Bridget's not cool Vol. 73645246726

Love my boys. They presented me with a t-shirt last night that heralds a giant skull wearing headphones. I loved it so much. Then they pointed out I needed to see the back.

It says DEAF BEFORE DECAF.

I don't think I'll ever take it off but I also got my coffee back this morning with a warning to stick to one or maybe two cups at the most.

Roger that.

We're four episodes from the end of Lost in Space and I'm still on the fence. It has some good moments, lots of humor but then the overreaching weight of the blended family aspect leaves me believing that every single word that comes out of the dad's mouth is something the writer wishes his own dad would say. It's cloying and oppressive and I hate that part because instead of giving the show depth it takes its light and snuffs it out.

Oh well. On to brighter and better things soon.

I do love grabbing a pizza and eating slices without plates while we watch movies and television in the theatre room though. It's more the method than the media in this case, it's the company and the break from life. It's nice and I don't care if every show isn't my Favorite Show Ever, they're all of very good quality and all are very entertaining and sometimes that's all I want. that escapism.

Today is the Vancouver tattoo convention and I'm on the fence about that too. I've never been to one. I'm sure it's predictable. I'm tempted to go and wear white, because everyone will wear black. I'm tempted to get flash (I have tons, I'm not knocking it. New school butterflies EVERYWHERE.  I'm tempted to swallow my fears about being cool enough and just go.

I'm fairly certain I can hold my own in the tattoo department, as I have a full suit and take no shit for it, though I also have been know to cover every inch of myself with Dermablend for special occasions. Sometimes you just want them off. Sometimes they're tiring to the eyes. So much reading all the time. And yet I still feel like I didn't have an ounce of credibility until I got my knuckles done and the minute I did that (they spell LOCH LAN now with a heart at the end), the finish line moved to include face tattoos. I'm never ever doing that so I'll be back here with no chill. I'll let you know if I go, or rather you'll see me there. Dressed in white, don't forget. Because if I'm going to stick out, you're going to see me from outer space.

There's no place like Rome.

It's Friday, it's National Lima Bean Respect Day, and it's a day when we're watching the new Chef's Table season on Netflix so I don't have time to write. YEESH, people. Can't you see how busy I am watching pretentious food critic ladies gatekeeping proper gelato?

I know, right?

(Fun fact: Eight years ago when we moved here we went for a walk in Coal Harbour and stopped to get the kids some ice cream. The two tiny cones were $16 and the shop had a tip jar. My tip was to charge less, though in actuality I think I put a quarter in the jar, because I'm only sort-of an asshole.

That was my first inkling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.)

I almost wrote 'canvas' right there. I'm not caffeinated today. We did go out for brunch yesterday and Ben was pretty sure that along with forgetting his hash browns the server also forgot my decaf and probably gave me regular coffee. I could have run beside the truck to get home. I didn't fall asleep until four this morning. And still no one will let me near the coffee machine. Or outside so I can go to someone else's house and get some.

But yes! We're not in canvas anymore. We are in scratchy modal t-shirts though, which is too much fake for my poor skin which only seems to like boy flesh or organic cotton these days and everything else gives me hives again. So I'm hibernating with Netflix and nakedness in my room, just to try and ease the discomfort. I wouldn't notice it as much if I were distracted by my own energy levels but I'm not in charge here. This lady who demands we fly to Italy for the best gelato is, apparently. 

My hashbrowns read my future and other Thursday stories.

Fade away to the wicked world we left, and I become the dark of you
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within, as I become the dark of you
Let go
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world

Poor Asher put up with my music choices (The new Breaking Benjamin album Ember, the new Godflesh, the new A Perfect Circle on a loop for almost four hours while we sorted through 2017 in Batman's office. It's done and the pile for the shredder this year was knee-high. Because I'm not doing it, I guess. Between Jasper and I it never made it higher than about two inches. Asher keeps every scrap of paper that crosses Batman's desk, just in case. So he got a lesson in finesse and the art of being an efficient EA, instead of a just-plain thorough one.

He's great though. No airs, no bullshit, no history, no tension. And he's patient, between the music and the four cups of coffee I had between six and ten this morning which left me talking a mile a minute, singing when I decided I was probably talking too much and vibrating the rest of the time, when I wasn't talking or singing. That was fun, since when I left I ran smack into Jay, who was newly awake and heading for the same coffee pot I just finished. Whoops. He took the caffeine vibrations as fear and asked me with the most...Lochlanesque ire I've ever seen, that incredulous, passionate question that shows he's mad but not at you specifically,

Why are you afraid of me?

And I laughed because nervous, overly-caffeinated underslept caught-off-guard Bridget is a cold mess. I'm not. I've been drinking coffee all morning and I should have stopped three cups ago. It does this.

Wow.

Yeah.

Want me to walk you back?

I'm good, thank you. Enjoy your breakfast. I roll my eyes at myself at the banal formality and he laughs at my inability to be cool even as I seem to want so badly to be.

Catch you later.

When I get home I track down Ben. Did you know there's thunder at the beginning of Dark of You? I demand of him.

Yes. We heard it on Friday.

I didn't hear THAT.

Use your headphones. Thunder rolls in underneath my senses now, save for touch. I feel it. I remember what it sounds like. I meet his eyes briefly, long enough to see the concern flicker past like lightning. Why are you trembling?

Coffee.

Jesus, Bridge.

Asher doesn't know that rule.

Ah yes. How is Batman?

Good. I guess. He's in Hawaii having a break from his retirement. I roll my eyes again.

Why were you there? Ben's face takes on that stupid oh-right-Jay-lives-there assumption I hate but deserve anyway.

I was helping Asher do year end stuff. Remember? It's my job.

Your only job should be making me happy. He laughs and wags his tongue at me.

Oh, didn't I tell you? For the rest of the year, it is. I've been fired from everything else. Use me. I try to waggle my eyebrows at him. Between that and the jittery limbs I must look like a little blonde......glitch, for lack of a better word.

He laughs at my eyebrows. I need to teach you how to do this. But I'm not good with faces. I can read your emotions, your desires from a mile away but I can't read your lips and I can't control my expressions to save my soul. Luckily it was saved for me. My stomach growls and Ben laughs again.

All coffee, no food? You sound like there's a family of owls in there.

Yeah.

Let's go out for breakfast.

If we do that I'll want more coffee.

You can have all the coffee you want, as long as it's decaf this time.

I always forget about that.

Yes, I know.

(*Hey, did you know if you google 'Dark of you lyrics' one of the top suggestions in the search bar pops up as 'Dark side of you destiny potato'. Which made me laugh so hard I clicked through and listened to the song. And well, I don't even know what that was but it wasn't the worst thing I've ever heard. How long does it take for caffeine to leave your system again? Anyone?)

Fearless moral inventories (Bridget anonymous).

While Lochlan still marvels aloud at the fact that I'm old enough to understand that he was protecting me at every turn while we travelled and he had to be the bad guy more often than not (and not only do I recognize that but I forgive him for it), Sam is embarking on step four, having skipped right down the line, the first ones easy, fluid, reverent even.

This one will slow him down, as he highlights all of our defects too, a cutting honesty he'll wield like a weapon before moving on to step five, ignoring the fallout until he gets to steps eight and nine, in which he comes back around to make his amends.

It's a necessary evil like so many others and we're used to it. We'll pick him up, helping him along the way and we'll forgive him as we look in the mirror to see that he's right.

(No one is ever wrong when they're telling you what your 'problems' are. It's what you do with that information that makes it worthwhile. Some have thick skins. Some throw punches. Some leave. Some improve. Some reflect the words back and refuse to accept them. Some don't show up to hear them. Some have very tissue-thin, translucent skin and love you for the attention you've given them and never ever forget the words you say for the rest of their lives when they look at you and it makes them want to cry every. damn. time.)

(I'll let you decide who is who.)

It's a ruthless, brutal, even fatalistic life. I've said many times we share certain aspects, certain parts of our personalities that match, qualities I demand and will defend until the day I die. Our vulnerability shouldn't be so prevalent, but it is and it's what makes us us.

Thin skin? Line up over here, behind me. I think I got the worst of it, honestly. And then Matt showed up with some words that cut even deeper than Sam's, because he cares, he said, as if we don't and I realized he's a stranger. A charming, easygoing, quick-tempered interloper who knows nothing about us.  Sam didn't let him stay long, everything is under control and I think Matt just serves to be fuel on a fire that burns so quietly we can't see the spark. Sam will be okay. He's tougher than Ben, tougher than most even as he shares the thin skin I seem to wear on my bones.

I think the whole point should go dry. I know Ben said it's a personal decision to touch the alcohol and it's not up to everyone around the person to shield them. I know all the talks, read all the books, heard all the advice but BUT at the same time if I hadn't been holding that drink Sam wouldn't have taken it from me and all the meetings in the world won't change that fact.

This isn't your fault, they all say. I look around at this Collective, this point, this tiny little universe of mine and I know damn well it is.

I could write a book about it but you'd cry so I'll do it piecemeal instead.

It's a sunny day today, windy with fast-moving clouds. It's cold. I did that thing everyone sort of hates but doesn't where I went to sleep with the blinds up, curtains open, windows open and woke up thinking I might be outside. Sleeping outside is underrated. I want to sleep on our balcony but Lochlan said it's not a good idea.

Why not? 

Because our room is beautiful and it's safe. There are bears outside. 

They're not going to climb the eavestroughs. 

They might. 
 
Really? But I know it's a moot point. If Lochlan has a choice he will pick indoors, under a roof because that's what you do if you can.

Sometimes we haven't had a choice. Sometimes it's a little fun when you're young to get woken up by goats nuzzling you, bees in your hair, sunshine on your face. Apparently if you're slightly older than I was, it's terrifying. Of course it would be. Lochlan bore the gravity of our situation by himself and made it into a magical adventure for me.

Bless his heart, though hard as I try he won't let me do the same for him now.

1984/2018 (Don't know if it matters since it's the same conversation).

Let the calm rise up
So graceful
Every wasted word
So faithful

Tame the fire from within
You won't break me
Love will tie the tourniquet
And suffocate me

He looked cross. Cross and exhausted. Finish up your breakfast, Peanut. I gotta get going. 

I looked out the window and he struck his hand on the table. EAT.

I jumped fifty feet, hitting my head on the clouds, knocking myself out, choking back honey on toast, swallowing bites whole, breathing in juice until I coughed myself blue.

Bridget. 

I look away again, out the window to the sea where no one fights, no one orders, no one yells, and no one disappears either.

Bridget, I'm sorry. 

The sea is so blue-

BRIDGET. 

WHAT?!

Look at me.

No.

See you tonight. He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap, kissing my cheek, stroking it, resting his head against mine. I love you. 

I say it back but nothing comes out. I'm scared if I try harder to talk so he can hear me I'll start screaming for him to stay.

Eleven years ago I would have told you you were crazy.

My birthday weekend was almost six weeks ago, Bridge. He says it openly, not in a whining sense but just flat. As a fact. I was wondering if maybe you're done haunting galleries alone if you'd come over this evening. 

I stare at him. I want to point out I wasn't alone. John came with me because he was free and he shadowed me because no one is comfortable if I just head off somewhere far from home alone. John is the best bodyguard and he got to see all of the Murakami works once more while I talked with Poseidon until closing time. I would make enquiries as to buy the Scherman painting but I also don't know where I'd put it. My walls are full. Everything Lochlan paints goes up. Everything I paint goes up and some of my favourite pieces Cole did are still up. Then there are the photographs. We have a big family. I don't think there's a free space left.

I stare at Caleb some more while I think. Maybe he just wants to twist my arms because I open admitted my feelings for Sam. Those feelings haven't ever changed. I've loved him forever. The part the boys keep forgetting is that I'm not going to leave anyone for him.

Caleb reads my mind and reassures me. I understand. It's just difficult. And I don't want to talk about them. I'd just like some time. Hot chocolate and movies. Maybe stay the night. 

Oh. Will we be up for church tomorrow?

No, Bridget. Not this weekend. It's been too busy as it is. 

He has a point.

***

This morning I bolted, gasping, out of my dream but I was pinned in Caleb's arms, blankets pushed down around waist-level. Not cold though, he keeps the heat on. The sun is peeking thought the skylights which means it's late and he lifts his head and kisses my forehead.

Good morning, Neamhchiontach. These are the best days for me. 

I stare at the framed photograph on the wall. The one of Cole whispering against my head as I wait for his direction during a shoot,  the fairytale ballerina series everyone loved so much. And I know how Caleb feels to pin all of his comfort, all of his happiness on one person. I keep doing it over and over and I never learn either.

A girl, a rainy Friday night, a membership card.

(I may have fixed the issue I had when uploading decent-quality photographs! You can click to make them larger but I can't get rid of the heavy black frames around them. I will keep working at it.)

When the going got tough, the not-so-tough picked up her handbag and went to see Bombhead, which was a terrible exhibit, frankly. Far more seventies-educational than evocative art, and bore the weight of history without comment or expression.

The gallery was EMPTY. I mean, not just lacking in the usual rude crowds but completely empty. I was the only one upstairs.

Back downstairs and still no people.

Empty, I tell you. What a gift.

On my way back down I detoured to spend a little more time with Poseidon. Isn't he something? The photograph does him no justice but he listens well.

Noel Coward said it best: "It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit."

Held out in the rain underneath an industrial beat so hard I drowned and was brought back just in time. A kiss takes the breath I was about to embark on and then I'm put down somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere far more dangerous than I first realize.

Focusing is so hard. It's not bright enough. I'm still riding the high of yesterday and I can't seem to find the floor even as I'm on it. The killing floor, possibly as Diabhal is having none of this.

The hell is this. He says it quietly.

Keeping myself busy while they're gone. I smirk at him and his whole face twists into some new level of anger that I haven't poked in a long time but hell, let's do it. Let's self-destruct, co-destruct, tandem-destruct, whatever you want, Baby. I'm ready.

Where's Lochlan? 

WORKING. 

No, he's right here. We both look and there he is in the door. He wants to know why you've got his wife by the throat. 

While we're both making sure she's taken care of and her children, your child, are taken care of, financially speaking, she's off doing something that breaks the rules. 

Is she? I see Lochlan shifting sides. Ever so slightly.

Did I?

Yes. What's the one thing we told you not to do when it's concerning Sam? That you could do whatever you want, except for one thing?

Don't fall in love. I parrot the reminder robotically, automatically.

Don't fall in love. And look what you've gone and done. 

(Fuck it.) You think I just did that yesterday?

Post selfless.

Wait
Wait
Wait
For wings

Now
Run
Run
From me

I sit up so quickly I get dizzy, whipping the quilts off my head, leaving my hair a beautiful mess. Almost a bedhead-bob. Almost long again.

What is this?!

Godflesh. 

Figures. 

Coincidence. But it sounds like Nine Inch Nails, don't you think?

No way. I don't like them. And it's somewhat insular to compare every industrial metal band to NIN. 

That's very true. It's fashionable to be insular though, Bridget. 

Yes, it is. 

So we can blame our small town upbringings? 

Sure-  Abruptly he pulls me back down underneath the quilts, making me squeal and I forget all about the music.

He called this moon old once, when we were on the road and I made jokes about it for the rest of life.

So you think you're lonely
Well my friend I'm lonely too

Last night was the first chance to get everyone out on the patio for dinner since forever. Heaters were on but it really wasn't that cold until late. We had burgers and salad, olives, cheese and wine. Lochlan played DJ and August helped him, sticking with eighties ballads and mostly light stuff. Caleb sat on the steps with a drink and didn't say much. John played along with the songs on his guitar as he was inspired and Ruth and Henry disappeared to play games with their friends online the moment their plates were clean.

Sam and I sit smushed together in an adirondack chair watching Daniel and Schuyler slow-dance. 

I'm so jealous, I say abruptly, my eyes widening at my own admission. Apparently I'm a little more drunk than I was half an hour ago. 

Of their dance or something else?

I don't know. Maybe of just everything. They have colorful histories but they're so committed to each other. 

And you envy that? Why? Don't you think Lochlan is committed to you?

Sometimes I think Lochlan and I are looking for the absolute best way to hurt each other and it's disguised as forever. 

Wow. Ask for a spare marble, get a cannonball. Do you want to go inside and talk for a bit? Maybe sober up a little, Jesus, Bridget. This doesn't help matters. 

Helps my matters. And no. I might miss my shot at a dance. 

You can ask him, you know. 

No, I have to wait for him to ask me. I look at Lochlan and he looks away when he catches my eye. I know the music took him somewhere, probably to better times when we were scared and homeless. Hungry, ruined. Whatever. He'll still claim it was better than this is. He's stubborn like that.

You two are children. 

Yes. 

I can bring him in and we can talk together. 

Or, you know, you could stop being a reverend all the time and just have some fun. 

Not when my friend is hurting. 

Your friend is always hurting. 

Then I will always reverend, he whispers, finishing my drink so I won't. 

Selling them the fear of hell and fairy tales absurd.

And we're here at the end
The final descent
One minute here
and the next you're dead and gone

No light music today, instead I'm torturing myself with one of my favorites. Gravesend, a band so heavy you can't even pick them up, with a muddy, positively filthy guitar sound wrapped around lyrics I can only pick out parts of, just enough to know I love it, just enough to let it carry me off into the dark again.

When they want to be that heavy, I mean. Dead and Gone is a perfect song, maybe just for me. I put on Ben's headphones and let the music order my emotions into their places. Then I let the words sink in, marking my skin permanently, keeping me awake, keeping me in pins and needles, forcing me into that dark with eyes wide.

Are you going to discount everything I try to do here now, Neamhchiontach? The Devil's question rests against my ears, with no room left to crawl inside.

I don't know yet, I think. But I'm fairly certain my thoughts are blocked by all this beautiful noise.

Well there is only now in the future
There’s a truth you don’t hear much now do you
Hold the absolute that’s running through you
And be like you belong

PJ and I scrubbed the house this morning. Kitchens, bathrooms, floors. Windows open, incense burning. Foy Vance on super loud, in spite of his protests. In spite of his plea for Testament or Sepultura or hell, we can listen to Def Leppard if you want, Bridge but not this. 

But I like this. 

Well okay then. 

We're trying to keep control of the dust and the footprints and the general filth that comes from having a house that's partially torn apart and I'm also trying not to get into it with Caleb for the same reason though I took the color swatches he gave them for paint (it's. almost. done.) and threw them out and said in no uncertain terms were they to use those colors. They've already purchased the paint, Emmett said, as if I would say okay fine, please paint my whole house dark grey. On the inside. 

Caleb thought I would love it.

I do, for his house but not for this one.

This one's getting white everything. And everything that's not white will be black. And here and there in different rooms will be punches of ochre or smokey teal or medium grey. But the walls will be white and god help them they needed to buy heavy duty scrubbable paint anyway. We're not a museum, we're a functional family household and the house gets lived in. Fingerprints everywhere, paint everywhere. Kerosene and guitar picks and cookie crumbs and endless coffee cups. Don't give me something I can't clean.

I think I like to clean.

It's cathartic, like running used to be only now when I finish my reward is that my chores are done.

Disciples, discipline (Jesus referee).

When I wake up everyone is gone and Jake is kneeling by the edge of the bed praying. Arms covering his beautiful blonde waves as he always prayed, as if bombs were falling from the sky.

They are, he would laugh. Psychic bombs. Bombs of doubt, of hesitation, bombs of denial. 

He looks up when I touch his head and he goes out of focus straight away, as I haven't been this close to him in months, years, maybe. Tears flow down the side of my face into my hair. He wipes them away and smiles at me gently. I can see right through his face.

Don't wear the ring, Princess. His voice. I can feel it in my blood, the deep bass pumping with each heart beat.

I don't want to. I feel like they're forcing me to. 

Do you want me to go to them?

You can do that?

Yes. It just takes a lot of energy so I prefer to visit you instead. I don't know if it's finite. 

It isn't, Jake, you've been gone so long. 

This is my fault. Ghosts have remorse. Film at eleven.

It is. 

You would have left me for Loch anyway. 

Probably. But you'd still be here. 

Yes. Like the rest. 

Then come back. 

I can't, Baby. But I can help protect you from Caleb. 

He's not going to hurt me. 

He's still fucking with you. Why not ask him if he cares so much about you now to prove it and eliminate the ring from your current stresses. 

Oh. I didn't think of that. 

It blows my mind that no one suggested that. 

See? We need you and you checked the fuck out. 

Bridget, I-

Just go away, Pooh. I hate myself for saying it and when I open my eyes again he's gone and Lochlan is standing there.

I was coming to wake you up for brunch and you were talking in your sleep. Quite lucidly, actually. 

Jake was here. Or he was you. Or maybe he's shapeshifting to stick around. I don't know. I don't want to wake up now. 

I close my eyes and turn away. I hear Lochlan leave after a minute and I press my fists against my chest, hunching down into a ball. It hurts so bad.

***

When I woke up again everyone was out and instead of catching up with them for church I decided to go to hell instead. Caleb is having a slow morning too, shirt half-buttoned, bare feet, dress pants, no Breitling, no tie, uncombed wet hair. When I see him the tears start before the words and his eyes cloud over with concern.

What is it, Neamhchiontach. 

And I tell him. I tell him if he loves me and he wants to be a part of my life then he needs to not pull stunts and force me to do things like wear jewelry that I don't even trust fully. That if he's changed and he's trying then he needs to remove as much stress from this relationship as he can, not add to it.

He is rocked backwards, his eyes welling up too. I didn't mean to hurt you with this. I wanted it to be something that reassured you. 

It doesn't! It scares me and you just keep strongarming me. This isn't how it's done! 

He goes and sits on the edge of the big chair, hands pressed together at his mouth. I'm so sorry, Bridget. 

Take it back, have it undone. I'm not wearing it. 

He stands up and comes to me, pulling the ring off my finger, putting it in his pocket, kissing me hard.

I'm sorry, he says again, and I can barely hear him now. And he kisses the top of my head and shoves me out the door before I can absorb his disappointment or risk his change of heart.

Indigo people.

Sam created a rescue party of one, after the weird paralysis of damn near everyone else took over and he realized that something was more off than previously thought.

Something's always off with Caleb. Caleb's always angled for a better purchase on something he wants. This ring erodes the steadfastness of my army. It gives him a foot in the door and now it's wedged open again whereas before it was firmly closed. He brought the ring back over and put it on my finger, glowering when I pointed out that finger is for wedding rings and also that finger is far too small for that ring so he settled for my middle finger, right beside my other rings, Ben's wedding band and Lochlan's heart-shaped diamond wedding set.

That's not comfortable, I complain, moving it to the middle finger of my right hand. He rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything and probably twenty minutes after I leave he'll discover I left it in the bottom of my drink again. Ice with ice. I'm so done with this. If he won't have reduced to its value and put it back in the bank I'm going to have to.

Sam is not all that worried, fresh off Easter faith and on holidays for a couple of weeks, ready to dive back into the exploded ruins of my memory and sort it all out again. He tries to keep up with me but it's hard and for all of his organizing and filing I have a tendency to pull drawers out and dump them all over the floor the moment he leaves, looking for the things I need, not knowing where he put them.

He reassures me that he'll stay with us to help find everything that's been lost and we spend the whole night talking. Sometimes I fall asleep while he and Lochlan talk. Sam has his arm around Lochlan's shoulder. Sometimes they listen to me when I wake up enough to participate in the conversation, and sometimes I leave Lochlan's other side to push into the centre, between them. I put my hands up to Lochlan's face and ask him what Caleb threatened him with and he finally says that it wasn't anything specific, that Caleb reminded him of what happens when I get too far from him, that I turn inwards and start tearing myself and those around me apart and he thinks everything needs to be left the way it is. He assured him of the ring's meaning to prove that he wants it left the way it is and for whatever reason, be it childhood loyalties, exhaustion or naivité Lochlan believes him and told him that he's going to hold Caleb to that promise. Caleb told him he just wants me to be happy.

Sam believes that too.

I still don't know if I do but Ben shows up and takes Sam's other side and all the arms are wrapped around everyone and I fall asleep in the sweetest, safest group hug and I don't hold my breath. I don't clench my teeth. I don't even dream.

Tiny Friday scaries, tiny Friday braves.

I sent a whole host of reputed goldsmiths inquiries as to what I can do with a six-figure ring if the recipient doesn't accept it. I signed Caleb's name and used his email.

I can't wait for him to get the replies.

In the meantime I left the ring in a glass of water on the counter beside the kitchen sink. Come and steal it, it's well-insured and there's no such thing as a heirloom in this day and age. The only expensive piece I've ever kept from Caleb is the Breitling. I tell the boys if I ever get mugged for it I'll most likely die because I won't be giving it up. No sir. Shoot me if you have to.

Loch said just not to talk about the ring.

For once he doesn't want to talk? Makes me wonder what he got. Threats or a present too? I haven't seen the latter so I'll have to guess the former which means I have to tear him down later to find out what Caleb has bullied him with. You know, if Lochlan ever stops working, I mean.

Since everything else has gone to hell this means the highlight of this week was my beautiful Benjamin, sobbing very quietly last evening watching the final game played by the Sedin twins, who are retiring from the Canucks after eighteen years. They started out great, but I think they overstayed. They need to coach the team though, that would be awesome. Ben tells me I'm blasphemous and not to say anymore. He heads downstairs to weep softly into his microphone or maybe into his guitar hole.

Forced into silence I called Joel.

Joel remains mildly alarmed and wonders out loud what Caleb is doing now and then I realize he's being an energy vampire and I tell him I have to go.

I go to see Daniel but he isn't home.

I go to see August but he's also moderately alarmed and I don't want to talk about Caleb.

I go see Caleb.

Where is the ring?

I lost it, I lie. He knows I'm lying because I'm not good at this.

Go fetch it and then we'll have a drink. To celebrate making it official. 

Making what official? 

Girlfriend/boyfriend status? He laughs.

Which means the pressure's on now, huh. 

No, it isn't. I want to die formally involved with someone I'm proud of. 

Then you should ask Ben to marry you. 

He's not my type. 

Too big? 

Maybe. He laughs again. Seriously. Go get it, Bridge. I need some happiness. I'm glad you're here. 

I told you. I lost it. 

You didn't. 

I did, I went swimming and it must have fallen off. 

Funny, since PJ sent me a picture of it earlier in a glass in your kitchen. 

The traitor. 

I think he was trying to rub it in that you're not wearing it. 

Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. 

So you put it in a glass. 

I was going to freeze it but I got distracted by Ben's grief for the twins. 

What? 

The Canucks. 

Oh. Yes, well, go and get the fucking ring before I do it for you. 

You can go get it if you want. 

Don't go anywhere, Bridget. 

What if I do? 

You'll wish you hadn't. 

Yeah, I wouldn't date a guy who threatens me. 

And yet here we are.