Without Merit(42)

Something gets caught in my throat. I make a sound, like a gasp and a cough mixed with disbelief. I quickly cover my mouth, but then the swelling in my throat causes tears in my eyes. Why am I sad? I’ve spent my whole life hating this dog. Why would I care if he’s dying?

“I’ll call a vet tomorrow,” Sagan says. “It wouldn’t hurt to get him checked out.”

“Do you think he’s in pain?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper. I feel a tear escape my eye and I discreetly wipe it away. Or at least my intention was to be discreet, but Sagan saw it because he’s staring way too hard.

A smile tugs at his lips. “Look at that,” he says quietly. “Merit has a heart.”

I roll my eyes at his comment and use both hands to pet Wolfgang now. “You don’t think I have a heart?”

“To be fair, you come off kind of . . . brash.”

I wasn’t expecting his honesty. It makes me laugh. “Is that your way of calling me a bitch?”

He shakes his head. “I’d never call you that.”

Sure, he’d never call me a bitch. But it doesn’t mean he’s not thinking it. Sagan just doesn’t say mean things out loud. Maybe that’s a product of how he was raised. Or maybe he’s some kind of saint. Or an angel brought to earth to test my morals.

Wolfgang rolls over and scoots closer to me. My eyes flick up to Sagan’s but when I see he’s looking at me, I immediately look back down at Wolfgang. I once again do whatever I can to find something about him to dislike.

“What are you allergic to?”

Sagan tilts his head. “Nothing,” he says, looking confused. “Why? That’s such a random question.”

“Last night in the van you said you had an allergic reaction to something you ate. And that you met Honor in the hospital.”

He nods a little, then cracks a smile. “Oh. That.” He pauses and then says. “I was lying. For Honor.”

Of course he was. That’s what good boyfriends do for their girlfriends.

“Which one was a lie? That you had an allergic reaction or that you aren’t allergic to anything?”

Sagan pulls at a piece of grass and twists it between his fingers. “I met your sister through a friend of mine. I was visiting him in the hospital.” He drops the grass. “So was she.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but once again he keeps his stories clipped and uninformative. But I take it he lied about why he was in the hospital out of guilt. He doesn’t want anyone to know that he met Honor through his dying friend, and that, from the way it appears, they’re seeing the same girl. How messed up is that?

I guess that explains the argument in Honor’s bedroom the other night. And Honor wanting to keep her visit with Sagan’s friend a secret from him.

I don’t know why, but this satisfies me. Knowing she’s seeing both of them and he’s seeing her while still somewhat being flirty with me . . . it makes me feel like the better person out of the three of us, when before I felt like the worst one.

“What happened between you and Honor?” he asks. “Seems like there’s a little animosity there.”

I laugh. “A little?”

“Has it always been that way?”

I lose my smile and shake my head, looking down at Wolfgang. “No. We used to be really close.” I think about all the times we refused to sleep unless we were in the same room. All the times we would switch clothes and try to trick our father. All the times we would talk about how lucky we were to be twins. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I look back up at him just in time to see him frown a bit, but the frown dissipates.

“Yeah. A little sister.”

“How old is she?”

“Seven.” His expression is stoic, which makes me wonder if he misses her and doesn’t like talking about her.

“Do you get to see her very often?”

This must be where the point of contention comes in with his family because he just inhales and leans back on his hands. “I’ve never met her, actually.”

Oh. There must be a story there, but I can sense the sadness in his voice. And then he leans over and starts petting Wolfgang like the subject is closed. It’s apparent he doesn’t want to dive deeper into conversations about his family. It disappoints me because I want him to feel like he can talk to me but he obviously doesn’t feel that way. I wonder if Honor has these kinds of conversations with him.

The weight of her name bears down on me. I drag a hand over my mouth and hold it there as my arm rests on my knee. “Do you ever wish you had a different family? One who communicates?” I ask him.

“You have no idea,” he says.

“I really wish I had that kind of relationship with Honor and Utah. We aren’t close at all. And sadly, once we all go off to college, I doubt we’ll speak much. The only reason we even interact is because we live together.”

“It’s not too late to change that, you know.”

I try to force a smile, but I don’t have enough strength in my body to pretend he’s right. My family will never be any different. “I don’t know, Sagan. There’s a lot of baggage in our family. I think sometimes you luck out and get a family you connect with. But sometimes . . .” I try to fight back an embarrassing and unexpected tear. “Sometimes you get stuck with family members that do nothing but make mistakes they never have to apologize or pay for.”