Without Merit(88)

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.

Everyone else kind of mutters the same with mouthfuls of food, but we’re all distracted by a sudden banging on the front door. I look out the window and see a cop car in our driveway. “Oh, no.”