Oh my gosh. What was a trickle at the end of last week has grown to a waterfall overnight seemingly. Seven deliveries this morning alone and it's nine-fifteen. Four were huge bouquets of flowers, the kind of bouquets you don't have space for but we're doing our best. Three were care packages of chocolate and fruit and candy as Ben's sweet tooth is as legendary as mine and one of the reasons we get along so well.
Once he sees them I will take them apart and find space for everything (because the candy basket in the butler's pantry is not nearly big enough suddenly even though it's technically a basket designed to hold ten pounds of potatoes but for now I'm just trying not to fangirl over the names on the cards. Pretty sure the local delivery shops were like yeah, right, but also maybe not, once they got to the front gates and had to be buzzed in after a little scrutiny.
John has fetched each and every one and I am mentally choosing the next places for flowers if more come and can spill over to next door if necessary. Ben can see them all when he is ready, as this morning he and Lochlan took their coffees and their ipads and stretched out in the library in the big chairs to read quietly for a bit, with the doors closed against the noise of the morning, a habit they like to indulge in a few times a week, a rare couple of hours to be left alone.
(More likely a respite from my boundless nervous energy and fretting which I would also like a respite from but as Ben told me earlier it's a far sight better than the despair I usually exude but by saying that he was also admitting that my suspicions are correct.)
That's why when we walk on the beach I like to be alone. They can be at the other end. I just sometimes need space. Doesn't everyone? This is not a bad thing, it's necessary.
Do I sound defensive?
Huh.
I'm having a really hard time not monopolizing Ben since he's been home. Apparently that's normal. Maybe it's even good as we have to watch him still for any backsliding or new issues that come up but I also want to protect him. Lochlan told me I can't watch him twenty-four hours a day or who would look after me?
You, I blurted out, as if there's any question.
He smiled sweetly. God, he's sick of my shit too I bet.
***
I have something that might work for you, Duncan says later (WAGON WHAT WAGON I think in alarm as I watch the wheel squelch him facefirst into the mud.)
Schuyler said I'm not allowed to day drink anymore, I point it out properly and completely ignore the Best Mom Ever coffee mug sitting at my right hand. It's full of champagne and a splash of orange juice (for colour). I haven't touched it yet. I'm oddly jittery and even though Sam says it's normal and I know all this it's also incredible to me how quickly the fluttering fingers and crushing panic returns and how it feels completely standard now, as if it's my default and everything else is fake.
Geez, Bridge. It's not booze.
I can't smoke, Duncan. It's a reminder. Instant headaches. Also just gross.
It's not smokeable. It's a capsule.
Filled with what?
Less panic? He laughs. Look. It's here if you want it. Might take the edge off.
I don't think it's for me, whatever it is, but thank you.
Here's the label. Look it up. I'm not trying to fuck you up. I mean...I could if you...want? But this is like microdosing just to control the worst of the moment.
Like when they give me the needles and I sleep for a day?
No, not like that at all, Bridget. Holy fuck.
***
Caleb keeps trying and I won't let him. He tries to corner me. Tries to call me. Tries to 'surprise' find me wherever I end up but by my request no one's giving him an inch and I've got privacy but I'm not alone for him to approach and he absolutely will not entertain an audience.
Well, that's the difference between me and you, I guess. Having an audience is in my blood. I see John's eyebrows go up and he is a master at looking amused without changing his expression one iota. Maybe he can teach me how to do that.
Can I request a nightcap tonight?
Sorry, I think I'm doing drugs with Duncan tonight.
What the fuck, Neamhchiontach.
It's a joke..I think!
He looks so hurt. Good.