Screaming our screenplay, off the cuffNeutral territory for lunch. The kitchen island. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches on raisin cheese bread. Hot chocolate. Caleb sits down and frowns at his plate briefly before deciding to make the best of it.
We were both stuck pretending our dreams were enough
I awoke in the morning wanting the day
I thought I could have you,
Miles away from falling in love
To find stalling sweet enough
Please don’t call it love
If he were truly honest, as he says he is now, he would have pointed out his desire for something a little less rustic and note the fact that he probably hasn't had hot chocolate since 1976, but he humors me with my own brand of Spyri-influenced menu choices for a rainforest deluge at the base of a mountain where the waves lick the brae smooth, a treacherous combination for sheep and people alike.
We don't have any sheep. Or any horses either, sadly. I go and visit some new ones in the valley sometimes now, cursing the devil every chance I get.
I do that over a lot of things, but at the same time here we are, having lunch because he asked if we could talk and I pointed out I was hungry so he may as well come and eat something that isn't a fusion of four-star nonsense from one of his ridiculous haunts downtown. He obliged without even asking what was on the menu. I knew I should have made Kraft Dinner just to horrify him as much as humanly possible.
You like making him squirm. I say it in between choking back the thick peanut butter on heavy bread.
My words have nothing to do with him. There are certain truths in life, Bridget. This is just one of them.
'They're going to kill you' is another.
He laughs nervously. I'll probably choke on lunch and then no one will have to worry.
Oh, yay! Burial at sea. I give him my darkest stare. He catches on quickly. We are morbid and black with humor more often than not.
What's with your hair?
I'm annoying Lochlan with it, that's what.
He bursts out laughing. No doubt. You should go to the spa and have a day.
Why in the hell do you all want me to cut my hair? And why the subject change?
You look so sweet when your hair doesn't take over everything with the bad-weather ringlets. And I'm trying to mark my position and move forward from here.
I see.
Should I have not confirmed what you already know? I've had no other lasting relationships. I have my son and I have you. I am focused.
You're obsessive.
It's sweet when it's anyone else but when I make a declaration everyone runs for cover.
Because they aren't evil.
He drinks his hot chocolate. When he puts the mug down he has a pale brown mustache on his upper lip. Neither am I.
Then why are you pushing now? Why don't you just leave well enough alone?
Because I'll be fifty in less than a year and I'm not going to be alone when that happens.
I hear Sophie is free.
Yes, well, good luck to her.
I'm not anyone's bucket list, Caleb.
The hell you aren't.
Can we change the subject?
Of course. What would you like to talk about, Bridget?
Tell me some of your regrets instead.
Oh. Well. I regret the first time we went to Vegas. When you turned eighteen.
The prince of darkness goes for a terrible memory right off the bat. Should I have expected more from him or less?
Why? Should we not have gone?
No, we should have kept going. I should have never brought you back home.
Kidnapping?
Rescue.