Waves.

Every star is on its way
You're the only one that stayed
All the time you could have saved
All the time you gave away
You know the heart beneath the waves
The one that I was trying to save
The one that almost slipped away
Was mine

I got my first (early) birthday present last night!

Loch preordered Thirteen Senses' new album for me. A Strange Encounter. They put out an album every three years and a bit and it's always far too long for me. I'm not huge on British pop like this generally but this band has had a heavy hand in the soundtrack of my life, at least since Henry was born, and seems to be the most delicious sort of music to have in ones ears if you are lying in the grass watching the clouds play chase or sitting in the dark, attempting to fix a broken heart with scant supplies. Loch introduced me to them. He walks around singing their stuff any moment he isn't singing a Pink Floyd song, mostly.

So they're totally magical to me.

(Or, Bridget tends to absorb the musical likes and dislikes of her boys, part 473628246246. Yes, we know this, get on with it.)

Caleb asked what I wanted for my birthday so I told him I wanted to lie on a beach for an entire day without interruption.

He clarified. In the sun?

Yes, I said. Maybe in Fiji.

And he shot it down because he said I would burn inside of four minutes and also their political state is a bit tenuous and I turned away because he asked but he was prepared to not like the answer before I even opened my mouth. I would still like you to have those earrings.

No thank you. Big expensive rocks secured with half-assed butterfly backs doesn't sound like fun to me.

Hoops would be better?

No, they just get caught in everyone's shirts and fingers.

A trip, then?

I'm not allowed to travel, remember?

With me, you are.

Of course.

Subversive Princess today, I see.

Every day, Caleb. Every day all day.

What can I do to make it a very happy birthday for you?

I turn and stare at him.

Except that.

Go away then please.

Bridget-

I'm busy.

Can I see you later this evening maybe?

Maybe.

He plants a kiss on top of my head and disappears.

Loch walks into the room from the other direction and asks me why I lead Caleb on. He's annoyed at what he saw, what he heard because I make no attempt to conceal anything, least of all my half-assed efforts to tick off things on my bucket list that will never ever be crossed off.

He's right, though, we're foundering a little here, Peanut. You haven't given us a list. We may all be three and a half decades in, in knowing you but you're still the pickiest little thing that ever lived. 

Easily frustrated by things that don't do what I want them to. Not picky. 

Well that explains why there are so many of us, you're collecting parts to make the perfect guy. 

Shhhhh. You really weren't supposed to figure this out. I'm afraid I've kept you around far too long. 

Bridget, knock it off. You're scaring me. 

Sorry. What a neat idea though! 

Huh! Is it now? Maybe I should do the same! I know I won't be keeping your ears because they're busted and your mouth, because it runs, and certainly not your scrawny little arse because it's not big enough to grab and well, seems like there's not much here, come to think of it! 

Oh my God! Take that all back! 

I'm only teasing! Peanut, I wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe I'd get that creepy millionaire who follows you around to disappear but I swear, that would be it. 

HEY.

Don't do that thing where you ASSume that my philanthropy consists only of making sure women with tight household budgets can pretend to dress designer.

Yeah, just don't do that. Okay. We're good again.

PVC.

I had a weird epiphany today.

I was standing in the vintage store, waiting for Daniel finish up (he was trying on blazers). I was slowly working my way through the long rack of purses. I found three fake Louis Vuittons, two real and seven fake Coach bags, one real Prada and a very pretty, albeit completely counterfeit Burberry.

Two women came along behind me and one positively squealed. I glanced her way and she was holding the Burberry bag up to show her friend.

Oh my God, she said. It's fifty dollars but I'll never find a better price! 

Geez, fifty dollars? That's really expensive! There go your groceries. Her friend said. Maybe you should think about it. 

I love it! What a good price though, this would be two hundred in the store! 

(More like twelve hundred, I think to myself,  if it were real.)

I'm going to get it! She hugged it close. I wanted to turn around and tell her it was a knock-off, show her the cheap leather trim, the painted zipper, the imperfect stitches but then I thought to myself maybe fifty bucks is the price for her happiness.

She'll be so happy with her faux designer handbag it won't matter if it's not real, or if it cost her a week's grocery money, or whatever. Maybe that's all it takes.

When Daniel was ready to go I followed him to the checkout, and I told the clerk the cost of the Burberry and said I wanted to buy it for the woman but I didn't want her to know it was paid for until we've left. Daniel just stared at me and I looked at him and said,

I used to be her. 

We walked out into the sun, and I realized it's completely true. Happiness costs fifty fucking dollars.

Feed and keep her and call her yours.

I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.
             ~Anais Nin, The Four-Chambered Heart.

Lochlan is sleeping this morning as I trace his features. Actually he's holding his breath while I draw circles around his nose and chin and each eye. I write bits of poetry across his forehead with my fingertip and I write IMPOSSIBLE in block letters because that's what we are. Eventually I get bored trying to wake him up and I start to hum while I draw shapes around his lips and cheeks and then trace the tattoos on his arms for good measure.

Abruptly his eyes fly open and he grabs my hands and pulls me in close with a yell.

Jesus, Lochlan! I'm going to pee my pants!

Thank God you're not wearing any, then. Save yourself some trouble. He lets go and flops back into the sheets. Why can't you just give me a shake to wake me up like normal people?

I knit my eyebrows. What's normal?

That thing everyone else is. 

That's ridiculous! Who would want to be normal?

Good point. Can I please sleep some more?

Heck no! We need to go find some things. 

What?

Coffee.

What else?

Breakfasty...things. I'm starving.

Okay. Give me ten minutes to take a shower. 

Why can't you spend the day in your pajamas?

Because then no one takes me seriously. He stumbles off to the bathroom and I'm left cold, sitting in the middle of the bed and surprised at what he said.

That's the whole point, Lochlan! 

XXX (SFW)

Tell me that your final home is not a shot in the dark

I skate into the room, just a wee bit buoyed by his choice of music.

You're listening to DEMON HUNTER! JESUS CHRIST, DIABHAL!

I was hoping that would get you over here. 

Why? More things to sign? I'm going to have a stamp made. Or start using an X. Maybe I'll use three of them, I mean, let's be realistic-

Bridget. 

Where is it? 

Where is what? 

The papers?

What papers? 

Why am I here? 

I wanted to know if you're about to take on yet another boyfriend here. 

Look, just because Duncan finally admitted that I get under his skin doesn't mean-

Of course it means something or you wouldn't have written about it. 

Since I'm heading toward a future where I'm demented I intend to record everything of use. I knew he had a thing, but he'd never admit it. He's gone back to denying it, for the record. Says he misspoke. I roll my eyes for great effect. Also what do you mean by 'another' boyfriend?

Well, you're quite open about your visits to me. Also there is Sam.

I don't write about half the altercations I have with you! And leave Sam out of this. Wait. Are you sure you meant to say Sam?

That's what you call them? Altercations with me? And who else should I be worried about?

Did you mean something else? Also what was I supposed to sign before I forget? And who?

Nevermind, Neamhchiontach. Would you like some lunch? 

I forget if I had a lunch date so yes. 

Cheese sandwiches? 

Sure. If you leave the record on. 

Different but not new.

I missed you, Poet. 

I am packed in tightly beside Duncan on the couch. I don't want to move. Ten weeks was a long time, even though it was barely nine if you're being picky. And here now Gage has just begun to rumble about heading out for a few weeks and I just want to keep everyone inside and bar the door.

Duncan nods. I missed you. I missed everyone. You know? I got out there and the whole family dynamic was completely different and I decided I would just float through it and they called me on my shit so fast I don't think I had even settled in. But I'll give them credit, they did it. They supported me through the whole thing and here I was supposed to be support for them. 

They're good people, Dunk. Good Humans. 

Yes. They saw your pictures and thought I was missing you. Since they know about the setup here they made assumptions.

So you set them straight?

No, he laughs. Not really. I just left it because I can't explain it so why the hell not? (At this point Duncan would lift a beer bottle and take a drink but since he's not going to do that anymore he just sat back and looked at me.)

Duncan-

Hey, why don't you make some tea? That would be good. Planes are dry. Then I have to give the kids their souvenirs and I want to crash for a day or so. The stuff for the big people I shipped separately. It'll get here next week.

Okay. 

I reluctantly get up and go to the kitchen. Over the years Duncan has become what Caleb always was when I was little. Cooler than everyone else in spades. If you had his attention or approval it was a warm flood of awesome inside and you became briefly invincible. People would hang on his words, look to him to wardrobe and opinion cues. People would feel rewarded if he spent time with them.

Basically he's the God of the Shallows over here. He writes poetry and cares little for things he can't change and he had his shit together when he left.

And suddenly he missed me too much to cope with it reasonably? Oh. Oh no. Not you too. You're supposed to be cooler than cool.

Now that he's back I see the light spilling through the cracks and he's not together, he's a mosaic of a beat poet/lizard king. He's shaken and weakened somehow and I find it more than a little sad that everyone suddenly deals with life with Bridget by keeping themselves topped up until they can't face me anymore and then they take off and get cleaned up and come back total strangers.

Fuck this. I want my lizard kings.

Dalton comes into the kitchen to help. I'm relieved that he's back. If I had known he was that bad off I wouldn't have let him go out. He looks vaguely worried. It's never fun to have the roles reversed, little brother looking after the big brother. It's unnatural and scary.

I shake my head and rub Dalton's hand. He had to go. Maybe he needed the long break to get sorted out. He'll be fine. 

I know. He's tough. I just hate seeing him...what's the word?

Vulnerable.

Yeah.

He's always been that way. I lie. That's the only way the poetry has to get out. Through those tiny hairline cracks. 

I love the way you spin things, Bridget. 

Me too. I'm glad I'm home. Duncan's in the doorway, smiling. God. Amazing how much you miss someone when you think you were doing well pretending otherwise.

(I don't know if I'm saying that about myself or about Duncan. Not sure it matters.)

DUNCAN'S HOME!

DUNCAN'S HOME!

DUNCAN'S HOME!!!

Happy Easter, from our house to yours.

Hush now baby, baby don't you cry
Mama's gonna make all of your nightmares come true
Mama's gonna put all of her fears into you
Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing
She won't let you fly but she might let you sing

This morning the rain cleared up long enough for us to have Easter breakfast outside (far too early) at the long barn door table in the orchard, the table freshly pressure-washed and freakishly splintery on my end, at least. Sam stood up and said Grace, Christian took most of the bacon when the plate was passed and John took the rest, and Henry complained loudly that he was too old for an egg hunt anyway (cancelled due to weather) and then almost in the same breath said he missed the egg hunt and huge quantities of chocolate the Easter bunny would bring before he was too old.

Not to worry, the Easter bunny made his annual appearance anyway, coattails flying, shoes shined, eyes freakishly glossy and huge in the full bunny-head costume that has been shared duty between the boys for the past fifteen years. Henry saw him first and shrieked with excitement, making the rest of us laugh when his voice cracked.

We watched as the giant bunny scurried around the table, spilling eggs onto everyone's heads/plates/laps, then ran up to the house, throwing eggs into flowerpots, shoes, under chairs, balancing them on the door sills and on the gazing balls and then finally coming back and dropping the final egg down the front of my dress.

I fished it out with a frown and gave it back. The bunny took it, mimicked wild gut-busting laughter, and set his basket down. He walked over behind Loch, manhandled him up out of his chair and stuffed the egg in his mouth. Then he grabbed the basket and ran like hell across the lawn and through the gate.

Back home to the boathouse.

Sugar baby never ever learns.*

*(This will not be a tale of Ben's romantic endeavors because I think I broke my pancreas and cannot properly tell stories right this second.)

So...growing up mostly on a tiny peninsula in the second-smallest province in Canada, we were fucking sheltered and I've always read about but never had much opportunity to try some of the holiday candy Americans cite as tradition in popular culture. So the quest to try all those American chocolate bars and such is ongoing and ridiculous now that I have moved around a little and live fairly close to the border.

(And you all sit down there and lament the lack of Kinder eggs. Really, the chocolate tastes weird and the toys have sucked for years now.)

So this week? I found Peeps at the grocery store. Fucking yellow marshmallow peeps. No one wanted them so I only bought one little box of ten.

Opened them tonight. Passed the box, but even the kids didn't want any. I touched one and it was really soft. I thought they would be brittle and hollow and taste like chemicals. I bit into one with everyone watching and to my delight it was only a sugar-coated marshmallow!

So I ate five more after the first. So delicious and sweet!

And now I want to die because my stomach hurts. I think the last four remaining peeps will be paired up and forced to joust to death in the microwave with the little plastic swords from the bar because I don't think I can eat anymore.

They're laughing. Not the peeps, the boys, though maybe the peeps too. Sugar makes me hallucinate. I don't even know anymore.

Maundy Thursday.

Last night we had a rainy, windy, positively wild bonfire down on the beach for three. A bottle of sparkling water, fancy wine glasses that wouldn't remain upright (we resorted to passing the bottle) and the driftwood shelter that also threatened to collapse before Ben and Lochlan spent a few minutes reinforcing it. It was pouring rain. We brought a couple of pizzas and a stack of blankets down there too. We had grabbed a bunch of candles too but at the last minute I took the big LED lantern which they said was a good idea but I had only brought it because I knew the walk back up the formidable steps would be in the darkness so I'm not as together as they think. The candles were useless.

Ben called it an early picnic to celebrate our anniversary weekend and he very specifically included Lochlan because we are the Three Musketeers. The three wet, cold and well-fed musketeers. Lochlan was so pleased to be included and made an incredibly touching speech about how humbled he has been by Ben's generosity and my open-mindedness and then Ben trumped Lochlan's speech with one of his own and they both made me cry and so I couldn't say any words at all lest they come out in one small strangled sob.

When most of the pizza was gone and the rain got even heavier we stowed everything in a pile as far back as we could where it seemed...dryish and made a run for the cliff, Ben with the lantern and my left hand, Lochlan with my right hand and a good grip on the railing the whole way up. It's not a climb you can rush and so we were soaked to the skin by the time we reached the gate.

Once upstairs Ben ran a hot bath and I was first in, dunking my head under the water. Oh, so warm. So so warm. I would have fallen asleep underwater but he lifted me out of the bubbles, wrapped me in a towel and threw me into the bed (why they keep. doing. that.) and I was asleep before I said goodnight, I think. I don't remember.

This morning we made the long trudge back down to the beach to collect the blankets and pizza boxes and candles. Loch smashed the glasses and the bottle at the far end of the beach to make future sea glass for me and Ben rung the excess water out of the blankets because he's the only one strong enough to do it properly. I just hunted for pretty shells until they were ready to make the climb back up.

Ben said that last night marked the beginning of what is to be the Most Romantic Weekend of my life.

Oh, well. Okay then! I have the happies all over the place.