We Fell Apart: A We Were Liars Novel(45)

“It’s gonna be fine,” says Meer. “I’m building a hutch. Anyway, I couldn’t decide, and then I saw they do a grab bag. Like, an assortment. You just get what you get and you don’t get upset.”

“Assorted chickens?” asks Tatum.

“It’s a grab bag of poultry,” Meer corrects him. “Ducks, turkeys, chickens, pheasants, geese—there could be anyone in there. And the best thing is, it said in the reviews, sometimes you just don’t know what it’s going to be until it grows up. Because if you know nothing about poultry, which is frankly what I know, you might think it was a chicken. Then it turns out it’s a pheasant! Or a turkey. Or whatever. I think we’ll be able to tell the ducks, for sure. They have that flat bill.”

I love Meer’s huge enthusiasms. And his optimism. I love that he listened to my random idea about raising chickens now and took action. He’s doing something to make himself less idle, to maybe find a passion or a direction that could make him happier. Here, in the sunny comfort of the kitchen, it doesn’t seem possible that he’s a genius painter masquerading as his famous missing father. He’s a poorly socialized sweetheart with low executive functioning and a dream of raising poultry.

Tatum is annoyed. “Another responsibility is not what we need right now,” he says. “What do we feed them?”

“You can buy chicken feed at the hardware store,” says Meer. “Everybody knows that.”

“I can’t believe this,” says Tatum. “We can barely take care of Glum properly. We don’t take care of her properly.”

“Yes, we do.”

“And with everything else that’s going on—these are living creatures.”

“I love you and your eggs,” Meer says to the box. “I love you even if you’re turkeys.”

“Meer!” barks Tatum. “You have to send them back. I’ll borrow the car and figure out how to ship them, and Brock will get his money refunded. Okay?”

“Brock doesn’t mind.”

“I mind. If we can’t get a refund, we’ll figure out how to give them to some neighbor who keeps…ducks, or whatever they are. God, we don’t have a pond. Where were the ducks going to swim?”

“In the pool?” guesses Meer. “I didn’t think about that.”

“The pool is disgusting, and if it wasn’t, it would be full of chemicals.”

“Do ducks actually need a pond or do they just like it?” Meer goes on. “Maybe we can get them a splashy pool, or a tub of water for swimming.”

“No!” says Tatum. “They’re not staying.”

“Leave Meer alone,” I snap. “Why shouldn’t he keep poultry and build a hutch? Maybe he wants to farm some of this land. Or just have them for pets? He’s allowed to figure it out and have something to do that interests him.”

“You don’t understand,” says Tatum.

“I don’t see why you get to say no,” I argue. “This is Meer’s home and he’s eighteen and I don’t see why you think you’re the boss here.”

Tatum runs his hand through his hair. “June and Kingsley won’t like it.” He turns to Meer. “The timing is really bad.”

“Do you hear the way you talk to him?” I say. “You’re condescending. And controlling.”

“Because he’s not looking at the whole picture. He’s acting on impulse.”

“So let him act on impulse. Let him see what he can do.”

“I’m right here,” says Meer, softly. “And I’m going to take my poultry to the pool house. I’m going to unpack them because I care that they’re living creatures. Then I’m going to buy some feed and figure out how to build a hutch and not talk to Tatum till tomorrow and then it will be fine.” He picks up the box. “Matilda, you can come help if you want.”





42


Meer walks out.

I start to follow him, but Tatum grabs my arm. He does it very gently. It’s just a tap, really, but he keeps his hot palm on my elbow. “What?” I snarl.

“You don’t live here,” he says, almost in a whisper. “You’re a guest in this house, and you haven’t met Kingsley yet.”

“So? Meer is my brother.”

“Please, Matilda. Don’t mess with a situation you don’t understand.”

“Stop trying to control me,” I say. “You’re just a boy.” His touch on my elbow remains.

Tatum looks at me, hard. Like he’s thinking.

“What?” I say irritably.

And then suddenly, without deciding, I am standing tiptoe, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him. His mouth is warm, and for a hot second I think, what on earth have I just done? He doesn’t want to kiss me, this is going to be so awkward, how did I even get here, pressed up against him?

But then Tatum kisses me back, and the salt-air smell of his hair is around me, and I stop thinking. I just am.

I have known I wanted this,

this whole time,

but also without knowing it.

I didn’t want to want him,

because he infuriates me,

with his damaged-boy vibe and his all-boy crew and his secretive nature and