shrug. "Nothing."
"You look upset."
I sigh and then take a seat next to her. "Dad thinks I need to start therapy on Monday."
She pats my knee. An unusual gesture coming from her. "Your dad thinks a doctor can fix anything. But my doctor never fixed me." She glances at me. "You want me to talk to him?"
I think about that question for a moment. But I also think about the crumpled sheet of paper sitting on my bedroom floor. "Do you think maybe you just never had the right doctor?"
My mother regards me quietly for a moment. She starts fidgeting with her hands and I can see the anxiety starting to set in. She breaks eye contact and says, "It's late. I think I'm going to sleep."
Her words disappoint me, but not as much as they sadden me. "Okay," I say. "Good night, Mom."
She's already off the couch and walking toward her bed. I head toward the stairs, but she calls my name.
"Yeah?" I say, pausing at the bottom.
She shrugs her left shoulder and says, "Let me know if you like the doctor."
I smile at her. Another step closer. Even if it's just a baby step.
When I make it upstairs, my father is staring out the window. I haven't seen him since he walked here earlier this evening. I hesitate a moment, wondering if I should just go to my room or if I should say something to him. I eventually walk to where he's standing and glance out the window. Utah, Honor, and Luck are walking toward the van. Honor is holding both of the puppies inside a box.
"He was a girl?" my dad asks, shaking his head. "That damn bastard dog was a girl," he repeats. We watch out the window as Honor takes a seat in the passenger seat of the van, but before Luck or Utah get inside, Utah grabs Luck's hand and they kiss briefly. It's kind of sweet if you can overlook the whole related-by-marriage thing.
My father groans after seeing their display of affection. "I hope that doesn't last."
I chuckle. "I'm pretty sure Utah will be gay forever. It's not really something that fades."
My father turns away from the window, shaking his head. "I know that, Merit. I don't care if he's gay. I'm referring to whatever is happening between him and Luck. How am I supposed to explain to Moby that his uncle and his half brother are . . . a thing?"
"There are worse things he could find out about us."
"Like what?"
"You were arrested today for exhuming a corpse. That's pretty bad."
My dad laughs. "Moby would probably like that." He stares out the window again, long enough for them to pull out of the driveway.
I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. "Dad?" I don't know what I plan to say to him. He's put up with so much in his life and I can't help but feel like I've been adding to that weight all these years, rather than trying to take some of the weight off his shoulders. Do I apologize? Tell him thank you?
My dad nods, just a little, and then he takes a step toward me and pulls me in for a hug. The first hug he's probably felt like I would allow him to give me in a very long time. "I know, Merit," he whispers, relieving me from the awkwardness of not knowing what to say to him. "Me too."
I pull my hands from my pockets and return the hug. My father presses his cheek to the top of my head and I can't help but smile because it's probably the best hug I've ever been given. It's the one hug I've needed the most. We stay like this for a while, almost as if he's making up for lost time. And maybe I am, too.
If someone had told me last week that we'd be having this moment tonight, I'd have laughed at them and said it would be a miracle.
Maybe it is.
I'm facing the living room with my head pressed against my father's chest. I look up at Jesus and wonder if maybe He answered my prayer, after all. It was just a few days ago that I got down on my knees in my bedroom and prayed for a new focus.
I'd say the events that transpired after that have definitely given me a new focus.
I loosen my grip on my father and look up at him. "Why don't you believe in God?"
He glances over at Jesus and contemplates my question for a moment. And then he says, "I'm just a pragmatic person." He smiles down at me and tugs at my hair as he releases me. "That doesn't mean you can't believe in Him, though. We aren't put on this earth to be carbon copies of our parents. Peace doesn't come to everyone in the same form."
He tells me good night and walks to his bedroom. I glance at the hallway and Sagan is leaning against the wall, watching me. There's a faint smile on his face.
"It's after midnight," he says.
I look up at the clock on the wall and it's almost on
e in the morning. Which means . . . it's Saturday. "It's Saturday! My tattoo!"
Sagan laughs. "Let's go to the bathroom so you can see it in the mirror."
I follow him to the bathroom, my heart pounding anxiously in my chest. I search for a handheld mirror so I can see it closer. "It better be pretty. If you gave me a poop emoji, I'll kill you."
He laughs quietly as he pulls down my shirt sleeve and works to remove the bandage. "You seriously haven't peeked at it?"
I shake my head. "I promised you I wouldn't."
He takes the mirror from me and holds it up behind me. "Okay. Open your eyes."
When I see it, I suck in a quiet rush of air. In small font are the words, "With Merit." I stare at it for several seconds before the meaning really hits me.
In the letter I wrote to everyone, I signed off, "Without Merit."
Sagan wrote the opposite.
"With Merit."
Tears immediately cloud my vision as I run my fingers over it. It almost feels like a badge of maturity.
"Sagan," I whisper. "It's perfect."
He smiles at me in the mirror. "I think it'll look cool as a watercolor tattoo. I'll add some colors to it once I get more experience." He touches it and my skin feels like it ignites. "I'm glad you like it."
"I love it," I whisper.
I turn around to face him. He's extremely close still, but he doesn't back away. He's looking down at me like he has something else to say. I wait with air stuck in my lungs, but he just clears his throat and takes a step back. My lungs deflate like balloons when he widens the gap between us.
"Good night, Merit." He walks out of the bathroom, and I sigh.
I walk to my bedroom and sit down on my bed. I reach behind me and touch my fingers to my tattoo again. With Merit. I should have asked Sagan why he chose this tattoo. Did he do it to make me feel better? I've been wondering lately why he even seems interested in a friendship with me. Sure, we had an unusual connection the first time we met, but he thought I was Honor. And after that day, I was nothing but rude to him. He even said himself that the more he got to know me, the less he liked me. But despite all of that, he still invests in me. I don't know why I automatically assume he must have an ulterior motive. Maybe he actually does find something appealing about my personality.
I glance across the room at the wadded-up piece of paper still on my bedroom floor. I walk over and pick it up, unfolding the paper as I sit down on my bed. I look at all the check marks and it makes me wonder if this list is in any way accurate. I don't know a lot about mental health, but knowing that I might have inherited my mother's instability fills me with an unknown fear. Am I going to end up like her?
I shudder at the thought.
I fold the paper in half and set it aside, pulling my covers over me. I leave my lamp on and stare at Sagan's drawings for a while. I think about his family. I think about my family. I try to fall asleep despite all the thinking, but my mind has different plans. I lie wide-awake until I hear the front door open as everyone returns from the vet with the puppies.
I still can't believe Wolfgang was a girl.
At least another half hour goes by while I stare at the ceiling. The wall. I listen to showers running and doors closing. The house finally settles, but then I'm startled by a knock on my own door. I reach over and find the list Luck gave me and shove it under my blanket. "It's open."
Luck walks in and I shouldn't be surprised by his choice of clothing at this point, but I still laugh. He's wearing a pair of Victoria's pink scrubs.
"Do you need to go shopping?" I ask, scooting over on my bed.
He plops down next to me. "Nah. I keep finding plenty of stuff in the laundry room."
He only allowed an accent slip on the last word of that whole sentence. He's acclimating. I reach under the covers and grab the folded-up sheet of paper. I hand it to him. "So what does this mean?"
Luck opens the list and looks it over. I watch his expression carefully, but he gives none of his thoughts away. "It means you might be depressed," he says nonchalantly.
I groan and dramatically fall over on the bed. "Can't it just mean I've had a bad month?"
He lays the list on my chest and I grab it and wad it up again, sitting back up.
"It could," he says. "But you won't know until you talk to someone about it."
I roll my eyes. "What if I go to this dumb therapy session and find out I am depressed? What kind of life is that to look forward to, Luck? I don't want to spend the rest of my life like my mother."
Luck dips his head and looks at me pointedly. "I haven't met your mother yet and I'm no psychologist, but I think she suffers from a lot more than just depression. Agoraphobia being the main thing."
"Yeah, but she didn't even develop that until a few years ago. She gets worse with time. That's probably going to happen to me, too." The thought that there might be something severely wrong with me leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't want to think about it. I haven't wanted to think about it since Luck initially brought it up. "Why can't I just be normal?"
My question makes Luck laugh. I wasn't expecting that reaction. "Normal?" he says. "Describe normal to me, Merit."
"Honor is normal. So is Utah. And Sagan. Most people without a broken brain."
Luck rolls his head and stands up. He swings my bedroom door open. "Utah! Honor! Sagan! Come here!" He stands by the door, holding it open. I bury my face in my hands. What the hell is he doing?
"Why are you yelling for them? It's the middle of the night!"
Despite it being as late as it is, Honor, Utah, and Sagan file into my room one by one. Luck motions to the bed. "Have a seat," he says to all of them. I look up and Sagan is watching me as he closes the bedroom door.
"Everything okay?" Sagan asks, looking directly at me. I shrug because I have no idea what Luck is up to.
"Sagan," Luck says. "What happens when you drink milk?"
Sagan releases an unsure laugh. "I don't drink milk. I'm lactose intolerant."
I didn't know he was lactose intolerant, but what does that have to do with anything?
"Do you take medication for it?" Luck asks.
Sagan nods. "Sometimes."
Luck turns his attention to Utah. "What happens if you go out in the sun for a long time without sunscreen?"
Utah rolls his eyes. "I burn. We aren't all blessed with skin that tans easily," he says, nodding toward Sagan.
"And you," he says to Honor. "Why do you wear contacts and Merit doesn't?"
"Probably because she has better vision than me, Einstein."
Luck looks back at me. "They aren't normal," he says. "Having depression is no more out of your control than Sagan's intolerance to milk, or Utah's pale skin, or Honor's bad vision. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. But it's not something you can ignore or correct on your own. And it doesn't make you abnormal. It makes you just as normal as these idiots," he says, waving toward everyone else.
I can feel my cheeks flush from a combination of the embarrassment and unwanted attention I'm getting right now. But I also can't stop from smiling because I really do appreciate my idiot step-uncle. I'm kind of glad he showed up when he did.
"I also have athlete's foot," Sagan says. I look up at him and he crinkles his nose. "It's really bad. Especially in the summer."
I laugh and Honor says, "Hey, speaking of things wrong with us. Remember when Dad was diagnosed with Tourette's?"
"No way," Luck says.
"Not the cussing kind," Utah clarifies. "That's mostly embellished on TV. He used to have these tics all the time and he'd make these noises with his throat. The doctor said they were brought on by stress, so he took medication for it for a couple of years. Not sure if he still does."
"See?" Luck says excitedly. "Your whole family suffers from all kinds of things. You shouldn't feel so special, Merit. We're all a degree of fucked-up."
I laugh, but I don't even know what to say. It feels nice to have their encouragemen
t, no matter how strange it is.
"Merit," Honor says. She looks at me with a hint of guilt in her expression. "I'm really sorry. I feel like I should have. . ." She shrugs and looks down. "Seen the signs, I guess?"
I shake my head. "Honor, I'm the one who tried to kill myself and I didn't even know I was depressed."
Luck leans his head back against the wall. "Merit's right," he says. "A lot of people who suffer from depression don't even know they have it. It's a gradual change. Or at least it was for me. I used to feel like I was on top of the world. Then one day, I noticed that it felt like I was no longer on top of the world. I was just floating around inside of it. And then eventually, it felt like the world was on top of me."
I soak in what Luck just said, because it's like he summed up my entire past year in just a few sentences. I open my mouth to say something, but my voice is cut off by the sudden sound of my father's voice coming from the hallway. "Merit, you better not have . . ." As soon as the door swings open, my father clamps his mouth shut. I'm assuming he heard voices and thought something more sinister was going on. He looks around at all of us and it's obvious he wasn't prepared for this sight. It's been a long time since Honor, Utah, and I have hung out in the same room.
He hesitates, nods a little and then smiles before closing my bedroom door. We all start to laugh, but he swings it open again and says, "I'm glad you're all spending time together. But it's late. Go to bed."
"It's a weekend," Utah groans.
My father raises an eyebrow at Utah and that one look is enough to lift everyone off the bed. Sagan is the last to leave my room. Right before he closes the door, he smiles and says, "You were really easy to like today, Merit."
I sigh and lie back on my bed. What a night.
What a week.
I turn off my lamp again and try for a second time tonight to shut off my thoughts. I'm finally almost asleep when I hear a soft knock on my door. It's pitch-black in my room, but when the door cracks open, the light breaks through. Sagan peeks his head through the door. "You asleep yet?" he whispers.
I sit up and reach over to the lamp. "Nope." My hands are already shaking at all the possibilities of why he's back. He closes the door and takes a seat on the bed next to me. He isn't wearing a shirt now. Only a pair of black sweat pants. I sit up, but keep the covers pulled up to my stomach. After everyone left my room earlier, I took off my pajama bottoms. Now I'm only wearing a T-shirt. Put us together, and we could make a whole naked person.