Counterfeit superglue.

Every early Christmas season Batman comes out of his cave and checks his watch for the beginnings of the biggest holiday of the year. He sees the decorations and lights beginning to go up and he comes alive. We have a curious dynamic and half the time I can't read him at all. He is closed off. He's the human and I'm the vampire, blind to his thoughts, ignorant of his whims but prompt and present when summoned, as ever. 

Good evening, Bridget. A drink?

A small one. I'm not one hundred percent back from being sick. 

Are you feeling better? 

Yes. Thank you. He hands me a barest centimetre-high whiskey in a glass. Single malt. The best. My favorite, Lagavulin. I haven't even seen any in my travels this year but I try to get a bottle for the holidays. I can lick gravestones to my hearts content, filling my veins up with peat. A true tiny vampire if ever there was one.

I take a sip while he watches me. After a moment he takes the glass and puts them on the table, pulling me in close. A long hug and I feel every muscle in his body relax. Not a rare thing at all and I hold him tight. I get a lot of hugs in the winter. It's cold. 

His hand slides up around my head and I stiffen slightly, not catching it in time to slip past him. 

You're hesitant. 

I haven't been here in months. 

Long overdue, Bridget. Your birthday week was the last visit. Six months.

I should go. 

I'd like you to stay with me. Just for the night. 

What if we didn't.. I stop. I don't think this is going to go how I want it to.

What do you need? 

A friend without...benefits. 

Does it have to be me?

I can trust you. 

He finishes his drink in one gulp, discarding his glass again. Turning away suddenly. 

I don't recall asking for a broken heart for Christm- He stops talking abruptly and I close my eyes and wait, biting my lip. What's changed? 

I'm trying to figure out how to be an adult here. We've had this conversation before.

Is Caleb respo-

No. It has nothing to do with him. It's a whisper now. I just need to do this for me. 

Who does it benefit?

Me. As I said. 

A silence followed that was so long the tides went out and then came back in closer, if only just to listen.

Then I support you, one hundred percent. He turns back around. His eyes are shining but his face is unreadable again. Godammit. This is an easy end. We go years between touching each other. Maybe we will again someday but instead of saying Not tonight I always try to go long with the Never agains. He probably doesn't even believe me because I've done this before. 

Your deposits will continue, Bridget. You don't need to worry abo-

I know. Thank you. I don't argue with him over that anymore. I've tried for decades. 

Can we still spend time? I'd actually love it if you come shopping with me this week to pick up the things I need. 

Yes. And I do really need you. Thank you for understanding.

He comes back to me, pulling me in, bending his head down and placing a soft kiss against my cheek. Go home to your husband. I'll be over at six for Ben (Thursdays Batman comes and assists in Ben's rehab. It turns out I can't go in the pool every day this time of year. My whole flesh suit is cracked and rashy from the chlorine mixed with the dry winter air inside the house). 

I love you. 

He tightens. I do too. I'm happy to be the good guy if you need me to be one, though it never gets me anywhere. 

His bitter laugh sends me out into the dark and his eyes track every step I take on the way back home.

Unpopular.

August and I are making popcorn and preparing to watch the whole season of Dash & Lily in a day. Because we have decided that people suck and everyone who isn't on this point can be pushed away for a while, no harm, no foul. Pretty sure I'm the one being reassured here and he is merely showing me precisely how to engage in a little downtime because just about everything is setting me off and I don't want to see the internet, I don't want to watch the news and I don't want to interact with people. 

When he found me I was under the covers, quilts up over my head, fully clothed and completely unable to be reasoned with. Which isn't an unusual thing, being me but today just feels so much more abrasive and impossible than usual but instead of being inconsolable I am angry. 

Progress, August says with a wink. 

Fuck you too, I rage. But he doesn't react with any surprise and puts his arms out for a hug instead. I hit the wall of flannel a little too gratefully, forgetting to keep up my defenses, throwing my arms around him tight and he asks if I actually got any sleep last night.

Not enough. Lochlan and I-

I get it. You guys need to sleep sometime, you know. 

Why? I laugh. We're having a lifelong honeymoon here. I rub my eyes. Tears just sneak out here and there. I'm a leaky faucet most of the time. 

That's what I want to hear. Where's Loch? 

Sleeping in the solarium. I laugh again. He can sleep during the day. I hate him for that too. 

Then let's find a movie or a show and hang out until dinner. 

Oh, sold. 

You sound grateful. 

Both Duncan and PJ turned me down for this exact thing already today. 

Their loss. 

You're RIGHT. I am AWESOME. 

August's turn to laugh. Yes you are.

Sometimes it's the big things, not the little ones.

Ben and I were out early. He woke me up slowly, sliding his big heavy ring onto my finger, pulling me in close against him under the quilts. I am still punchy, drugged and slow, yesterday was tough for me out of the blue and Ben didn't let go of me once, to the point where Lochlan had to politely request that he lay off for five minutes so he could get a hug. They had a laugh but it's beautifully obvious now that Ben isn't disappearing to work on projects or be introverted like he always was Before. Maybe he'll go back to that someday but for now he is present, barely out of reach.

He went to a meeting while I stayed to read in the truck (The Outsiders! It's the only book on my phone at present) and then we stopped at Overpriced, Horrible But Highly Convenient Grocery Store for a smallish load of groceries, as we ran out of eggs and cookies and shampoo seemingly all at once. We stopped for gas on the way home, in consideration of the coming storm today and now we're home again. All the things we bought are put away and he is putting away dishes now, while I have started the laundry already. I can hear the windchimes every time I venture near a window. The trees are beginning to bend. It's supposed to be a good one. High, damaging winds. This on the heels of last week's King Tides. 

Kind of fun, if you ask me but then again I am home, safe and sound and so is everyone else who lives here. My favourite sort of comfort, truth be told. Put on some lights, pour another cup of coffee, set the music volume on low and be together. 

We have a huge wooden sign on the tree as you drive out of the property. It's on the big cherry tree just above the stables and it says COME HOME SAFE in big green letters on an elm background. That's all that matters these days. 

On the back of that sign, as you're coming in to the driveway, it says OH GOOD. YOU'RE BACK. I painted that part one day in secret and as the boys came home over the next few days and saw it they absolutely love it, though it became a big of a joke when Duncan would walk in the door and PJ would put his coffee cup down rather dramatically and tell him, 

Oh good....you're back, in the most ominous voice. 

After much pleading he let the joke rest, because it's meant to be exclaimed in relief. Not surprise. Later on another sign was added just below the first, on the side you see as you drive in. Another piece of elm, sturdy and warm. It says simply WE MISSED YOU. 

I don't know who made it. No one will tell me but I love it even more than the original.

Such a simple, destructive thing. A stick dipped in phosphorus.

When the morning comes and takes me
I promise I have taught you everything that you need
In the night you'll dream of so many things
But find the ones that bring you life
And you'll find me
That's where you'll find me

I pick up the pieces, cold marble, soothing against my bloodied nails, fingers shaking as I choose the moves that might win (or lose) the game. I am nervous. Stakes are high and I've bitten my nails to the quick and then to the bone, horrifying those around me who watch, anxious for their turn. Willing to risk it. Taking the time to acknowledge that they know the rules. They know it's hard and that in the end winning isn't what's important at all. I'm singing Fade In/Fade Out with halting words, under my breath as he won't let me near the piano and so I am reduced to this, a game played on the floor on a worn chessboard. I am worthy of nothing and everything here. I am the game. I am the queen. I am the pawn. 

And I thought I knew how to play but I don't, sweeping the pieces from their squares in a sudden fit of frustration. They spin away, scattering across the hardwood floor like balls of errant lightning while Lochlan begs me not to sing.

Can't help it. They took the music, this is the fallout. I have to hear it or things will be worse. It's not a promise, just a warning. There's a storm and it's right on top of us and boy we really misread the forecast, missed all the signs and forgot to batten down Bridget's hatches. We got complacent. Got lazy and now I am reduced to this. 

The ghost reaches out and scoops up a handful of pieces. A rook. Both kings. Of course. 

You shouldn't play this game, Jacob says suddenly, his blue eyes burning bright, circles of ocean and smoke.

Hold your fire, Lochlan says, pushing the piano across the floor between us. Giving him time, making a barrier between Jacob and I, a stalling move he doesn't need. He can take the fire if you have it. He can grow it or extinguish it at will and no one is a match for him. No one can hold a match to him. 

Jacob looks at me and laughs. At least someone won their game. 

Did she? Ben steps forward, picking up the board, snapping it in half. It wasn't a fair pairing. The skill levels are unbalanced.

Are they though? Jacob narrows his eyes, matching Ben's tone. They always hated each other. Nothing ever changes. That's the one thing I gave her credit for that no one else did. She can hold her own, you just won't let her.

"You should explain the notebooks." "Yeah, okay."

Hot coffee and music this morning, softly through Ben's big headphones. I still have this fucking headache. It's day four and I'm so done with it. You have no idea. I can't mainline pills. I hate taking pills. I drank so much ice water yesterday. I ate all of the Indian takeout leftovers and there's still more in the fridge. I'm looking for self-care of the highest degree today. Then I'll ignore it and do the same things I always do, which is as much as I possibly can. I'm always more scared it will get worse the next day so I keep moving. All the fucking time.

I ordered my Christmas present yesterday because it was super complicated and I wanted to get it right.

I've been coveting a custom leather traveler's notebook cover/setup for a while but I just discovered the maker I like best has a wallet/book combination so I jumped at it when Lochlan offered, telling me to order what I want for Christmas. I picked my leather, my stitching, my strap colors and added pockets and loops and goodies until I think I had it all figured out. Then I watched all of the unboxing videos that I could find until I was completely sure and then I pulled the trigger. It will be here December 19 and I am excited! It's the cutest and I can't wait. The boys were supremely happy because right now I am using this super ugly planner that is a little too big and has a snowglobe front which leaks glitter everywhere. EVERYWHERE. This thing doesn't fit in any of my bags besides. Not that I dare take it off the desk because goddamned glitter.

(That isn't a complaint, if you ask me, someone who has been known to randomly 'spill' (AKA pour) glitter around just because it's fun to see.

The dog is usually covered. 

He does not mind a bit. 

The boys don't like it in their beards/wallets/trucks/dinner. 

Huh.)

That's my day. I slept in. I now am listening to Relient K. Which. DAMN.  The last third of Who to bury, us or the hatchet is so divine. Lochlan never minds if I play this on the piano, he just laughs. It's not nearly as heartbreaking as other songs, but at the same time it's bittersweet and awful but well executed. 

He plays and sings it too. It's just a question of who gets to the piano first, some days. 

He said maybe he would like a notebook like the one I ordered too. Eventually. 

I can see that. He carries a super old, buttery soft leather cover with a simple pen loop and in it is a moleskine that he writes notes in, draws in. Lochlan's an old soul, this book was his grandfather's and then his father's and he just changes out the inserts when they are full. This is how I became a writer. When I was nine I said I would like one and the next day he came over with a brand-new orange Campfire notebook and a new blue ballpoint Bic pen and told me to carry it everywhere, writing down anything I saw or everything if I wanted. There were no rules. 

So I wrote about, and drew him. 

I still have that book. I keep them all. Cole threatened to burn it. I ended up sewing it into an old jacket, into the lining and I hung the jacket in the closet and then when Cole was gone I took it out and put it back on the shelf where it belonged and it's been there ever since. There's nothing exciting about it. I spent a lot of time describing the seasons as they pass in terms of Lochlan's hair color. Even when we were fighting. I would write that he was awful but his hair was so pretty. 

I still do that. We still fight. His hair still reflects the seasons, without fail. I've learned I am awful too, sometimes.

And I'm finally getting my own fully intentional beautiful and well-deserved notebook, exactly as I want it to be. It even will have a pocket for my phone, room for some of my bespoke fountain pens and the ever-present Bic blue. 

Fool me twice.

Chipping away at finding chords to replace the strings in the soaring bridge of No Time to Die. Billie Eilish sings a great song, does she not? And as soon as I can make it all the way through the first verse without disintegrating I will too. I am permitted exactly five grumpy minutes a day to work on it before Lochlan will lift me right off the bench and make me do something else. 

We're trying to decide if I ever wrote enough information here for one certain new Lifetime movie to have lifted the plot for its 'groundbreaking' (? Oh yeah. Americans have only had gay marriage for a few years, y'all are so lagging) new Christmas movie from me. I don't think I did. It's fairly well-known that Sam and Matt fell for each other and then broke up when Matt took a job in London, furthering his career in the best way while shredding his personal life to ribbons. But then he came back! They reconciled and got remarried and now we have a hard time getting them to leave the boathouse. The movie is called The Christmas Setup and I'll be watching it to see. 

But never did I ever see two people more content to hunker down and work from home without ever once having wanderlust or cabin fever or even a need to go for a damn drive like Sam and Matt. They only leave the house for church at this point. Sam does everything else from home on zoom and doesn't even do weddings or funerals right now, those are done by one of the other ministers in his pool. 

Which makes me happy, actually. I want all of my boys to be safe here in the Perdition Bubble. 

And they are which is good. But honestly I just want to finish working out this song but Lochlan won't let me. He said it's the equivalent of seeing a huge pothole far off in the distance as you're driving and you know damn well you should avoid it but you won't so I'm taking the wheel.

Where we going? I ask, game for whatever he comes up with. 

Outside to decorate for Christmas, he says with a frown. God, he's so serious all the time. I wouldn't trade him for the world.

Wait, isn't that supposed to be fun? I tease him for his expression.

It will be! He growls and then breaks into a laugh.

Meh.

 Today it rained. Today I mistakenly dipped one of the cat's paws in Lochlan's teacup when I was handed both while he did something on the computer. I gathered up the almost empty tea cup in one hand and the cat in my arm and when I got to the top she had a wet tea-covered paw. It was funny but sad. I have a blistering headache and someone's ordered out for Indian food (Indian food for 15 people isn't nearly as daunting as you expect) for tonight so I managed to get my chores done and a little extra stuff (we let the inventory lapse on the big freezers and I will never do that AGAIN let me tell you) and now I can relax tonight and watch movies and eat my body weight in pakoras (a sport, if you will) and my beloved keema naan and then all will be right with the world. I need a really good nights sleep. Today was so early. Ruth had to be up to register for a program and Ben had to be up for an early meeting as he has suddenly decided that he doesn't like the later ones and so off we go at five each day which is too early even for me. 

And I get up around then virtually every day. 

But yeah. Stupid headache won't budge an inch. So I've had more aspirin and once I eat I can beg for a neck massage from John or Duncan or even Ben and then I will hopefully feel a lot better. Sleep should be programmable. It's 20freaking20. In the meantime I am watching the end of Unus Annus. Some of it is hilarious. Blame Ruth for this but it's addictive.

Ironic! My favorite character in Les Miserables was Eponym.*

Everything has an equal and opposite-

Right? I went grocery shopping with PJ and wanted to pick up a case of red but they don't sell it at seven in the morning, apparently, so that's one step back. But then I decided I would like a cordless wet/dry hand vac so I ordered one on Amazon and Intelcom rolled up in a high-end mustang and set it in my hands twenty minutes later. So that's one step forward.

Sometimes I love convenience. But not with rules. I bet if I go back on Amazon and order a case of wine the mustang will do a u-turn halfway up the ninety-nine and bring it to the house before lunch is over. 

(Wait. Does Amazon even sell alcohol? Don't answer that.)

Actually I think Amazon is ridiculously dangerous. We got on a kick last week** of watching tiktoks with people showing us things from Amazon that will change your life and wow, that was a mistake. I already bought a mini heat-sealer for candy bags and a happy light for the bedside table (the big therapeutic one sits on the kitchen counter. This one is like an eight-by-ten picture frame size). I bought a ring light for Ruth's iphone for a stocking stuffer. I bought rechargeable lighters that look like  freaking plasma guns from Quake 3: Arena and I bought a case for Henry's switch because he didn't have a case and I didn't realize it until a few days ago. 

But goddamn. Stuff arrives here in seconds. Hard to hate on capitalism with that kind of minimal effort for maximum payout. Save for the fact that I sold my soul to Jeff Bezos this Christmas so that I wouldn't have to crawl the mall during a second or third wave pandemic (whichever we are on now), boys in tow, trying to tick everything off a list that never ends. We try to do homemade most of the time for gifts but we also have a big list of things people need. Like August needs a new blender. Andrew is wearing through his pajama shirts. Lochlan needs guitar strings that are nylon so that his fingers hurt a little less and Ben's big truck needs mudflaps (one ripped off in a car wash, he had a coupon. Never again) and also seat covers with warmers built-in because its never warm in that truck, ever. 

I have a couple of books I've been wanting to read that I can't find (The Museum of Extraordinary Things, and Blessed are the Weird: a Creative Manifesto) so there are always things to buy, as Andrew wears those t-shirts in the evening until they are rags, and Lochlan will suffer endlessly instead of changing out his steel strings. We're not actually very materialistic, truth be told and so holidays are tough as it is, but we do okay and have a lot of fun and have a lot of wonderful traditions. I am looking forward to this. Especially since this holiday won't revolve around whatever time Schuy has blocked off-

Back to my point, Neamhchiontach.

Which was? 

If you spend time with August, you have to know the rest of us are going to be put out by that and-

You're Newton's law-ing my relationships?

Well, yes, in that-

Cale?

Yes, Bridget?

You can't forget about Mooer's law, then. 

Which is?

If it's more painful for you to know certain information then it's better not to tell you at all, or something like that. 

Seriously, Bridget? 

Yep.

 *(Yes, I know it's Eponine. I was trying to be CLEVER.)

**(This week's flyby/kick is Unus Annus on Youtube which finishes tomorrow. Figures. Ruth told me if I watched all the videos at 5x speed I might be able to finish them all (one for each day for an entire year) but I don't want to see the gross ones. It's hella funny sometimes though.)

Barometer, as requested (crushing every bit of bone).

I have a huge burn mark across the base of my thumb and onto the back of my hand from the oven rack, navigating a giant dutch oven. I have three other finger wounds from picking out splinters from trimming up rose bushes for winter. I wore gloves. The thorns bite right through.

I'm listening to Deliver your Children because sometimes a day wakes you up and tells you to listen to Wings. It's on a playlist of earworms along with Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea and I am a Stone.

I'm making chicken for dinner, speaking of Wings. And baked potatoes and broccoli too. It's my night to cook and so I pick healthy. There are homemade chocolate chip cookies, homemade bread and homemade bakery-style chocolate chip muffins already made if people are looking for treats. Also the haul from H-Mart is downstairs. We go there to get weird chips and pocky sticks by the case. This week's chips are chicken sauce flavoured. Chickens fucking everywhere. Including me. Bawk bawk. 

Which is a lie. I was brave. 

(Once.) 

I'm finished my antibiotics and finally feel better after two visits with the doctor and one long phone call, though I am feeling massively run-down, hair-trigger hysterical and like I need a weekend to just sit down and pet my brain somewhere quiet. Music helps. Walking on the beach or in the woods helps. I am collecting acorns and tiny pinecones and want to learn how to electroform them. I may also have collected dead intact moths and a whole pile of little bird bones too and yet I left them in the grotto on the little table because the forest gets first dibs and also when you bring home living dead things people tend to think you're about to become a serial killer. 

I do, anyway. 

(Not intend to become a serial killer. I mean I assume you are one if you do that.)

 I bit my nails right off this week. They are ragged and painful. The tips of my fingers already split from the cold and from the endless washing, endless questionable hand sanitizer as I walk into stores masked to the eyelashes, just trying to keep up with groceries and supplies for twenty people without being able to look down because the masks are always too big and I never realize it until it is too late to adjust them. PJ is always game and never complains as he follows me around silently, carrying the heavy things. Driving the cart. Driving one of our Jeeps, usually his, because I hardly drive anymore, not allowed to head out with my windows down and my stereo up because alone is something I can't be.

I want to bake cinnamon rolls but there's no energy here and no room left on the counter. Duncan said I can borrow his counter, if I need storage space but he is kidding and will eat them all sharing them with Dalton because they're brothers and they share everything. 

I haven't had a drink, a full nights sleep or a break in forever and it blows my mind. My diamond ring hurts and I don't wear it. My mind races and I can't catch it. My thoughts are full-blown insanity but I won't admit it. I sink to the bottom here with Missio in my headphones and I can't see the surface anymore.I can take a deep breath and hold it for as long as I can and eventually peace will come creeping back to me. Right, Sam?

Or if it doesn't, you will.

Functional dosage.

I was up at the crack of dark, fighting, pulled hard underneath Ben, who was so awake I'm still blushing hours later, only to be thoroughly loved before being led into the shower along with him where he painstakingly washed my hair while he washed his own, soaped us both down gingerly and then held me under the spray with him until we were warm and renewed again. Then he wrapped me in my robe and put his own and we made the cold rainy trek out to the sauna for a little further warming before starting his physio in the pool at six. His team comes in waves on Tuesdays and Fridays only now and we are capable of filling in the other days. By seven fifteen he was having a well-earned (and also therapeutic) massage and I was back inside drinking coffee, having had a second shower. 

Days are long here between care for him and for me and for the wellbeing of every soul here on the point but as I said before Ben's progress is rapid now, with lingering issues that seem so minor but drive him completely mad. He still gets frustrated easily but he is working at it like he works at everything so hard and I feel lucky that he likes having me close virtually all the time now. It's somewhat of a second chance after an easy acknowledgement that in the Before Universe, he honestly was a workaholic who barely had time for himself, let alone a wife with abandonment issues. 

(I'm taking notes as self-improvement for him at this point is a necessary sport for him just to regain all of the function he had before, while I resist every last effort to make any progress at all. 

The difference between Ben and I? Depression, probably. He is amped as fuck. I just want to hide.)

But what we are doing right now is having a mini honeymoon for three, here, as time and rehabilitation schedules permit. That's the one thing Ben can always manage. A strict, tight schedule. He hasn't touched his phone more than one or twice in the almost-three months now since his accident and he rarely wears his watch but he always knows precisely what time it is and what he needs to be doing. Throw in his daily meetings and he needs all of the hours in each day, though once five hits he is all ours, and we make dinner together, listen to music and then go to bed toddler-early, almost as everyone is worn out by then anyway. 

Ben and Lochlan will build a fire in the fireplace upstairs and we talk for a while. Eventually I fall asleep as the drugs are so good right now, whatever it is, and I wake up gasping for air, dreaming of drowning around four, like clockwork, and then we doze for another hour before getting up to do it all again.

So the answer to your question is yes, everyone here is okay.