Are you coming to do a little work for me this afternoon?
No.
Single words. Are you still in bed?
Yes.
I see. Well, Bridget, since your pay is direct-deposited into your account, if you don't actually do the work for me you'll have to earn it via other means.
You don't even mince words anymore, do you? You just puree them into filth.
At least I got more than one word out of you that time. Are you coming over or do I need to come and get you?
They won't let you near me.
My name is on the house. I can have all of them evicted if need be.
But you wouldn't because the judge says nothing changes. And you promised.
Even a judge will understand when a man has come to the end of his rope. It's called ad iud-
Ad iudicium. I know. But I'm sorry, I've decided to live out my days from the confines of my big feather bed. So you can keep your money.
They get to see you.
They didn't string me along hinting that my husband might still be alive.
That was a game, one you were hellbent on playing along with. And both of your husbands are alive, Bridget. Live in the goddamned present for once. They get to see you. Every day. Several times a day. All day long for the vagrant.
Fuck off, Caleb. I growled it so quietly he was instantly chagrined. Like really, please. Please please please don't fuck with me right now or changes you will see.
I would like a chance to comfort you. That's all, Bridget. I think Ben is in his zone and we all know Lochlan has an incredibly polarized view of the world so the more help that actually benefits you, the better. Please come down for dessert or something tonight?
No.
No? Not at all? He said it quietly.
Maybe breakfast tomorrow instead? Late? I'm so tired I just need to sleep, okay?
Breakfast then. He softens considerably. Maybe I'll take you to that new place.
Somewhere quiet?
It will fit the bill just fine. I'll collect you at nine. How would that be?
Good. And one more thing?
Name it, Doll.
Stop calling Lochlan names. Your frustration could be controlled far better than that. You know, since we're all hellbent on overdue self-improvement all of the sudden.
As soon as he puts your best interests above his own desires I'll call him by his God-given name.
How is he any different from you? Honestly?
Oh, Bridget. Don't even go there. I have means. He has nothing.
He has Ruth. And he has me. And money doesn't buy a goddamned thing, Diabhal. Money didn't give you Henry and money won't give you me.
Silence floods the space between us on the phone and I wait for him to acknowledge my hand, played predictably and with triumph because he got sloppy. He recovers gracefully. Nine sharp. Until tomorrow?
Nine sharp. Goodnight, Caleb.
Goodnight, Neamhchiontach.
