The last quarter of Dollar Voss, Quarter Four, is the most secluded and controversial of the four quarters.
The basement.
It is set up much like an efficiency apartment, consisting of a bathroom with a standing shower, a very mini-kitchen, and a small living area containing one couch, one television, and one full-sized bed.
My mother, Victoria Voss, not to be confused with my father's current wife of the same name, occupies Quarter Four. It is unfortunate that my father divorced one Victoria, only to immediately marry another, but not nearly as unfortunate as the fact that both Victorias still live in Dollar Voss.
My father's love for the current Victoria Voss was not so much a rebound relationship, but rather more of an overlap, which is the major source of contention remaining among the three adults.
It's rare that my mother, Vicky, ascends from her dwellings in Quarter Four, but her presence is felt by all. Although none are quite as sensitive to the current living arrangement as my father's current wife, Victoria. She hasn't been happy about my mother's occupancy of Quarter Four since the day she moved in to Dollar Voss.
I'm sure it's difficult having to live in a house with your husband and his ex-wife. But probably not nearly as difficult as it was for my cancer-ridden mother to find out my father was sleeping with her oncology nurse.
But that was several years ago and my siblings and I have long since moved past the wrongs our father committed against our mother.
Actually, we haven't. Not even slightly.
Regardless, it's taken all of the last several years for Dollar Voss to be remodeled and revamped to appropriately house the entire Voss family, but my father is patient, if anything.
Despite what is true, we, the Voss family, look very much like a normal family, and Dollar Voss looks very much like a normal house, save the stained-glass windows, the statue on our wall, and the church marquee.
Pastor Brian faithfully updated the marquee every Saturday with clever phrases such as DON'T BE SO OPEN-MINDED THAT YOUR BRAINS FALL OUT and THIS WEEK'S SERMON: FIFTY SHADES OF PRAY.
Sometimes I wonder what the townspeople think when they drive by and read Utah's daily facts and quotes. Like yesterday, when the marquee read THE FACE OF THE NOBEL PEACE PRIZE MEDAL IS A DEPICTION OF THREE NAKED MEN.
I occasionally think it's funny, but I'm mostly just embarrassed. Most of the residents of our small town already feel we're out of place here, living in this old church. Our actions only prove to reinforce those feelings. I think my father actually tried to make an effort to fit in last year and make our house look more like a home than a church. He spent two weeks putting up a cute white picket fence around our entire yard.
The white picket fence didn't do much to make it look more like a home. Now it just looks like we live in an old church surrounded by an out of place white picket fence. A-plus for effort, though.
I go to my bedroom and close the door. I toss my sack on the floor by my bed and plop down onto my mattress. It's almost three in the afternoon, which means Moby and Victoria will be back soon. Then Honor and Utah. Then my father. Then family dinner. Joy.
Today has already been too much. I'm not sure I can take much more.
I go to the bathroom and search the drawers for some sleep medicine. I don't normally take it unless I'm sick, but the only thing I can think of that will get me through tonight without obsessing over my kiss with Honor's boyfriend is a few sips of NyQuil. Which is precisely what I find under the sink.
I take a dose and then text my father when I'm back in my room and under the covers.
I'm not feeling well. Left school early and going to bed. Will probably miss dinner.
I turn the sound off on my phone and slide it under my pillow. I close my eyes, but it doesn't help me to stop seeing Sagan in front of me. Honor and I aren't as close as we used to be so it's not unusual that I didn't know about her new fling. I have noticed she's been gone more than usual but I haven't asked her why. As far as I know, she's never brought him to our house, so I had no idea who he was when I saw him today.
If only I had seen his face prior to the incident on the town square, that whole embarrassment could have been avoided. I would have known who he was immediately. If he has even one decent bone in his body, he'll break it off with her and never step foot inside this house. It's not like they're in love. They barely know each other; it's only been a couple of weeks. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to come between sisters. Especially twins.
But then again, I doubt he has any intentions to pursue me at all. It was an honest mistake. He thought I was Honor. If he had known I was her sister, he never would have said sickeningly sweet and confusing things like "You bury me" right before sticking his tongue down my throat. He's probably laughing about the mix-up. Hell, he probably ended up telling Honor what happened and they're both laughing about it.
Laughing about poor, pathetic Merit who thought the cute guy was actually into her.
I hate that I'm so embarrassed by it. I should have slapped him when he kissed me. Had I done that, I would be laughing about it with him. But instead, I threw myself at him and consumed as much of that kiss and him as I possibly could. It's a feeling I want to experience again. And that's what has me the most upset. The last thing I want is for there to be something of my sister's that I'm envious of. Just thinking about Sagan kissing her like he kissed me today makes me so jealous, I would bleed green if someone stabbed me.
I've always feared something like this would happen. That someone would assume I was her and I would embarrass myself somehow. Really the only thing that sets us apart is that she wears contacts and I don't. It doesn't matter that I've done all I can to differentiate myself from Honor, including cutting and dyeing my hair, starving myself, and overeating, but we always seem to weigh the same, look the same, sound the same.
But we are not the same.
I am nothing like my identical twin sister, who prefers cadaver hearts to fully functioning ones.
I am nothing like my father, Barnaby, who has turned our entire lives upside down, simply out of spite for a canine.
I am certainly nothing like my brother Utah who spends every waking moment living an externally precise, perfect, and punctual present to make up for all the internal imperfections that live in his past.
And I am absolutely, without a doubt, a far cry from my mother, Vicky, who spends her days and nights in Quarter Four watching Netflix, licking the salt off potato chips, living off disability, refusing to vacate the house where her ex-husband and newer wife, Victoria, continue to live their lives upstairs, primarily in Quarters One and Three.
The NyQuil begins to kick in as soon as I hear the front door open. Moby's voice carries down the hallway and Victoria's voice soon follows as she calls after him to go wash his hands before he eats a snack.
I reach to my nightstand and grab my headphones. I'd much rather fall asleep listening to Seafret than to the sound of my family right now.
Chapter Three
I was hoping I'd never see Sagan again. I was hoping they'd break it off before she brought him around the family for introductions. That hope lasted twenty-four hours until it was diminished. And it's been diminished for almost two weeks now.
In that two weeks, Sagan has been at our house more times than I can count. He's here for dinner every night, for breakfast every morning, and most hours in between.
I haven't spoken a single word to him since the morning he showed up at our house for the first time, a mere twenty-four hours after his tongue was down my throat. I walked out of my bedroom, still in my pajamas, and saw him sitting at the table. As soon as we made eye contact, I spun around and opened the refrigerator. It felt like my heart was a pinball bouncing around inside my chest.
I managed to make it through breakfast that morning without uttering a single word. Once everyone started to gather their things and leave, I breathed a small sigh of relief until I realized he was still in the kitchen and didn'
t look like he was leaving like everyone else. I heard Honor tell him goodbye. I wasn't facing them, so it made me wonder if they kissed goodbye. I didn't wonder enough to turn around and witness it, though. I was curious why he wasn't walking out with her. It was a bit odd that he'd linger in a house he wasn't acquainted with after his girlfriend left for school, but that's exactly what he did.
Once everyone was gone but him, I grabbed a rag to wipe down the counter. It didn't need cleaning but I didn't know what else to do with my hands or my eyes. He stood up and picked up the three glasses left behind on the table. He walked them into the kitchen and stood next to me while he poured the contents in the sink.
There was such a heavy silence in the room. It made the moment between us seem much more dramatic than it should have been.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he said. He opened the dishwasher like he had the right to be doing dishes in this house. He put the three glasses on the top shelf and then closed it. He dried his hands on a towel and dropped it on the counter while he waited for a response from me. I merely shook my head, uninterested in bringing it up again.
He sighed and then said, "Merit." I made eye contact with him, which was a terrible idea because he dipped his head and looked at me apologetically, which made it impossible to hold on to any form of undeserved anger I held toward him. "I'm really sorry. I just . . . I thought you were her. I never would have kissed you had I known otherwise."
He appeared to be genuine in his apology but as much as I tried to grasp the sincerity, I couldn't help but analyze that last part. "I never would have kissed you had I known otherwise."
Somehow, that felt more like an insult than an apology. And I knew the whole thing was stupid and it really was an honest mistake. Honor didn't know it happened so I should have just been able to laugh it off. But I couldn't. It was hard to laugh off something that affected me like it did. But I did my best to fake it.
"It's fine," I said with a shrug. "Really. It was such an awkward kiss, anyway. I'm glad it was an accident because I was about two seconds away from slapping you."
Something in his expression faltered. I forced a smile as I turned and walked to my bedroom without looking back at him.
That was the last time we spoke.
We don't speak at breakfast, we don't speak at dinner, we don't speak when he's lingering in our living room, watching TV.
But just because we don't speak doesn't mean I don't feel it every time he looks at me. I'm constantly trying to rein in my pulse because it makes me feel guilty that I'm even attracted to him. I don't like being envious of Honor. I try to tell myself that it isn't him I'm attracted to. It was the thought of a stranger desiring me enough to kiss me with as much passion as he kissed me that day. That's what I'm envious of. The idea of it all. It has nothing to do with Sagan or who he is as a person. I don't even know him enough to know if I would like him as a person. And I don't want to know that, which is precisely why I avoid him.
But I do know that he doesn't seem to be Honor's type. And there's absolutely no chemistry between them. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part.
I've been doing my very best to tolerate the entire situation, but it's making me miserable. However, I have a feeling my tolerance won't be as intolerable now, because misery loves company and the thing I am looking at is most definitely miserable.
Despite it being after midnight, I'm holding open the front door, staring down into the frightened eyes of Wolfgang. The very dog that terrorized my father through many of my childhood years.
What a delightful surprise.
My father hasn't noticed, but I haven't been back to school for a while now and my days and nights have been mixed up. I woke up a few minutes ago after everyone else had fallen asleep. I made my way to Quarter One in search of food but before I got to the kitchen, I heard what sounded like scratching against our double front doors. Since we have no animals of the four-legged variety, one would think my first instinct would have been to notify my father of a possible intruder. Instead, I immediately opened the door to investigate the matter myself. If my life were a scary movie, I'd be the first to die.
Wolfgang is whimpering at my feet, covered in mud, shivering from the rain, and from the looks of it, terribly lost. There were several loud claps of thunder that shook the house and woke me up a few times when the storm began to roll through earlier tonight. He probably got spooked and started running until he ended up at the only other place he knows.
I've never actually touched the dog before, since we were ordered to stay away from him as children. I reach my hand out, but I do so with hesitancy. Our father once told us he witnessed Wolfgang eat an entire Girl Scout. I realize now that it was a lie, of course, but with Wolfgang's visit tonight and the ominousness of the moment being heightened by the dark, I'm a bit nervous Wolfgang might assume I'm hiding Thin Mints in my pocket.
But Wolfgang doesn't eat me, not even partially. Quite the contrary, in fact.
He licks me.
It's a quick swipe of his tongue that catches my pinky and then releases it, as if it's more of a peace offering than an appetizer. I open the door a little wider and Wolfgang recognizes it as the welcoming gesture it is and he scurries inside, immediately walks through Quarter One and goes straight for the back door. He then proceeds to paw at the back door as if he wants access to the backyard.
I've always assumed Wolfgang was an ignorant dog, so it surprises me he found his way back to his old stomping grounds. But it surprises me even more that he'd rather be outside in the backyard than here inside where it's dry. I would ask him why he's making such a poor choice, but he's a dog.
I open the back door and Wolfgang whimpers once more and then pushes against the screen door until it opens, as if he's on a mission. I flip on the light to the backyard and watch as Wolfgang descends the steps and rushes through the rain to the doghouse that hasn't been moved or used since he was evicted by my father years ago.
I want to warn Wolfgang that there could be spiders or other occupants who have since taken over his old residence, but he doesn't seem to mind. He disappears inside the old doghouse and I watch for a moment to see if he comes running back out, but he doesn't.
I close the screen door and then the back door and lock the deadbolt. I'll return him to Pastor Brian in the morning. That is if he doesn't figure out how to scale the backyard fence and get home on his own.
I make myself a sandwich and turn on the TV but by the time I'm done eating I still haven't found anything interesting to watch. I slept so long tonight I feel completely energized and I'm hardly even thinking about Honor and her boyfriend. I decide to use my unusual burst of energy to clean my room.
I pop in my headphones and start to clean, but it's surprising how many songs talk about forbidden love or kissing someone. I change the song every time my mind goes there in hopes it will spark an unrelated memory. I skip songs until I get to Ocean and then I grab an old T-shirt to wipe down all my trophies. Every time I buy a new one I dust them and rearrange them. The new bowling trophy I bought a couple weeks ago will go front and center. I reach to the back of my shelf and grab the football trophy I stole from Drew Waldrup. I set it aside for when I change Jesus Christ's outfit later tonight.
I spend the next several hours enjoying a house of solitude while everyone sleeps. I take an uninterrupted shower. I watch the first ten minutes of eight different shows on Netflix. I might have an issue with my attention span because I can never make it through an entire show without getting bored. I do one and a half crossword puzzles before I get stumped on a four-letter word for word. When I notice the first tease of sun shining through one of the stained-glass windows, I decide to change Jesus Christ's clothes before anyone wakes up.
I gather all the stuff I need. Once I have the ladder set up in the living room, I climb it with my stolen football trophy in hand. I slide the roll of tape off my wrist and place the trophy in Jesus's right hand, then secure it there with
the tape. I readjust the cheese-hat on top of His crown of thorns. When I finish, I descend the ladder and stand back to admire my creation.
I normally give Jesus a temporary nickname, depending on the theme of his outfit. Last month, He was referred to as "Holy Ghost" for obvious reasons. And now, considering He is currently dressed as a Packers fan, complete with a home-team jersey, a Wisconsin cheese hat, and now Drew Waldrup's missing trophy, I think I shall deem Him Cheesus Christ.
"Dad and Victoria are going to be pissed when they see that."
I turn around and a freshly showered and dressed Honor is staring up at Cheesus. I smile, because that's precisely why I went through all this effort. My father is a huge Cowboys fan and he's been talking about tonight's game between Dallas and Green Bay incessantly. He's only going to be mad that I dressed Him as a Packers fan.
Victoria, on the other hand, will be mad that I dressed Him at all. Unlike my father, Victoria believes in God. And Jesus. And the sanctity of religion. She hates it when I dress up Jesus. She says it's sacrilegious and disrespectful.
I disagree. It would be disrespectful if the actual Jesus Christ were in our living room and I forced Him to change clothes all the time. But this Jesus is fake, made out of wood and plastic. I tried to explain that to Victoria. I told her one of the Ten Commandments is not to worship false idols. Dressing this idol of Jesus up for fun, rather than worshipping it, is actually following the commandment.
She didn't see it that way. But her opposition obviously hasn't persuaded me to stop.
I grab the ladder and take it back to the garage. Dad should be waking up any minute now, so I get rid of the evidence, even though it's a given that I'm the only one in the house who makes an effort to dress Jesus Christ anymore. Honor hasn't seemed to care about eternal life since she became obsessed with the terminally ill a few years ago.
Honor and I may look identical, sound identical, and share identical mannerisms, but we couldn't be more opposite. Most identical twins finish each other's sentences, know what each other is thinking, and share common interests. But Honor and I confuse the hell out of each other. We tried our best to live up to the identical twin standard, but once we hit puberty, we just kind of gave up.
Without Merit Page 3
