But here you are to set a brand new path
To show me all that love means
When I hold you, I need you
I said forever, I mean forever
Dinner on the patio last night, later than ever as Lochlan was working with Schuyler on a thing and came back so late and all that remained by the hour long after which I should have been asleep was Ben, Lochlan, Caleb and myself. Ben and I were starving, Lochlan was indifferent but warm at the same time and Caleb was just quietly content. Happy to be there, maybe, happy to watch the waves and enjoy the food and wine and sparkling water and talk about nothing as I reset myself into life as it was before the nightmares resumed and blew me right out of my comfort zone.
Caleb spears a final olive on his fork. Problem is, it's from my plate.
Hey.
Come get it. He holds the fork high above his head and grins. I place my plate on the table from my lap and then his plate too, climbing into his lap and then standing up to reach my olive. He groans as I manage to hit all the right places to step and the others laugh.
I take his fork, for good measure and settle back into his lap.
Take my olive, will you. That's what you get.
I didn't think you liked the black olives.
If you would ever let me choose pizza toppings you would know I like those ones best. Actually no. Manzanilla ones stuffed with garlic are the best. Garlic and hot peppers.
Forget it. You get pineapple on pizza if we let you choose. It's better if someone does it for you.
Forever ten years old. Pick my pop flavour for me, open it too, because I can't, finish it for me since it will be too much and never ever ask me what I'd like on my pizza since it's assumed I will like what they like, without exception
And I mostly do, except for pineapple.
His offhand remark reminds me that this is my comfort zone, the place where everything is done for me, decided for me, chosen for me. It's a place that, when things are at their worst, I don't mind.
I put my head down against his chest and he slides me down to one side, one arm holding me tight against him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.
Next time we'll get pineapple, he says, a promise instantly forgotten as he kisses the top of my head and squeezes me hard.
It's safe. And it's warm and I close my eyes and I don't wake up until he startles me softly. It's later still and the ice cubes are low measures of warm water in the bottoms of our glasses. Ben is watching me intently and Lochlan is standing beside Caleb's chair.
Come on, Neamhchiontach-sleepy-head. Bed time.
Lochlan pulls me up to my feet and I lean my head against his shoulder. So tired. We head inside and upstairs, Lochlan's arm around my waist, his lips against my temple.
Once inside our room Lochlan strips off my campfire-smoke clothes and marvels at how sleepy I am (eyes so heavy). Briefly he tries to head off the coming storm but then he is too late and it hits, capsizing us, knocking us into the sea where we flail against the dark before finding purchase again, before finding safety in Caleb, who didn't leave like I thought he would, instead remaining to trace my tattoos on my bare skin and remind me that once, he was the nightmare, and then he became the good brother.
When I woke up this morning, I could still smell the smoke in our hair, but their arms were around me, a dreamstate tug of war with all winners, no losers. I didn't ask Caleb to stay but he did, I didn't ask Ben to make space but he did, I didn't ask Loch if it would be alright if this happened (but it did and it was alright indeed) and this morning no one resorted to violence and no one could find any ghosts at all.
Caleb spears a final olive on his fork. Problem is, it's from my plate.
Hey.
Come get it. He holds the fork high above his head and grins. I place my plate on the table from my lap and then his plate too, climbing into his lap and then standing up to reach my olive. He groans as I manage to hit all the right places to step and the others laugh.
I take his fork, for good measure and settle back into his lap.
Take my olive, will you. That's what you get.
I didn't think you liked the black olives.
If you would ever let me choose pizza toppings you would know I like those ones best. Actually no. Manzanilla ones stuffed with garlic are the best. Garlic and hot peppers.
Forget it. You get pineapple on pizza if we let you choose. It's better if someone does it for you.
Forever ten years old. Pick my pop flavour for me, open it too, because I can't, finish it for me since it will be too much and never ever ask me what I'd like on my pizza since it's assumed I will like what they like, without exception
And I mostly do, except for pineapple.
His offhand remark reminds me that this is my comfort zone, the place where everything is done for me, decided for me, chosen for me. It's a place that, when things are at their worst, I don't mind.
I put my head down against his chest and he slides me down to one side, one arm holding me tight against him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.
Next time we'll get pineapple, he says, a promise instantly forgotten as he kisses the top of my head and squeezes me hard.
It's safe. And it's warm and I close my eyes and I don't wake up until he startles me softly. It's later still and the ice cubes are low measures of warm water in the bottoms of our glasses. Ben is watching me intently and Lochlan is standing beside Caleb's chair.
Come on, Neamhchiontach-sleepy-head. Bed time.
Lochlan pulls me up to my feet and I lean my head against his shoulder. So tired. We head inside and upstairs, Lochlan's arm around my waist, his lips against my temple.
Once inside our room Lochlan strips off my campfire-smoke clothes and marvels at how sleepy I am (eyes so heavy). Briefly he tries to head off the coming storm but then he is too late and it hits, capsizing us, knocking us into the sea where we flail against the dark before finding purchase again, before finding safety in Caleb, who didn't leave like I thought he would, instead remaining to trace my tattoos on my bare skin and remind me that once, he was the nightmare, and then he became the good brother.
When I woke up this morning, I could still smell the smoke in our hair, but their arms were around me, a dreamstate tug of war with all winners, no losers. I didn't ask Caleb to stay but he did, I didn't ask Ben to make space but he did, I didn't ask Loch if it would be alright if this happened (but it did and it was alright indeed) and this morning no one resorted to violence and no one could find any ghosts at all.