Because someone's always fucking the nanny.

Lochlan had to leave early this morning to set up a thing for Schuyler so one of his new projects can get underway. A hard kiss on my philtrum and he told me to go crawl in with PJ and sleep for a few more hours.

PJ is awake reading when I get there, light on above his bedside table. He lets me change the music and I put on A.A.Williams, turn it down to a soft drone and crawl in beside him. His sheets are clean, he smells like sandalwood and jasmine and I drift off on the notes from the stereo. I wake up an hour later and he is asleep too, book on his chest, music having looped around to the beginning again.

I climb higher up, gently kiss his cheek and slide out of bed. He grabs my leg. He pulls me back under the covers underneath him, making short work of my tank top and pajama shorts. For good measure he pulls out the elastic holding my braid together and then wraps my hair up into his fist as he pulls me off the bed toward him.

He sits back, turning us so he's against the headboard, lifting me back down into his lap gently then not so. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. He leans me way back abruptly until the top of my head is touching the bed again, back arched hard against the morning, not letting me back up until I've been satisfied all over and then, only then he pulls me back into his arms, wrapping his hand around the back of my head, keeping me down against his shoulder, going hard. It's all I can do to not scratch him or bite him, or even scream from the intensity of his movements, but I keep it together and finally he hits the sweet moment too and he slows to a crawl, a soft growl against my neck.

It takes him an eternity to let go.

When he finally does, he finds my clothes and gently dresses me again. I get a kiss on the forehead and he heads off to his ensuite to have a shower. Not a word is said between us. It's a first.

Smaller people get colder faster.

There is an incredible bliss to having coffee and big homemade bagels with homemade grape jelly on the patio while it's pouring rain in sheets all around me. It drums on the glass roof and I have two of the heaters on low. It's twelve degrees and not meant to go any higher today and so denim overalls, a pink t-shirt and a fuzzy pink cardigan are comfortable and warm, though it makes me look like a highschooler from the eighties. I was a highschooler in the eighties so I don't mind so much.

I may have to make another bagel though. This jelly is so good. I made it last fall when it turns out we got some decent grapes, though not enough to make wine with so I harvested what I could and got four good-sized jars of jelly. The first one never set and we used it up but I just opened the next after ten months and it's perfectly set and delicious.

I love to can. I do old-fashioned style in a big stock pot in small batches and I make everything from pickles to jams to tomato sauce to preserved vegetables to applesauce.

Lochlan agrees. He's just poured us each a second coffee to sip for our final hour out here before the chores start. It's Monday after all. The incredible amount of rain means no running with the Devil this morning. I haven't run enough, I think but at the same time my body is far happier if I don't anymore. Ruth goes back to work today. Henry doesn't work again until the weekend. A lot of businesses are opening today and yet I plan to help the boys clean the house, maybe do some baking and then tackle my mending pile while I watch Win The Wilderness on Netflix.

It's very good. I wonder how I would do in a challenge like that? Not like I'll ever find out. I have stupid things I love too much to give up like the heated floors in the stables and really fast wi-fi thanks to Lochlan and my stand mixer for when I do bake (I have a very weak elbow on one side that has never fully recovered) and I really love the motorized retractable glass windows across the kitchen wall that I don't really talk about because then people will think I'm spoiled.

(I am spoiled, though but also self-aware so I hope it counts for something. In my defense while you spent your teens and twenties living at home borrowing mom's car and shopping I was singing for my supper and it wasn't much, let me tell you.) 

I don't think I could give that wall up to regularly get visits from grizzlies. We do get visits from black bears, does this count? It's my little luxury-Alaska, I guess. Our bears are used to people though and not nearly as terrifying as grizzlies. On the show they say it's the other way around. Huh.

Hoping to finish the mending today though. Lochlan's getting low on flannel shirts. He wears the elbows out so fast because he doesn't roll up his sleeves all year around like some of the others. I darn some of the least damaged and patch the most. It suits him.

(Also a fun fact: I embroider the initials of each boy on the sleeve cuff of their flannel shirts or I can't tell who owns what. We don't do our own laundry separately in the collective. We do whatever needs to be done.)

Heart (and hand)warming.

And today I went kayaking with Matt.

Matt was nervous, Matt tried to be at once a father, big brother and best friend. He wasn't sure if I could lift my kayak, wasn't sure if I could push off on my own from the beach or the dock, didn't know if he should warn me of anything like wakes or sea monsters and wasn't aware that he's been watching me do this for YEARS and no one does anything for me. In fact, I'm fine. I tend to pull instead of push when I paddle if I stop thinking and start thinking (as one does) but otherwise you don't have to teach, warn or babysit me. Not there. Not on the water. I was born on the sea. I know what I'm doing. 

We looked at logs, seals, jellyfish and tourists. We paddled silently halfway down the coast to the end of my comfort margins and then turned back. He thanked me for reminding him to wear a hat and sunglasses and he said we should bring Sam with us next time.

Then Sam and I interact and Matt stays on the fringe. I don't know if that's a better idea? I'm trying to get to know him in reverse.

I point that out to Matt and tell him we could have a Saturday morning 'yak with just the two of us and a Sunday evening one with Sam included and he seemed to like that. And by the time we returned to the dock I think he realized that I don't bite, I don't rule this point with an iron fist and I don't hate him. I hate some of his previous actions because he hurt someone I'm incredibly close to but otherwise he is a new blank-canvas boy and he seems to fit in here well and still toe a line of respect that some of the boys would be well to adopt. He held my fingers in his hands to warm them back up. It was a sweet gesture.

He's okay. I told him that and he laughed and said I was okay too. He invited me to come in for a drink on our way up the steps but I have to get back. Lochlan and I are doing some things this afternoon.

Maybe come by later for it then?

Maybe tomorrow, I tell him and he laughs. Okay. Whenever. We have an open door.

Same goes for you both.

It's appreciated, Bridget. Thank you. It's been unreal.

What has?

Being home.

Get off my lawn.

We're not going to talk about how I spent almost two hours this morning trying to see what movies we've bought on the x-box. Nevermind trying to hack my microsoft account to see, or even which x-box I was supposed to check it on, or how to turn on the x-box. Then the dance of logging in. Then the which profile will show it. Then a bunch of random updates and I finally passed the controller (very gently, without even throwing it) over to Dalton with a mention that I may just throw anything with a plug off the cliff later today if I can't get what I need and he laughed and said he'll figure it out. Do we still have x-box live? Is it golden or regular? Do we even use these things anymore? Is this worth the hassle? All of these make up the great mysteries of the universe and I've decided I don't care.

Life was so easy when playing a game involved finding a quarter.

Edit: Update! 11:30pm. They couldn't get in either.

I finally tried to log in to xbox from my computer and found the password hanging out in Firefox. Then seven or eight submenus deep I could look back on ten years of orders which..well, who has time for that?

We had to rent The Hobbit, in other words. Also x-box is dumb. I'm going to live in the Shire.

Having shirts printed. One says Princess. One says Devil. His will be red. Mine can be pink.

Caleb heard me coughing through the night and lost his mind again.

I've been gardening a LOT. The poppies are blooming. The onions survived, as did the radishes. I somehow wound up with fifty extra tomato plants after burying a rotten tomato in the ground one night on my way out to see what was coming up. Better compost than garbage and there's room for a few odds and ends but the tomato disappeared and the seedlings shot up and the jokes about Irish gardening persist. Irish gardening is that you throw a handful of seeds toward the dirt and eat whatever ends up growing and yes, I planted an entire row of potatoes this year.

I was really excited about the poppies though. Two years ago I planted a sad little leaf and it did nothing until this spring. In February it quadrupled in size and then BOOM. It has five huge bulbs and one of them blew it's cap earlier this week and revealed a gorgeous papery red flower I can't help but visit fifteen times a day. This beats vegetables by a mile. I transitioned half the vegetable garden to perennials due to the sheer workload of a garden that size and it's gorgeous now. Full English with Irish planting.

But Caleb doesn't want to hear about my allergies. He holds his hand against my forehead and looks worriedly into my eyes.

You need to take a day off. We'll snuggle in and watch movies and get some takeout.

Ah. A Date.

No, a rest-day. Every time I see you you're like a hummingbird. You need to stop or this could get worse.

I don't think allergies can increase in severity any more than they already do for me. Same time every year. More if I'm touching the tomato plants.

They could help you, you know.

Or you could.

He smiles abruptly. Perhaps I could be your personal gardener.

Oh! That would be fun. But only if you wear really tight jeans, no shirt and be slippery-sweaty. Did you know gardening is a better workout than anything el-

Anything else? Yes, I've heard that. So what do you want to do, direct me? And I'll look after the physical part? He's still smiling.

No. I need to get dirty and dig in the ground or I'm not right in the head. You can move the rocks when I find them and wield the wheelbarrow.

But otherwise?

Stand around shirtless and look handsome.

Shouldn't you be shirtless? God knows, we can't keep you in clothes.

No I burn too easily. Naked is for nighttime.

Ah. A new mantra.

It isn't new.

Fear IS a mindkiller (Thanks Fear Factory, I get it now).

I broke all my nails trying to flatten all of the stupid cardboard boxes they (meaning NOT ME) throw into the garage to keep 'just in case' when they order things and now I'm in a bad fucking mood. I didn't have enough sleep, got a little or maybe a lot overwhelmed and Lochlan asked me how I was doing and I bit my tongue and said fine.

Practically with steam pouring out of my ears.

Want to talk about it? He asks quietly. Lochlan is trying to learn to help me in place of the others. I am still loathe to let him. Not because I don't want to but because I can't.

It's like little things are snowballing and I can't hold it together and I'm getting so angry lately over things that didn't use to bother me.

It's because of the added stress of the quarantine and the scariness of going out and running what are supposed to be mundane errands and trying to get what you want done with all that extra weight of the world.

Is it?

I feel like it might be.

Oh. Okay so I need to just distract and just go and do things and hopefully it will get better.

Henry took me to the grocery store to pick up a few things.

When I came home I had a shot of vodka and a chocolate bar. I read a book for a few moments and I'm going to paint my nails and maybe shave my head. I got a cascade of emails this afternoon telling me the dentist and eye doctor are opening back up, Ruth goes back to work on Monday, our favorite restaurants and parks flung open their doors this week and I want to run and hide. Not because I'm afraid of some virus but because I really embraced this lockdown hard. The only part I ever minded was the fear, as always.

And now it's almost over but I think it should continue. Just a little while longer. Just to be safe.

Breakfast with the Devil (because that's all he gets).

The afterglow of Sam and Matt's wedding persists, pushing back against the grey rainclouds of today, even though I have already turned into a pumpkin (a snack jack, if you're planting) and Caleb has already come back strong with a little Coldplay on the kitchen stereo (Clocks) and some incredibly incendiary Irish Coffees for breakfast. A small fruit plate to share. Plans. A late walk on the beach instead of a run. Some help putting away the decorations if I want it (because it takes a village to get him to give in to my whims) and lunch out, since things are opening.

I give a yes to the coffee + Coldplay, okay to all of the blueberries and kiwi on the plate, a beach walk instead of the run but then my day is Lochlan's. We've decided we're going to re-watch all of the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies this week and boy, are they long. Trying to cram them in around other things is proving difficult as meals are late, laundry is done during snack breaks and we've eaten ourselves round.

Someone asked via email if I've gained weight this pandemic. I don't know if it's appropriate or not but I fired off an answer as my emails are getting numerous again and I'm unsure why so it's hard to find much time for replies.

Six pounds. Puts me at 103. Lochlan's up about fifteen so you can't get cut by his chin anymore but he's still thinner than I'd like. He says the same thing about me.

What about your fabric and lights?

They're staying up indefinitely.

And lunch?

We have green salsa and nacho chips and tequila.

Sounds nutritious.

I had fruit! Just now!

Tomorrow?

Same. You can have until eleven.

Which day is completely free?

Next...Thursday I think.

Next Thursday.

Right. Not THIS Thursday, but nex-

I understand.

Then why do you look angry?

Caleb's face softens then as he checks his expression. The wedding made me have some thoughts. I'd like to share them with you. I didn't want to wait a week.

Sorry. Or we can talk right now. Or on the walk.

He starts to say something and then I am struck by the music. What is that? I interrupt.

He stops and listens. Warning Sign.

Oh. How appropriate.

I'm sorry?

Every time there's a wedding you have bridesmaid syndrome.

I guess I do.

Well, you don't have to.

That doesn't change how it feels.

I'll remember that sentence to tell you the next time you tell me not to be afraid.

Have tent, will perform.

Matt and Sam made everyone breakfast this morning as a thank you for the wedding, something they didn't expect but something we are oddly good at. They would have done it yesterday morning but we were up all night and this was the quietest property you ever saw yesterday as very little happened and no one woke up for hours and hours, until the day was almost gone. No point in trying to feed people who aren't awake.

You should be squired away having a honeymoon, I protested as Matt put the most drool-inducing plate in front of my nose. Fried tomato slices, back bacon, grilled English muffins and poached eggs with rosemary. Sam poured me a cup of coffee and said I was not to move, that he had organized a committee to unwind the lights.

Can't we leave them?

You'll get electrocuted, Lochlan pointed out. I'm surprised they still work after that rain. They're not outdoor lights.

I'll risk it, I point out helpfully and Lochlan frowns.

Then who would plan a beautiful funeral? He asks as he takes his plate to the sink. He was starving and ate while I was chattering, as always. Eat, he points at my plate. While it's hot. I dutifully pick up my fork and dig in while they head outside to unwind at least eighty kilometres of fairy lights and a hundred yards of tulle.

I actually had that all in storage to make my own circus tent someday, I mutter and Lochlan stops in his tracks, turning at the open door.

Say that again?

It was going to be my own circus tent. I wish you'd leave it.

I think he's decided I'm insane and he walks out the door. I hear him call Sam's name. Leave it up. We're leaving it, he yells.

Perfect.

He comes back in. You are not to touch those wires. Ever. If you do it all comes down. I don't want to come out looking for you and find a burned spot on the grass where you used to be.

But that would be neat-

Bridget!

Dancing in the violet shadows.

(I have trouble describing these moments. Bear with me.)

We all walked in small groups down to the gazebo. Umbrellas and good suits. My favorite embroidered gauze dress and bare feet. Flowers in our hair from our garden. Flowers in PJ and John's beards, and in Ben's ears. Everyone is smiling, talking quietly and laughing, holding hands. When we reach the gazebo Matt and Sam take each other's hand and walk up the steps where Sam's second at the church waits for them. He reads a beautiful poem and then asks the boys to exchange their vows. I put down my umbrella in order to get drenched so that they won't see me cry. Caleb foils my plan by pulling me backwards underneath the shelter of his umbrella. Lochlan does not let go of my hand.

Now is where I admit that the rain on the umbrellas means I could not hear their vows.

Had I said something every umbrella in a forty yard circle would have been closed at once but I'm not one to steal a spotlight or break a heart that is only just healing in and so I didn't tell Lochlan that I couldn't hear and had to wait for cues from the boys to know what was happening.

You can't choose the weather for a wedding. If you choose a deaf girl for your witness you're going to have to fill her in. I saw their eyes. I know what they've entered into, once again. I could tell by the way my own heart sped up to a lightning speed, skipping along at a crazy pace as I watched their faces.

The remainder of the night was a whirlwind as we exclaimed over their beautiful bespoke bands (also with S&M2 engraved on the inside) made of pirate gold and dreams, stuffed our faces and I was passed from arms to arms to arm dancing dizzily fast sometimes and achingly slow at other times. We watched Sam and Matt dance together but mostly they just stood nose to nose, smiling softly into each other's eyes. We couldn't tear our eyes away from them.

After they cut the cake they made a speech, thanking us all for the night, for the space and for the understanding, the room to figure it out and the privacy to hash it all out and clear out the past to make way for the future. They thanked us for being so open to love in any form and for allowing them to be a part of something so special in this Collective and for having a voice at the table, a vote on our life together moving forward and an open door always. 

Sam pulled me aside later and asked if his vows were okay, that he was too nervous to share them before the ceremony so he let them roll.

I couldn't hear them because of the rain.

His face. Oh my God. His face. Stay here, he tells me so I do.

He comes back two minutes later with Matt. They recite them for me again. By the time they are finished the tears have turned to a waterfall. If only I could ever make words sound so beautiful. I would want for nothing else.

Yeah, they're okay, I tell him, laughing-sobbing as I try not to wipe my teary face all over the front of his suit. Matt gives me his hankerchief and pulls us both in by our heads so I can't help but get tears all over their suits. It's okay, though. You couldn't tell them apart from the raindrops.

Prequel, sequel, Preacherman, love.

We put Sam in the middle of a group hug early this morning as he attempted to record a short message to be played instead of a podcast this morning. The podcast will be pointed at one of the global broadcasts from the church on a unfamiliar, formal level instead, if people are missing a sermon that badly.

Because we forgot to record it and put it up a few days ago in the rush.

He had to rerecord it three times, overcome with emotion over the support and the love he feels in this house.

Last night offhand I asked him if he wanted to use A Thousand Years Part II for their first (second) song and we both cried because the words are so beautiful so that's it, that's the song. Perfect since this is the sequel wedding. We've stuck little number 2s on everything that they haven't seen yet, including the cake topper, the gazebo and even all of the tiny sparklers for lighting after dark are shaped like 2s after Lochlan bent them gently with a pair of pliers, having figured out how to do it without losing all of the coating.

And we're ready. Sam prayed for all the wayward single souls on the point with a laugh and then got serious, asking God for some strength and courage to move forward and the bravery to be able to secure this island against the storms. His hands are shaking. He is afraid and he doesn't have to be. Love is a cloud. You jump and then you realize so much later that it's on fire or it's cold or it's not big enough for two. And he already jumps so he knows this is his cloud. He knows he is comfortable. He knows he is home. But still, when he takes my hand his trembles so slightly it makes me cry.

Don't cry, Bridget.

So happy for you, Sam. I choke it out and he sends me inside to make sure everything is ready because he can't. Because he is losing it. This gift. This second chance. Planned for summer, pinned on Easter, now falling somewhere in the middle. We'll get it done. Six o'clock tonight and he will be back where he belongs as Mrs. Matt.

It's one of those beautiful days on the point that I always want to remember. Every door to the outside is wide open. Everyone is here. Everyone is happy and excited. The air is electric. The tiny lights are on. The table is set and the rain can come or not, we don't really care.

Lochlan takes my hand and squeezes it and I burst into tears. I love this. I can't help it. As much as I always feared Sam would never recover from Matt breaking his heart, I know first hand how sweet it is when the one who broke it figures out how to come back and fix it for good.