Should have nicknamed him Nitzotzot.

I knew he had it.

Lochlan came in, looking disheveled, bloodied knuckles, rip on his shirt, grass stains on his clothes and more grass in his hair, sparks flying from his eyes and his fingertips too as he struggled to extinguish his ire while it continued to flare around him, barely checked.

Sam's right. 

It's not his call to make. 

Right. It's MINE, Bridgie. MINE. If you're scared you come to me. ME. Not him. Not Sam. ME. 

Is...Caleb...alright?

Of course he is. But I asked him nicely to let go of it and he didn't. So I made him. He throws me my soul, underhand, just as gently as the way I gave it away and I fumble, grazing it with my thumb. It falls to the floor and rolls under the dishwasher door, opened to load. Breakfast was an hour ago. No one cleaned up their dishes. Maybe they couldn't see them for the smoke, I don't know but I tidied up the kitchen on my own.

He slams the door and picks it up again and pushes it right through me where it comes up against scar tissue and character and holds fast.

Leave it. Or I'll eat it. 

The visual on that is incredibly tempting. 

Bridget, you can't drag Sam down with you. 

Who's dragging who? It's a challenge. After all, I wasn't the one who pinned Sam up against his desk yesterday, hiking up his dress, was I?

He stares at me. Here comes the grimness, only his is trimmed in sparks. They're like fairy lights, a halo around him that elevates him high above everyone else here. He makes me crazy. He makes me want to run away for the intensity. For if I give in, he'll probably die. He catches my unspoken thought in a flame, as if by, no, definitely by magic.

But you did, and I didn't. 

You only think I did. 

Prove it. Prove you haven't. 

I did that yesterday. 

And? Did it work?

Of course not.
 

Angels and demons.

[Redacted over half the post for reasons. Sometimes I forget I'm under guardianship and just try to be a normal poly human. Sometimes I blow the lid off and everyone goes off like fireworks. My apologies. You didn't miss anything, I promise. Sam brought me to work, I fucked it up for him. It's fixed. It's explained, I mean and let's just leave it at that.]

Sam swooped in like an angel on earth the moment he realized my soul was missing.

It isn't missing. I know exactly where it is. 

Yeah, so do I. He gets that grim set to his mouth that they all get when they're disappointed but trying to cover it up. Why, Bridget. It's not a question. It's resignation.

A show of good faith. 

A show of good-what the fuck. That isn't what it means! 

Sure it does. 

You've made a mistake. 

I can get it back whenever I want. 

Last time it took the entire army, both living and dead to get it-

That was from Cole. 

Same blood, Bridget. 

But it's different. I know it is. This time it's not a theft, it's a loan.

ARGH.

OhmyGod, raggggggggggggggge.

I just found out about Rock Ambleside twenty minutes ago. Nothing important, just a three day Classic Rock music festival. You know, down the street, going on right now. Rik Emmett. Nazareth. Little River Band. Aye, fuck my life.

(Who was in charge of this thing? I follow Rik Emmett on every social media thing there is (well, PJ does on my behalf), and I follow every ticket website, every venue, everything music related here. Everything. I get twenty emails a day about upcoming shows/bands/festivals. We listen to 99.3. The classic rock station. And not one of us heard A THING.

Also, no I'm not buying tickets for next year until I hear what the lineup is. Who does that?)

FIX YOUR SHIT, AMBLESIDE.

Collateral ("Hell is empty and all the devils are here." -William Shakespeare).

But here you are to set a brand new path
To show me all that love means
When I hold you, I need you
I said forever, I mean forever

The sky continues to be uncooperative and I remain thoroughly thankful that the only thing I have to complain about with regards to a province struggling with hundreds of forest fires is a darkened, particulate-laden sky and less than ideal air quality, though we continue to soak the exterior grounds in the off chance that our fortunes changes. I wouldn't want to see the homes of my beloved Collective go up in flames, nor would I wish to start again, especially after all of the beautiful changes we've just made.

We also checked with our insurers and our lawyers too and if everything burns to the ground we'll be okay. Caleb admonished me repeatedly for 'wasting' busy people's time with my demands for reassurance until I whirled around and roared at him that I pay their salaries.

He roared back that I needed to check myself, since HE pays their salaries. And as a further reminder, we're fine. In the event that we start over we can rebuild bigger and better no matter what the cost.

Who pays? I asked him quietly.

You or I can, ten times over, Neamhchiontach. 

I don't believe you. (We're fighting over assessed value here, now, to be clear. Not original purchase price.) I breathe the challenge. Then I start coughing and his whole face changes from posture to concern.

Come here. He pulls out his phone, holds his thumb against an app and then points at the screen. This is me. He scrolls down down down. This is you. He points again.

Oh, wow. It keeps growing. (I haven't checked any of it all summer, to be honest.)

And that's without risk. Imagine-

I'm good. It's just doing well. 

Indeed. So stop worrying. 

Hard not to. Something always threatens to end this utopia and it would be ironic if it were a natural disaster. 

Nothing's going to end this. 

Promise. I hold out my little finger. I want proof.

God, Bridget. I'm not going to give you Lochlan's stupid guarantees. You know these odds. You know how far we'll go for this. For you. I don't know of anyone who worries constantly that her world is going to fall apart with such a cohesive team in place to make sure that it doesn't. 

Because my world's already fallen apart three times, Diabhal, and I can't sit idly by and assume that it won't again. 

The difference is, this time, Neamhchiontach, I'm taking care of you. And I won't let anything bad happen to you or anyone else here. We're staying together. All of us. 

Then he broke his own rule and held out his pinkie for me to hook mine around, a promise made to a small child. One you shouldn't ever break. Then he let go and turned to leave but before he made it to the door, I said his name softly. When he turned around, I tossed him my soul, underhand. Gently. He caught it just as gently, turning it over. Admiring it like one admires a precious jewel. If he keeps this promise he can have it.

Bother.

We went to see Christopher Robin. I might have cried harder during the Dumbo trailer than during the Pooh movie, thank heavens but thanks to a decided lack of lingering Poohisms (the sweet endlessly long quotes I've shared here so often. They used mostly the same three multiple times.) I didn't hurt too badly. Oh my God, Eeyore was so fucking funny. Pooh was a little weird, but isn't he always? Kanga and Roo and Owl were exactly as they should have been and Piglet, well...that was me in a nutshell.

Through and through, Pigalet. I heard it though Lochlan swears he said Peanut.

Red hot Canadian summer.

Watching Lochlan swim this morning as we have been quarantined to the house from lunchtime on and it's like watching someone extinguish a spark underwater only to see it spring back to life upon surfacing. He goes in golden-orange and comes out rustened, darker only to fade back to golden once he's dry. He's got a crazy tan this summer so far, just from using the pool and looks like a maniac. A really adorable maniac, though.

Our East Coast lobster day is being postponed and the quarantine is because the air quality here is less than garbage. I've already lost my voice. I sound like Tinkerbell after a few bottles of whiskey and so the boys pulled the plug on being outside. PJ quoted the newspaper as saying being outside was the equivalent of smoking three cigarettes a day under the current air quality measures and I am fine to head indoors, frankly.

The fans are gently spinning and the house is cool. Thankfully the smog has beat back the heat index just a little. We're plotting to make tortellini from scratch, bolognese from scratch and garlic bread from scratch for dinner and then we'll watch a movie or finish a series and I'll sleep through the shows and then be wide awake all night after.

Gild that lily.

Today was SUCH a Vancouver day. We waited in a line to buy Uncle Tetsu cheesecakes. We went to Uniqlo and stocked up on not-even-winter jackets that weigh NOTHING. And then we toured all of IKEA. I got a new catalogue and a sudden hate-on for every stick of furniture in our house that isn't IKEA, and then we sat in shitty traffic the whole way home because in Vancouver rush hour starts at nine in the morning or something and doesn't seem to stop until ten at night, and we followed a bright red forest-fire sunset all evening long and admired it even as they declare a state of emergency here because that's what Vancouverites do.

Or something something mountains and craft beer.

*Roll eyes*

The verdict? The cheesecakes are better ice-cold but still not as good as mine. Thankfully when we arrived the lineup was only 5 people. When we last looked it was over thirty or so deep. I don't get it. Hype? Something. Fast food cheesecakes? I can't make one for thirteen bucks so maybe that's the thrill.

Uniqlo is my new favourite place though. It seems their prices are cheaper than when they first popped up around the Lower Mainland. The coats weigh NOTHING. Seriously. All clothing should be this light but as a Canadian child who grew up on the East Coast where a good winter outerwear set weighed twenty pounds or more, this is incredible. Granted it doesn't get 'cold' here so we will see. But I'm going back there with bags of cash.

IKEA just..I don't know. I love it there but I hate putting furniture together and someone always suggests that I 'help'. And if I try to go it alone my brain explodes from determination and effort so it's better I just make phone calls and furniture...arrives and is placed just so. Without me having to do it.

God. This place is starting to get to me. Or turn me into a West Coast version of the Bridget everyone knows and loves and she's just horrible and picky as fuck.

Tomorrow I would like an East Coast Day! A Halifax day. We need lobster and darker sand for that though. Colder seawater. Blueberry buckle (because nobody eats cheesecake back home).

And friendlier strangers.

Caleb made good on his word, and when I woke up this morning the deep freezer in the garage (I caved, ok? I hate deep freezers but this works really well) was full of ice cream, there was a huge box of cones in the pantry and on the couch in my room was a dress box.

Inside it was Valentino number three, or rather My First Casual Valentino, which isn't casual at all, but it's a far cry from my original green velvet or from the red floor-length number that I wear at Christmas. This one is bright grass-green with stripes and tiger faces all over it which sounds just fucking weird but it looks amazing and it's exactly something I would wear. He had it altered somehow overnight because it was three sizes too big by the tag and it fits like a dream.

Lochlan might have tried it on as well, alas it was a little tight for him but the colors worked well and he said I could keep it.

He also said the ice cream is his, though and I would have to ask for some.

What if I beg instead? 

The thought of knowing that you're begging me for access to something Diabhal bought for you is too much to pass up, Peanut. 

I love this dress. 

What does it mean though? 

I relayed to him the whole stupid ice cream thing and he laughed and agreed that it's a perfectly normal Caleb-response.

I win this Tuesday. For once everyone is amicable. For once, everyone is generous. For once, there is enough ice cream for everyone. For a month. Maybe more.

For once, I can wear a Valentino dress to the grocery store and not look out of place at all.

They only have one or two scoops, and I can't pick just one.

He made sure to spoil me, made sure to covering all of my usual nit-pickings, made sure to clear it with the other alphas and then there we were, on the way up Highway 99 in search of overpriced ice cream.

Whistler is packed this time of year but it's a lovely drive all the same. He lets shotgun pick the music and he never complains much anymore as I cycle through my favorite songs of this summer.

He smiles, sunglasses in place, hair in place and enjoys my company, buying me a double-scoop, chocolate and coffee in a sugar cone, and we stroll around enjoying the village, enjoying the ice cream. He got butter pecan, also a sugar cone. We enjoy each other, but just a little, as absence makes the heart grow fonder or in Caleb's case, more desperate and he delights in telling me of his most recent cardiology workup, everything coming back perfect, or better than expected. He works hard at fixing his heart, as if he can, by remaining strong and exercising, eating right and living by the book. He is stronger than anyone I know and I am thrilled with his good news, and the fact that I get to hear it first. My joyfulness at his good news is contagious and he laughs, almost shy suddenly as he finishes his ice cream and takes my hand.

Or rather, a hand full of ice-cream-sticky napkins that I am using to negotiate my way, as the other hand is holding the cone itself, ice cream melting almost faster than I can finish it. There's a few drops on my shoes. Some on my dress. There is a smear of ice cream on my nose and yet, I'm loving every single lick of it. It's just maybe too big and my track record for being able to finish one is almost as amazing as my ability to finish a can of pop: nonexistent.

He swears and leans in to take a big bite, stealing my treat and earning a huge brain freeze at the same time. I turn away, spraying him with melted ice cream in the process.

Bridget! He cries out. Jesus! You've weaponized ice cream! 

Sorry! sorry! My bad. I turn back, spraying some random couple walking up the opposite side of the road and they laugh (thank God) and Caleb wades back in, taking the ice cream from my hand, tossing it into a nearby garbage can and taking my sticky hand. We find the washrooms under the shops and both head to our separate ones to wash up. I think my outfit is beyond help and settle for washing my hands and wiping the visible ice cream off my face (and ear) and when I come out he offers to take me shopping tomorrow to replace my clothing.

My washing machine will work just fine. 

True but it would be fun to spend another day. 

Well, you do owe me. 

How is that again? He is bemused, curious.

You threw out my ice cream and it wasn't even finished. 

Next one will be a kids' cone. 

Thought I had graduated to man-sized ice cream. 

Yeah, I thought you had too. Guess we were both wrong.

Tiniest of snapshots for a rainy Sunday.

Tahlequah (J35) finally let go of her calf. It's been heartbreaking distraction to watch her progress for three weeks straight but now she's chasing fish with her pod and is healthy and vigorous. Scarlet (J50) received her antibitoics a couple of days ago and is being watched closely. She has a depression in her head and has lost weight, they say.

I know how she feels.

The orcas are a wonderful miracle of an animal and the rain has reset the point at last. I'm wearing a sweater today with leggings and a t-shirt but I'm not hot at all. I know that will change again but for today I'm thrilled to step out on the patio and find everything soaked through. It means no sprinklers. It means no threat of fire jumping the highway and racing through my neighborhood to my house. It means clearer air, as the past couple of days it's been hard to breathe and I've stuck so close to home.

So it means I can visit my beach today. And pick beans. And help move the woodpile. And make a huge pot of rice for pork-fried rice tonight. And not go to church because I'm too tired for sitting up on a hard wooden surface, too tired to sit in an upholstered vehicle, too unwilling to do anything I don't want to do and this morning I'm taking my coffee out onto the front porch to listen to the rain and finish this goddamned book already and that's more than enough excitement for me.

Lochlan is sleeping in. He made me promise to wake up (I'm a human alarm clock but I always blame the dog) but I refuse to comply because he needs rest too. He'll thank me later.

Ben has him in a spoon so I suspect they'll sleep for days. Ben is the comfiest of large spoons that ever lived.

It's RAINING!

He's got his arms around me. I can't sleep. I keep getting up to look out the windows, somehow expecting the fire to be at our doorstep. Our woods are so dry. So, so dry and we soaked the front of the house, driveway, everything but we can't soak the woods.

Lochlan isn't worried. Fire is no stranger, Bridget. If it comes to us I can control it. 

Not this one. It's wild. It doesn't know you. 

We won't let it burn this down. I promise. Everyone's doing everything they can. It's not getting bigger. It would have to burn through everyone else to get to us and no one will let that happen. 

You promise? 

I said I did. You need to sleep, Peanut. And I did. The sleep of a ten-year-old believing lies as reassurance, the sleep of someone who doesn't know any better. We resort to easy roles when things are tough, but he's right. The fire isn't getting bigger. It's somewhat contained. Enough, anyway. And it would be catastrophic if it burned through the whole neighborhood and we're at the very bitter end, before the sea. No one's going to let that happen.

I woke up this morning and looked out across the smoky skies. I read the updates. I fretted a little and then Lochlan got up and reminded me of my work in not thinking about it. I said I would try but I also am praying for rain. I'm praying for silence from the constant drone of the helicopters and I'm praying for the safety of those involved in fighting fire, because fire is a formidable opponent. I used to relish it, but that was a long time ago. Things have changed.

#HorseshoeBay

Watching the smoke rise from an uncontained forest fire that started last night. It's burning through the trees. They've closed part of the highway just north of us. Supposedly it's human-caused by campers who don't seem to understand their actions have consequences. Nice. Now I'm stressed out and wondering how big it's going to get.

Magic hour.

My hair ruffles in the wind, soft curls sticking up away from my brow as I finish picking strawberries and pick up the bowl, turning to go back to the house.

PJ walks outside to the top of the patio, looks around, sees me and heads back in. A body check, just making sure I'm where I'm supposed to be as I have a tiny circle of independence only because it's a good time (right now) and I can be left.

(For five whole minutes at a time, if you have your stopwatch handy.)

This isn't about Duncan. He didn't take the bait. He's too cool for that. He looked me up and down and then kindly rejected me back to my handlers with an ease that still somehow left me feeling flattered and not outright denied. I don't know how he does it.

Because I'm not happy unless they're in love with me. To a fault. To a debilitating degree far beyond what could be considered healthy, let alone normal. That I've gotten greedy. That my attention is the fuel that fires this space and time, keeping it on idle, filling up the room with fumes that eventually will kill us, choking off the oxygen, dropping us where we stand.

It's an accusation as old as time at this point and yet every confirmation serves to make him a little more bitter, a little less nice. Lochlan will forever be a jealous teenager and I'll forever do so little to quiet his fears as we decided long ago we were going to love each other until death and probably drive each other there as quickly as we could.

That's almost a painful realization these days, on the other side of several decades together, knowing what we know now.

The wind dies down halfway back to the house and PJ comes out again, his concerned look shifting into the easy lie of surprise, covering his obvious path.

Oh, hey. I was looking for you. Want to help with dinner? 

I nod. I let him have it. I saw him. He saw me see him. Whatever. If I think coming clean is going to save us or even help us at all then I'm as delusional as they are in thinking I'm worth wasting a minute on in this lifetime.

They're not here for me, they're here for each other. It's a thought that warms me and at the same time leaves me in the past, running to catch up, desperate to be a part of their circle. It's something I can't seem to break into, no matter how hard I try. I should know, I've been trying since I was eight years old.

Logic is no match for magic and that's why we're in this mess, truth be told.

Too hot. In the pool all day. Japanese for lunch. Traffic-snarl roads drove us back early, back into the pool. So tired. So warm. I wanted to go down and talk to Duncan about a few things but he won't answer me. I haven't seen him since yesterday and he said nothing. I haven't talked to him. I need to see him so I left a couple of messages but he hasn't read them. I feel a little like a one-night-stand who was promised a second date and has arrived at the front door only to be met with silence or an empty room.

Duncan remains untouchable, too cool for me. Too awesome to reply, I guess, as my messages remain unread into the late afternoon and finally I go and knock on his door.

Took you long enough, Poem. You didn't think I was going to do this over text messages, did you?

Do what?

Let you down easy. 

Is that what you're doing? 

I think I should.

Why?

It's complicated. He laughs. I don't. I'm panicking so hard whooshing sounds of my blood pressure-heartbeat obscure his words. He takes my hands. You make it hard to keep my focus and I have to put Lochlan and the good of the Collective first. 

God. If one more man throws me over for Lochlan I'm going to get my own sex change-

I answer to him, not to you. Don't worry. I don't find him attractive. Well, I mean I do but I don't go that way. 

But you still put him first?

No, by aligning my loyalties with him, I put you first. That's all any of us want, Bridget. That this is a safe place for you. 

So we can't have any more fun?

We can. It's fine if it's only every few months or so. 

Honestly, that's what you prefer?

Of course not. I'm human. But it's for the greater good. 

My own good, you mean.

Yes. 

Great. You're all so earnest and sweet. It makes me sick-

Don't do that. Don't be angry-

Why not?

Because look at it from my point of view. 

I don't see any problems with it, Duncan.

Sure you do, you're just being stubborn. Stop it before I take you and teach you a lesson. 

Can't. I smile. I have to learn somehow. I shrug.

Jesus Christ. He smiles back and I think Gotcha, Poet. That wasn't hard at all.

On getting caught up in a moment that never ends.

Okay so we're home and we're up.

And dressed, coffeed and awake as ever and I think we've cemented the lineup for Burning Man as there is limited space and specific personality conflicts and this is the perfect, serendipitous group to go so...

I should probably pick other people or there will be nothing left of me.

The only thing left anyway is glitter in my bloodstream as my hands are shaking, my knees tremble when I try to walk quickly and I can't seem to pull my head out of the dream clouds. Suggest free love or love is love and suddenly we're all in, all hands on deck, all aboard the love train and it finally came in to the nearest stop and we had to get off or I might have been finished forever.

But in a really really good way.

The parade was long. Saw the Prime Minister (again). Saw a lot of men dressed like women, men who used to be women, women who used to be men and all variations of in-between. Saw a lot of love, is what I saw. All flags flying. All people welcome. All in, indeed.

Got overheated and very very tired. One day post antibiotics and maybe not really ready for a party of that magnitude. Not like last year. This year I stayed dressed and stayed with my group and at some point when I got very weak and very sweaty Lochlan pulled the plug and he and Caleb and Duncan and I came back to the house together. It was already dark so I didn't understand the full magnitude of trying to brush off all the glitter before coming home, or the fact that this morning the trail of glitter led from my bed back through the house, down the front walkway, down the steps to the driveway and ends in a large radius around Lochlan's truck. It's rather funny and I would laugh but I'm too tired as somehow we managed to navigate both freaks, the devil and the poet in one bed for one night and wow.

Just WOW.

Four is too many and somehow wasn't enough until the sun came back up and the glitter sparkled in the dawn and I think I reached my absolute limit and may have crawled down the hall to the bathroom pleading to be left alone while laughing because I couldn't believe it.

Still can't. Let's just say everyone was feeling the love and had the reminders not to be at war constantly and that was the best suggestion ever and I can never speak of this night again.

I'm not even going to describe it but let's just say my absolute favorite moment of the entire night was being lifted back into Lochlan's arms from between Caleb and Duncan. I might not forget that feeling any time soon but feeling safe with Caleb is something I always am jarred by because it's so sudden, so extraordinary. And the relief anyway when being returned to Lochlan was like a warm bath to my soul.

When I came down and everyone was in the kitchen/great room hanging out and PJ asked how our night went and where did we go and then burst out laughing and I shot a look at Duncan who shrugged without looking back I realized it wasn't as transparent as I thought but also not as obvious as it could have been as they both left very early, before the house was awake. Now Duncan is showered and in fresh flannel and cargo shorts and Caleb is outside digging out the leaf blower for the glitter and I need to go stop him. It's fine. Leave it.

I love it.

Best Pride weekend ever.

Going to go die of a slow shame now but it was worth it.

(Snort.)

(P.S. the shame is not for reveling in the pride week culminations but in managing to shoehorn both Duncan and Caleb into the same night. Greed is a sin, right? But love isn't so maybe one can cancel out the other and I'm good. Time will tell.)

Jesus rainbows.

Should I live blog? I should live blog but we're actually late, sitting on the bridge trying to cross to the west end to see the Pride Parade, a caravan of trucks and boys in glitter. We have a place reserved that is a great vantage point to watch and dance and have a blast but it's just a matter of getting there before it begins.

More later. Happy Pride!

The scraps you don't burn/Saturday, August 4, 2018.

All my words sucked straight into the void
Same black hole where my heart was destroyed

The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive
The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

Fresh hillside raspberries in a glass of chilled rosé and five men playing water polo, water pouring off their muscular arms, the droplets glinting in the late afternoon sun as they torment one another with gentle insults meant to distract, not crucify.

I'm in heaven.

Absolutely.

Lochlan sleeps easily beside me on the chaise, its sunshade pulled up against that cruel sun, keeping me cool and protected. My book long forgotten in favour of watching the boys play so nicely. Such a rare sight. Such a rare day overall, in which we woke up early, made love easily, hungrily even and then made breakfast, also hungrily, in order to get our errands run and chores done.

So we could do absolutely nothing.  Like right now.

John comes and sits on the edge of the pool. What's for dinner, Bridge?

What are you making?

Let's make tacos. 

Sounds good. We have tortillas and beef. 

Perfect. I'll go pick some tomatoes. He smiles contently. He looks like I feel.

Cool. I settle back against Lochlan, who throws his arm around my neck, waking up slow. I ask him Is this heaven?

The only thing missing is our Ferris wheel. 

Caleb offered to buy us one once. 

We'd never get a permit to build it. 

I like it to be hard to get to. It keeps the magic that way. 

True. It does. I raised you right. 

I think you did. 

You know what we need?

A wakeup like the one we had this morning?

That was stellar. I was thinking an evening like this morning is in order. Maybe some candles, incense, music. Sam can join us, if you're up for it. 

Ben is going to come up early. 

Better still. 

My relief is tempered by Caleb getting out of the pool. I'd watch him any day. Especially soaked. He towels off his face and hands, checks his phone and then comes around to us. Hope you don't mind, dinner is coming and will be here in fifteen if you want to get everyone organized and dressed. 

What is it?

Mexican. 

That's amazing. We were just discussing making tacos. John's gone to pick tomatoes. 

We can have them sliced, along with the dishes I have coming. He grins. It is a perfect day.

Okay. I return the smile. Jesus. Pinch me. There will never be another day like this. Only one thing would make it even more perfect.

The quicksand tugs at my toes and I yank my foot away at the last second. Hey guys? Time to clean up for dinner. We always dress for dinner. It's just a thing.

A chorus of confirmation rises up and Lochlan pulls the shade all the way down so no one can see us before bending over me for a kiss the likes of which I dream about on a daily basis. Time to go, Mrs. MacIntosh. 

This girl is only gonna break your heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,

No, I wanna fall in love

When pressed to choose, I'll tell you that Keith Wallen's cover is by far the best one. Second runner up would be Lochlan, if you can believe it. I might be biased but he can hit the notes and buckle my knees all in one go. The only caveat is he won't (Absolutely not, Peanut) sing it sober and he's rare to be drunk enough to begin in the first place. Maybe tonight if he is angry enough by the time I get home with Sam he can sing it to me while he takes off all my clothes.

Or maybe he'll let Sam do that. I don't know. They can figure it out when the time comes.

My first order of vacation was to paint my nails with glitter. Then I promptly had to take it all off. It was starting to make my fingertips turn red and swell and it felt so heavy. I threw the bottle out and am giving up.

My second order was a long hot bath, in which I put conditioner in my hair, filled the tub to the top with bubbles and then got in only to realize it was too deep to read so I had to let half the water out. Then I dropped my David Sedaris book into the water. Now it's wavy and thick and won't close all the way. At least it's making me laugh out loud regularly, finally after over three hundred pages.

My third was a lemon poppyseed muffin out on the front porch, with a huge hot cup of coffee. I stole Gage's BB8 mug. It's gotta be ten ounces, minimum. I filled it all the way to the top, as I do at work, and easily carried it outside. Yeah, by myself. Without assistance.

(It's the little things that bring me so much triumph. You would be surprised. One attempt to soothe myself out of three worked perfectly so I'll call it a victory while you call it a mess.)

They tried to keep me from seeing the news, but I found out anyway. Rick Genest took his own life yesterday. He was thirty-three. Like Jacob, he did it just before his birthday, except it was a week instead of a day. Like Jacob he's gone now, never to find a way out of the dark. Never to realize how many people were there for him because he didn't wait to ask for help.

For fucks sake, tell someone. Then maybe you'll stay here.

With me.

I need to do something different today. The sadness is quicksand and I prefer to look out into the world from within it, nonetheless. Today I think I should be without that sadness. Dalton and Duncan are taking me golfing. I don't know what part of golfing is cheerful (or even fun for that matter) but I guess it's better than drowning in this hole.

Oh, Duncan just said it's mini golf. Or in your case, normal size, Poem.

Will you let me win?

Hell, no.

The things that make me different are the things that make me.

Joel just left. He came to see how I was feeling, talk preseason Leafs to me, and gossip about Trevor Linden's exit from the Canucks but on the way out he invited me to go and see Christopher Robin tomorrow night. Sam is already taking me.

I think they paid him to offer because they didn't want to have to do it, honestly and he's willing because he vividly remembers Jacob's Poohisms, his endless reflections from the books that broke my heart, and that was before everything else.

Sam says he's going to wear his Tactical Preacher Pants, stuffed with kleenex, sedatives and a bucket to wring me out in, as I haven't made it through the trailers yet without crying. I laughed because he means his cargo pants. They look especially great with his Argentina flag belt buckle. I can't take him anywhere. They're a faded salmon color. When he wears them PJ calls him Mr. Pink Pockets. 

So in a way, it's the perfect thing to wear to a movie about Winnie-The-Pooh.

Joel nods. Glad he's taking you. The aside to this is he's glad Lochlan isn't taking me. Lochlan doesn't have a lot of patience for anything related from the Hundred Acre Wood. I always found that amazing because Lochlan has infinite patience for glitter, sprinkles, sugar, magic and basically anything related to my childhood, but this is just too "Jacob" for him so he gave it a hard pass. They're going to get shitfaced and play pool at Schuyler's instead. He and PJ are, I mean. The rest will drink tea like civilized adults and they'll all be ready for bed by the time we get home from the theatre, I bet.

The other aside to this is that Joel, Sam and August are the father, son and holy ghost of Jacob's memory, as they were his best friends and there's a clear divide right down the centre of my life in that regard. As much as Sam has made the leap from Jacob's person to my person, Joel and August haven't. But that's not a detriment to their character, it's just a fact. August rarely opens up at all and no one's going to let Joel open up ever. But they somehow wound up keeping care of my brain and the rest can fight over my body, I guess.

A tiny little chit-chat, because I'm on my way out.

Oh well, surprise indeed. This morning they closed the beach at Whytecliff, which is the closest one to my house. Because of E.Coli levels.

I've been jumping off the cliff for days and days and like two weeks straight and then I got this 'flu' with some weird and awful stomach aches and the doctor came and left the biggest antibiotics I've ever seen and great. Just what I need.

Don't swallow water, Bridget. 

Kind of hard if I'm screaming all the way down. Because eight years here and it never gets old and I'm terrified of heights and I'm never ready to jump/be pushed/be thrown off that cliff, no sir.

But it will be a few weeks before we do it again.

Ben and I can be the E.Coli twins. Yay. He's on antibiotics too.

Also, guess what? I'm beginning my first vacation from work in almost twenty years. I don't go back until after (shhhhhhh) Burning Man.

I don't even know what to do first. Probably chores. Yeah. Chores. Fuck.

Well one of us watched all of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy all the way to the end.

Ever walk into a room after being gone a while and everyone's holding their breath, waiting for you to notice/comment/react to something that's hugely different?

Yeah. That happened to me this afternoon and even after realizing they were waiting I still didn't know why and I threw my bag down on the island, cracking open a Gatorade because it's three hundred thousand degrees outside still and I'm actually taking antibiotics for a bacterial flu bug.

(But still working because DEDICATION. LOYALTY. WORK ETHICS and also MONEY. And free breakfast plates after 1 pm, huzzah!)

I finally snapped at Dalton with the most Lochlanesque order I've ever given. Go on then. Out with it! 

He nodded toward PJ. I look and then look back at Dalton and then around the room. What is happening. I don't get it.

Then PJ stood up and turned to smile at me and I realized what was different. I may have shrieked and dropped my Gatorade on the floor and now my whole kitchen is vaguely tinted orange.

PJ cut off all his hair. His elbow-length hair. His Obituary hair.

All of it.

He still has the beard and the chops but now he has a wavy, short do, streaked with some serious salt and pepper mixed in with his light brown.

You look amazing. 

I was so fucking hot, Bridge, I couldn't stand anot-

I love it. 

You do?

Yes. Also you look taller. 

See, I TOLD you I did. PJ claps Duncan on the back of the head. Fucker.

Each one more beautiful.

Caleb had my car collected and taken home and was there when I came outside, keys in hand, wondering who STOLE MY FUCKING CAR. No one had, he said, having sent one of the boys who listened, God knows why, and left me captive with my monster the whole way home. I put on Starset in the car, the new acoustic recording of Ricochet, and proceeded to sing along with my newly scratchy lower-mainland-forest-fire-air-quality voice, which is hella interesting to me, thinking he might listen to the words for once but instead he turned it off.

And I kept singing.

They won't know my heart
It's the darkest parrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt

Neamhchiontach. 

What? (Interrobang. Put it here.)

Are you warm?

What gave you that idea? I'm slippery like a fish, pouring sweat. Soaked through my dress. Wet hair. Completely unintentional smokey eyes. Smeared red lipstick. Hot? Yeah, no. Not me. Not right now.

I was hoping we could go somewhere for an early dinner. 

Sure. Pick something. And I give him my crazy smile.

Maybe another night. His silence allows me to turn the radio back on and I resume my singing. I have no shame.

When we get home I get out of the car, shouldering my bag, staring at him through the simmering waves of heat rising off the top of the car. I note my Porsche neatly parked under the tree by the garage. Good. At least one thing is how I like it today and fuck my legs hurt but I give Caleb my brave smile.

Why did you come pick me up?

So I could talk with you. 

But you didn't. 

It didn't seem like the right time. 

For what?

Another day, Neamhchiontach. For now it was just nice to treat you to a drive home. One less thing for you to do. 

I know what it is. 

Pardon me? 

You're still here, Diabhal. Still an alpha. Still my boyfriend, if that's what you want to be. Sam isn't taking anyone's place. He doesn't come before you. 

He smiles, suddenly looking like that handsome teenage boy who used to offer to drive me home from the beach. Bridget, you've just extended a generous peace of mind to me when I don't deserve it. 

I know. 

Thank you nonetheless.  

I would want to know where I stood as well. 

What do you mean?

If you had..others-

I don't.

What about Sophie?

There is only you, Bridget. 

No wonder you're lonely. 

Yes, well. I made my bed, as it were. I can't even say it's hyperbole but this is what I ended up with by trying to have everything I wanted. 

I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted here. 

Be flattered. I only ever wanted you. Now the time I do get is short and measured, tempered with supervision and suspicion and fear. I didn't want to be a monster but my need for you made me into one. 

Sorry. It's a whisper. He could say here that it's not my fault but it is just because I'm alive. Anyone could protest that I didn't ask for this but I did.

I'm sorry too, Neamhchiontach.  Life could have been so different.

Someone to hear your prayers.

I'll make you a believer

Oh. Oh.

The few few gestures warmed my heart, watching such an easy affection wash over them, as they found their places in the warm early morning against me. Comfort turned to an undercurrent of mild panic as they continued to extend those touching moments, almost threatening to leave me out in the process and I realized why he isn't worried that I'll fall in love with Sam and shut him out again, isn't worried that I want to divide my attentions all the time but also seeks him out, extends invitations without even checking with me first, folding Sam into our nights so easily.

Because Lochlan is in love with Sam.

I don't know if Sam is a life raft in Lochlan's sea of spiritual indecision or a concrete attempt to fill any space Caleb might try and occupy with someone he trusts. I don't know why Ben doesn't take this place as he and Lochlan are always loving and affectionate to a fault, possibly beyond with their grand displays some times and yet this is something different.

It's as if maybe Sam is Lochlan's security blanket. His safe harbour. His own personal Jesus, where Ben carries an air of vulnerability that makes you want to take care of him, in spite of his size and his easy humor in even the scariest of situations.

Maybe it has nothing to do with me, I think as I watch them look into each other's eyes as if they've never seen each before or maybe they have seen each other and they've come back hungry, looking for more.

Maybe it's that I've demanded Lochlan open his mind and accept having his personal space invaded on such a visceral level he's finally embraced it.

But only with Sam.

It makes me wonder if maybe some night I'll come back and my space will be taken, filled in a way I can never hope to fill it. With confidence and strength and righteousness. With a masculine security I seek out too.

But then my fears are smothered by their attention, all on me suddenly, as if they just had to figure out how to coordinate their efforts to bring together the well-practiced midnight choreography I crave so hard it hurts, and my jealousy evaporates in the early morning heat. Now that it's daylight I'm not sure if it really was jealousy after all, or just the usual fear of being left behind that developed at such a young age, imprinting on Lochlan like an orphaned ugly duckling and sticking to him ever since.

Those worries aren't necessary, Lochlan says, bruising his lips against my forehead, hard as ever, stubborn as always. It's just a safe place to get carried away. He winks at me. Lochlan likes to keep his freak flag flying indoors these days, trying to be a standup dad and husband (sometimes both at once with all the wrong people) and keeps his darker side hidden in dark places. Like our room.

I kind of love it. When I'm not scared I'll be replaced. 

He laughs gently in the morning light. That's definitely never going to happen.

But what if it already has?

Say a prayer for the wounded heart within, indeed.

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

I've been tucked into Ben's arm all afternoon, trying to nap while he reads contracts, jolted out of my daze every now and then when he asks a question about wording, or one about money. I've become his de facto lawyer and financial planner. This is not a bad thing, trust me. He had a manager who fucked him over and then came back and fucked him over again just in case we had any doubts. It hurts worse because he was a friend.

The ex-manager doesn't work in the business anymore because I unleashed Caleb on him. Caleb had him ruined with a phone call. Ben then had a dozen cold calls offering services he never had access to before. Not sure how or why Caleb has such a fondness for Ben but there it is. If only he liked Lochlan at all.

I have headphones in too, so I have to pull those out and my brain isn't pleased for it's too busy digging through riffs and beats looking for the vocals. My ears and my brain don't connect all that well. Once I hear something my brain has to examine it for far too long before deciphering what it might be (usually wrong) and so song lyrics are becoming increasingly difficult. I used to listen to a song a few times and then I could sing along. Now I have to look up the words and memorize them. My brain is so full it's sluggish and no longer jumps to fight through the music for the beautiful words.

But Ben has amazing ear monitors and he had a little set molded just for me and I can hear everything. Well, mostly. I can't wear my hearing aids and ear monitors at the same time so there you go.

Ben's phone vibrates and he holds it up. I see Caleb's name on the screen with a message.

Where is she

Ben puts his phone back in his shirt pocket without replying and I turn the music up louder. Dark of me, indeed.

Little things and big things too.

I came down for breakfast covered with handprints. On my cheeks, my neck, my arms, my ears. Lochlan set us both on fire last night but the heat from the flames blended easily with the scorching heat residue from the sun earlier in the day and it was just like old times. We counted the money from Jay's wallet (a blistering $345 as he isn't a card person and tends to budget in the physical sense. Noted for next time.), tucked it all back in neatly with all of the bills facing the right way and left it on the bureau to return later. We only grift symbolically now, to keep our skills up in case we need them.

(I actually don't think we'll need them again but Lochlan always sleeps with his boots on, if you can understand how that feels.)

Duncan took a step backwards when he saw me. Baptized in ashes, were we?

Something like that. 

I'd be neater, Sam volunteers from the couch.

I shot him a look, poured two orange juices and took them back upstairs. I'm too hung over to banter, too filthy to get close. We drink the juice and then I take a long blisteringly hot bath which somehow became the greatest part of the heat-wave week so far, making everything else cool by comparison. The only handprint that didn't actually come off was the one on the back of my head as my hair is so pale now and the soot stuck fast, staining my hair black in the shape of his hand. I didn't notice it, but August pointed it out later on and I almost smiled at the thought of the shape of Lochlan's hand permanent touching me. Like an angel but here on earth because that's what he is.

We only slept for an hour or so the night before last, as his fuel for blood woke him up soon after we settled, a truth serum that saw him spill his fears into me in the dark, both in words and action as he searched for a way to show me how much he loved me while he told me how scared he is, how jealous he gets, how much it hurts, how badly he wants to fix everything, and how hard it all seems, how hard he works at trying to be cool with everything when right now he's cool with nothing. He talked while he drove against me, keeping me an inch from his skin, keeping me pushed up high against a euphoria I thought we left behind once, a long time ago but apparently we packed it. We brought it with us. And only once we burned off all of that fear, all that nervous energy, all of the alcohol did we appreciate it.

Boy, did we appreciate it.

I don't want for much right now, let me tell you. He strips us of our skin and our false fronts, rips the masks off, takes away the grace and we start again.

After my bath, a clean dress and the inevitable display while everyone arrived to see the handprint on my head, Lochlan made coffee and we took it out to the garden. We talked and we rocked and we checked out the progress of the yellow beans and the tomatoes and the grapes too. And we had a lovely day. A day by the sea, just for two. A day in the sun. A day in love. A day we used to dream about back in the overheated nights in the camper in between work shifts when we had three dollars but no food. A day we've actually never had before.

We topped it off with an early dinner at the diner, because we are creatures of habit, and we came back and lay in the hammock, watching the lights of the boats right through magic hour and then we went upstairs to bed where we actually slept this time, right through the night and I didn't think about grief or Jay or Caleb or Batman. I didn't think about being hungry or scared. Lochlan didn't think about being jealous or fixing things and we woke up and it's today.

Today.

Today I'm going to finish my chores quickly before it gets hot and then I'm taking some iced tea out on the porch. Today I'm going to order pizza for dinner. Today I'm going to be kinder to myself and to those I love. Today I'm going to do everything I want to do and more and also less, because it's a whole new day and that means a fresh start. A re-do. A new chance.

Actually today I need to go and return Jay's wallet. He would probably like it back.
 

Part II: Hold your fire.

And so I say to you
Let’s not force a meaning
Forget the lines we drew
Forget your teenage demons

We have nothing to state or prove
We have nothing to fear or lose
And I’ll be trying to catch you hiding
Now all my hiding is seen, circus queen

Four drinks in now and I found what I was looking for, a hole in the dark I could crawl out of in order to run back home. The getaway car wasn't supposed to be to get away from here, it was to get away from me, the me that's afraid. The me that doesn't listen. The me that goes looking for trouble and finds it every time. Just to make sure I can still feel. That I'm not dead. That someone still wants something that's broken and was once told she'd be alone forever. That's not a feeling I can take, and it's a feeling that I push back under, holding her head below every single time she surfaces.

I need you to take me home. 

You shouldn't go anywhere.

Fine. I'll go by myself. 

Jay frowns at me so handsomely my heart breaks. He walks out of the room and returns in seconds, a t-shirt now on his tall frame to go with the jeans. He skips the shoes and holds his hand out for mine.

We head across the grass in the dark. Not talking. The lights are spinning. I smell fire. As we come around the porch I see him. Lochlan, sitting on the top step skipping a single flame across his fingertips. He fumbles it when he sees us, briefly lighting up his entire fist before extinguishing it with his other hand as he stands up. He looks wild, dishevelled and...also drunk. Completely trashed, as he staggers against the step and grabs the railing for support.

At least you're in good hands. Jay rolls his eyes.

Lochlan comes down to the walk, pulls me away from Jay, noting our hands, and gives him a good shove. Jay, to his credit, didn't dent any fridges this time and didn't budge either. He's not the man he was when he landed with us, broken and afraid. I'll have to remember to ask him how he did that when I'm sober, as the rest of us can't seem to figure it out.

Go home, drifter. Lochlan doesn't want to argue so he tries a command.

She asked me to walk her home. I would have let her stay and sleep it off but I figured I owed you more than I can ever pay you back and this is a start. For what it's worth, she only had one drink with me and arrived half in the bag.

Lochlan is staring at me like he's never seen me before. As soon as my flesh begins to blister from his gaze I beg for mercy. Jesus, Loch. I'm too drunk for this shit. Can we just go home?

He nods and tucks an arm around my neck. He addresses Jay with a nod. Lochlan's famous approval that makes you feel like you're okay. Thanks. 

Jay nods and we turn to go back up the steps. At the top I hear my name.

Wait. Bridget?

I turn. Yeah?

Can I have my wallet back?

Lochlan laughs. No. Gotta keep your eye on your belongings. 

Jay is stronger than I thought. I would say the same to you. 

Night, Jacob.

Lochlan tenses but we keep moving forward and soon I am in my big comfy bed and he is wrapped around me tightly so I can sleep.

Part I: Keep the car running.

He called me over for a drink, not liking my words, wanting to fix it, wanting to change things, his voice amused and yet clipped, wounded, dark, almost.

I can't resist so I promise him one drink and I show up at nine, the smoky blue night just beginning to settle over the point. I've seen the world and I want more but I also want to control everyone around me and I can only do it if I'm here. Joel always said that need comes from feeling as if my life is always out of control but I don't know why he says that. It isn't. It's fine. Everything's fine.

One drink turned to two and then three as blue deepened to black and he pulls me into his lap. I cup his face in my hands but I don't kiss him. I just stare into his eyes. I'm not supposed to be here. Not supposed to be like this. Not supposed to want this.

I'll make it twenty-five thousand. 

Now you sound like Caleb. 

Okay, I'll make it two-hundred and fifty thousand. 

He laughs at his own joke, taking a kiss I didn't offer him. I pull back but I can't get far enough away so I stick my lower lip out and extend the dare as far as I can. I don't believe you. 

I told you forever ago I could do whatever he could ten times over. 

He has no conditions. You have so many. 

You accepted my invitation. 

For one drink-

Bridget, it's never one drink and we both, hell, everyone knows it. That's code. That's the dance. The only condition here is timing. 

He doesn't want more than I can give him. 

I don't like your lies. They stain an otherwise beautiful face. Tell me the difference and I'll let you go. I don't think you can. 

He isn't cold, like you. 

Batman stares into my eyes for what feels like the remainder of the night as the heat burns off the hemlocks, settling into the ground, cool air rushing in to fill the holes we're blowing into the dusk, trying to force light in all around us. I stare back in return. Don't call me a liar or it's going to hurt even more. He takes my drink from me and slides me off his lap, standing up, standing me up and turning me away in the same motion. 

Lock the door when you leave, he says and he leaves the room. Just to make sure I was telling the truth, I guess. I thought about following him and asking him to prove I'm wrong but I didn't. It's a first.

But I'm still keyed up so hard, I don't want to go home. Reckless fuel in my blood from the whiskey flushes through to my skin, which screams at the cold air as I head down the hall, knocking on the door softly. Jay opens the door to his rooms, a look of surprise on his face I adore instantly. He's in soft jeans, no shirt, no shoes, in need of a haircut, in need of sleep maybe but he holds the door wide and I walk underneath his arm into his cozy den. He's got a movie on the television and a half-finished beer on the table.

What do you need, Bridget? He says as he closes the door behind us. I should have said Lochlan. I could have said anything. But instead I said I needed at least three more drinks and maybe a driver with a getaway car for when I run. And Jay laughed and thought I was flirting with him and went and got the good stuff and poured me a drink so strong I forgot what I wanted to run from.

Whoop-fucking-whoop, indeed.

Tomorrow I'm being moved again, starting at a different restaurant, one owned by one of my boss's relatives. Out of sight, out of mind? Or cherry-picked to help run a cuter, brand-new place that has a soft opening this week after many delays. It's only slightly higher-end and may be a different crowd, but not too different, and since 2018 seems to be the year of Bridget never being comfortable, why the hell not? My uniform is pressed and ready to go, shoes shined and correspondence with my new boss is in place, as they confirmed late this afternoon that yes, indeed, it's happening.

It's been three months exactly since I got the job and I'm still trucking.

Hard to believe, especially after a very tough day like today, when no one seemed happy with anything, save for a couple grateful construction workers who remembered their manners and were so appreciative of their cold drinks I wondered if I was being punked, for everyone else was SO awful today.

On the upside, Ben phoned me at lunch and said he saw that Insane Clown Posse is coming to Vancouver next month, so if I want my gathering that's my chance.

I'm thinking about it.

I need to blow off some steam.

I'm not sure how any more.

I wondered briefly if Batman knows but every time Batman looks at me lately he throws his hands up in frustration. Like Caleb except Batman has even less leverage and can only stand by and watch now, as he has exhausted his own resources in this matter and it didn't make a bit of difference.

Three months. Huh. Honestly, I've now outlasted my own expectations, and I have $2546 in my account that I didn't have back in the middle of April. I mean money I made without the help of anyone else. That's something. It's small, like me, but it's something.

Pad Bridget.

PJ's crassness yesterday was quickly frozen out by Lochlan, who did that disapproving thing he does which isn't easily quantifiable but causes one to work desperately to return to his favour. He's got a way without words, let's leave it at that.

With his looks, gestures, general tension and disapproval he saw my message on the way home and brought me Pad Thai. Which is pretty close to Vietnamese so I'll take what I can get.

He didn't bring PJ anything. Usually we include PJ in our close family meals unless it's a very specific romantic date but PJ was suitably chastened and made himself something for dinner and then after a few hours of torture Lochlan came around. Lochlan only likes the frathouse humor when he initiates it, sadly, but at the same time if you give any of the boys free enterprise they will take off running and we'd never crawl out of that hole.

By midnight they were back to normal. By then I was hungry again.

Chlorine Jesus.

Might have food delivered out here for an early dinner, as I kind of don't want to move. I already had coffee, croissants and my laptop delivered to me poolside. Got to objectify a few willing people along the way, got objectified in return as I've busted out the new pink eyelet string bikini, which looks great with my perpetual sun/razor burns. Pink is probably the wrong color today, as Caleb is legendary for giving me bad razor burn, but my new striped bathing suit (one piece! I love it but no one else seems to?!) is on the clothesline and I forgot to check and see if it was dry.

The stripes are orange, blue, brown and a dusty rose. It's so seventies.

Hey. I try to get Dalton's attention but the man is out cold. Dalt. Hey DALT.  He doesn't move so I call PJ. Who can organize dinner out here without me leaving? 

You're asking me if I'll bring out steaks and a salad to cook out there?

No, I want Vietnamese takeaway. 

Ah. Going hard on the self-care today?

Huh?

You want me to go fetch you takeout?

No. Is anyone out who can pick some up?

Bridget, I was sleeping. Send out a note. If someone can get it, I'm sure they will. 

I don't know if I want to play that card. 

Why not?

What if I need a bigger favor later?

You know how to suck a dick. 

JESUS, PJ!

My morning routine these days.

I woke up this morning in physical pain, kind of a nice change, if you ask me. I was clutched tight in Lochlan's arms, on my stomach, with my right arm tight around his neck and my left arm tight around Caleb's neck.

Because I choose.

And I called him at three this morning and said he needed to come to me and weirdly he was awake and so he did, stripping down to a t-shirt and his boxers and he climbed into bed and kissed my forehead, stretching out beside us and said Sleep now. Everything is okay. And it was but it wasn't but Lochlan slept, at least. It's as if he knows Caleb isn't the extreme physical threat he once was. It's as if Caleb knows we'll have room for him if he listens to me. It's almost as if we have managed to find a way to take the sharpness from the past, blurring it into unrecognizable shapes, blobs of emotion we have to think hard about to conjure up and that's good enough for everyone present and everyone presently. We seem to need to clear the air on a regular basis first and then everything is okay for a little while.

It's okay, Ben was there too. He was wrapped up like a very large comfortable mummy on Caleb's other side, and takes absolutely no offense to trading spots as sometimes he gets me all to himself and he likes that too but as he says he's getting old and needs help to handle me.

:)

So yes. I woke up in pain, shoulders jacked the wrong way, arms asleep, unable to move or fix it as I had no leverage so I cried out.

Oh my God. Someone help me. 

Lochlan startled hard, almost finishing me off. He reached out and pulled my other arm from around Caleb's neck, moving my right arm back underneath me, ducking underneath it as he turned me onto my right side and slid me back even closer against him, his arms tight around mine, using warmth and pressure to bring the feeling back and take the pain away.

Breathe, Peanut. (I hold my breath when things hurt. And my tongue.)

I did and tingles flooded through my extremities. After a few minutes he told me to go take a hot shower, which was heaven. I stood under the broiling spray for twenty minutes. When I came out Caleb was gone and Lochlan was trying to tickle Ben, who remained wrapped up like a mummy and was too deeply asleep to notice.

I threw on my lingerie and a pretty cotton shift and ran my fingers through my pixie cut. I adjusted my necklace (I don't take it off) and checked my rings and asked what he wanted to do today.

Not the same thing we did last night. He makes a face at me. Also, you look beautiful.

Sharp points (and a lovely literary transition, just for you).

I was a shadow on the screen
I was a drifter on the prowl
Now I’m the lights behind the scenes
Now I’m the wolf that’s yet to howl

Yet to break out and yet to run
Yet to be outdone

Waking up to twelve degrees. The windows are open. My skin is cool, shivering in full effect now. The moment I startle from sleep Lochlan reaches out and pulls me in tight against his chest with one arm, not awake at all but also never completely asleep.

Last night the past clouded the present and he and Caleb argued heavily into the dark and I was brought home. Not going to leave me there, not going to turn his back on the monsters, not going to risk further damage tonight, and definitely not going to negotiate on any of it.

There are no choices here for you to make. The Devil stands his ground, reminding Lochlan. Caleb owns this show, somehow. We are merely the performers. Irreplaceable, sure, but also partisan to each other in a way I never expected. One giant writhing mass of limbs and hearts and tears and when one steps away a hole is created which remains until they return to the fold.

Even for the Devil. Oh, yes.

Lochlan stands staring at him, bottom lip jutted in defiance. He's thinking. I'm sure he's thinking he's going to burn the whole thing to the ground. Again. Instead he kisses my hand and looks to me for his answers.

Tell him. 

I shake my head. I mean no, but Lochlan takes it as fear that I don't want to tell him. It's the same in the end.

Neamhchiontach, please. Caleb would also like to know how this will end.

I shake my head again. I'm looking sideways, up into the night. Tears spill over. So tired of this. So tired of everything. I wipe them away and find a voice that will suit them for the moment.

Another time. One of my famous empty promises. Collected by the armful. Usually resulting in being ordered to do something at gunpoint, with shaking hands and angry voices raised. Like always.

Of course. Ever the gentlemen, not willing to show Lochlan how fierce his cravings really are, Caleb lets me off the hook. He crosses to me, hesitates briefly as Lochlan tenses, pulling me closer by the hand, and kisses my cheek gently.

Get some rest, Bridget. We'll have some time in a few days.

Lochlan pulls my hand hard and we're gone, into the dark, back across the line to the safe side of the world where the lights are golden bright and the hemlocks push back against the monsters.

He's right. You need sleep. Candles aren't supposed to burn at both ends, Peanut. 

They do if you light them. 

He smiles softly in the morning light, bending his head down, leaving a kiss against my lips. It's not a dismissal or a placeholder, it's all of the oxygen in my lungs.

What do you want to do this morning?

Damage control. 

He lets go of me and rolls to his back, covering his eyes. You don't need to do that. 

I do. We're supposed to find peace together. 

Never gonna happen. 

We can try. 

We've been trying for our entire lives. It only works if everyone actually tries, Bridget.

Reasons/Seasons.

It feels like fall, today.

These days no one remembers I like my toast well done. I'm finishing the Gatorade flavors no one likes and I'm craving a long hot bubble bath like it's the best vacation I will ever have. I need color. I need loud music. I need distraction. I need sleep, as always and I needed it last month and the month before that and now with critical mass staring me down I feel as if suddenly I don't need anything, and everything is weightless, unimportant and shallow.

You're stuck in my head and I can't get you out of it

I chased one cool evening with another and I can't remember what day it is. I'm down to reminding myself to breathe, certain my heartbeat no long keeps time, no longer keeps me alive and I feel like the wind is the only thing that matters. Not even the sea, for the sea is the wind's bath, a discarded, long-cold empty vessel full of discarded memories, drowned in a fit of impulsive, necessary change.

Come inside, Neamhchiontach. I can fix this. His voice is soft and low. It sends a shiver down my spine, as always, but I shake my head.

Look at it. 

Magnificent, isn't it? But he's not looking at the dead sea or the live wind. I know this because his eyes are boring holes into my soul. He craves it like I crave that hot bath, like I used to crave the sea before I suddenly arrived at this place where I momentarily don't love him, don't feel anything, don't care. Don't want. Don't look. Don't breathe, Bridget, for he's close enough to touch and you'll fucking care when you get burned again.

Defeatist.

Am I nice? I must be nice.

I approach every new situation as one in which I ask for help figuring it all out and today I was met not once, but three times with people willing and capable of making our lives extremely easy and efficient when they had no pure incentive to do so other than the prospect of helping someone out who needed help.

I needed that. I needed help to make the day smooth and I had to trust strangers. I took a breath and did it and it all worked out.

So the day is wrapping up and I'm taking that breath for the first time since eight this morning.

Things aren't going all that smoothly with my patient. Things are downright rough but after all these ER trips and today a surprise trip to the surgeon I feel like there's hope in sight. I will try to stay positive and tonight I'm going to make my gratitude list here because I need to see it written down. Here's all the things I'm completely, unabashedly grateful for today:

-Queer Eye Season two. (I'm not crying, you're crying.)
-Memes. Because memes.
-The impending picture galleries from the Gathering. Seriously. They're just all spectacle. It's incredible. I love it. It reminds me of the circus.
-A car full of gas and in good repair for my four trips into town today. Easy traffic (well). Worried boys.
-Prayers from Sam for energy and compassion. I am always low on the former and never ever run out of the latter.
-A big old wet juicy kiss from Lochlan this morning, almost in our sleep.
-A text from my boyfriend reminding me he has unlimited, infinite resources, if I need them.
-PJ slipping a granny smith apple into my bag.
-Picking the first cauliflower of the season.
-Henry having a day off the point with friends and having a blast.
-OH. I preordered Alice in Chains' new album, Rainier Fog. I love that name. We see them next month. SO excited. I also preordered Eisley's I'm Only Dreaming..of Days Long Past because acoustic versions of anything make me so happy.
-Ben saved me a chocolate chip cookie for after dinner. I baked a huge ham in between making trips into town. I'm a multitasker, finally.

Stuck in my jumpsuit (a pep talk for one or twenty. You pick).

We never got it right
Playing and replaying old conversations
Overthinking every word and I hate it
'Cause it's not me ('cause it's not me)
And what's the point in hiding?
Everybody knows we got unfinished business
And I'll regret it if I didn't say
This isn't what it could be (isn't what it could be)

You could break my heart in two
But when it heals, it beats for you
I know it's forward, but it's true

A reprieve last evening. Reading up on the news. Watching Selena Gomez and Twenty One Pilots videos with Ruth. Eating fried eggs and spicy sausages. Shopping for pretty shirts to wear when it's too hot outside to breathe. Having lemonade and vodka late, when the temperature dipped back down to reasonable. Being cranky with each other, but mildly, in order to find civility in the craziness. Trying to take deep breaths. Trying to keep up.

Henry's birthday was yesterday. We celebrated quietly over the past weekend, with gifts on Saturday, a special dinner and cake on Sunday and of course yesterday Henry had cake for breakfast and cake for a bedtime snack. You would think he is related to me for the love he has for cake, wouldn't you?

The only person who likes cake more than me is Caleb.

(Surprise, motherfucker. Right?)

(Forty-eight messages on my phone from him right now and I don't know what to do.)

Today is going to be better. My work is cancelled for the week, the heat is supposed to let up after today and hopefully this time everyone is on a roll toward greater things. I think yesterday was a hiccup, a wrinkle in the fabric of time. A bad day, when most of them are actually pretty good.

Let's have a good day, guys.

Such a PRO at Emergency Rooms. Got our parking, brought my book and a granola bar, just in case. Six hours and fistfuls of Percocet later (HA), we're home again.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Fresh starts are a blessing.

This week's big small goals:

1. Get everyone to 100 percent, physically and mentally.
2. Eat outside every night for dinner, Monday through Friday. 
3. Celebrate Henry's birthday in style (17!!)
4. Get him driving at least twice.
5. Work three shifts without wanting to cry/quit
6. Find a place to buy cute summer patchwork apron tops.
7. Sit under the strings lights and listen to the wind thread it's way down the mountain (this can be accomplished alongside #2
8. Make butterscotch ice cream with raspberries.
9. Work on knitting and finish watching Queer Eye. 
10. Plan out the month of August. 
11. Breathe. 
12. Pray.
13. Be/Bee.

Wish me luck!

A conversation in three easy pieces.

When life gets really really overwhelming, God yells CATCH, Bridge. It's not a contest to see who can take the most suffering or difficulty, it's simply a reminder that life is full of ups and downs, it's unpredictable. It can be easy or hard. But you don't control it. He does. 

He needs to let me take over for a bit. 

What would you do? 

Firstly, I'd turn the waterfalls to chocolate syrup. 

Really. You're given power over mankind and you decide to be Willy Wonka? 

Maybe. 

Sam laughs and sips his iced tea. We're on the big hammock down by the gate to the beach. It's more private, quieter somehow. I had to be talked into it, but my iced tea isn't iced tea, so that helped.

What else?

All horses would be pegacorns. 

What is that?

Wings and horns. 

Oh. 

Just imagine. 

Those are not the things I would do. 

No, I don't imagine. 

I would ensure peace between all living souls. 

Ha. Going to start with Lochlan and Caleb? 

They're on the list. 

We rock some more. It's growing dark. The mosquitoes are coming out. Sam doesn't notice but I start to get itchy just thinking about them.

Okay, there has to be something fluffy you would do. 

I'd give people tails. 

Tails? 

Yes, tails. Like monkeys or lions. Then they would remember where they came from and what they lower to.

They'd also be easier to catch. 

Glory, Bridge. You think of everything.
 

Why, yes, they did have the World Cup on in the OR prep area. I really wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry so I continued doing both.

The gratitude here today is fresh-baked and still warm, as my wanderlust was quickly drowned, never to be seen again, dissolved in an acid bath of sheer panic.

I held it together well, though. Go me.

I even not only found the hospital and paid for parking but I found the ER and navigated registration, triage and the long wait afterward.

Then I did it all again on Wednesday. LOL

No, seriously. I did. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Where are the boys. Why can't they do this. REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

(Be an adult)

(No)

(Tough. Do it anyway)

(Fine)

By yesterday morning I was so done with the whole thing. I need sleep. I need a shower. I'd like a meal, or better yet a drink. I'd like a little break. Here I was teetering over the edge of exhaustion, a trickle into a stream and now it's a waterfall and I'm keeping my white-knuckle grip here, best as I can.

But we lived and now we're home.  To freshly-made beds, freshly scrubbed bathrooms, freshly-watered gardens, laundry caught up, and reunions full of laughter. Finally.

The only difference is that now, one of us no longer carts around a ruptured appendix.

(Not me. I still have mine. I'm tempted to have it removed preemptively, however.)

Honor among thieves.

This is the calm before the storm
This is the sea between the isles
And this ain't the time to chase the dawn
This is the time to count the miles

So hold your fire and clear your mind
You won't get left behind

I can't sleep. The night is cool and quiet, the house muted. Someone left a light on in the kitchen. I wander quietly through rooms, turning off lights, closing curtains. Checking doors and windows. I touch the door at the end of the hall before the foyer. PJ's domain now. Used to be Lochlan's. I miss crawling in with Lochlan when he wasn't the way he is now. When history didn't jam itself down between us like a wall, separating us until we can no longer even touch without the world burning its reaction into our lives with a swift flash of flame.

I miss a lot of things.

I miss being everything to you. He says it softly behind me. Pulling on pajama pants, following me as I made my rounds, me oblivious to any sound he would have made, Lochlan's been behind me this whole time. But the house is muted for me virtually all the time, not just in the late hours before dawn. I wouldn't hear him if he were an intruder and yet the person I trust most in this world just walked up behind me and stuck a knife into my heart.

I start to shake my head as he pulls me in but he twists the knife and leaves it jammed between, cracks forming in the wall that keeps us apart. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.

Don't fight it. You didn't need them when you were with Jake.

Because I had you. 

No. Not most of the time, Bridge. You didn't. You had him. 

It was fleeting. You act like it was so long-

I watched you fall in love with him right under my nose. And there was nothing I could do. That changed me. Watching you slip away changed who I am. And I've been trying to get back to who I was before that but I'm just not having any luck.

The tip of the knife now sticks out my back and is catching on everything. I thought pain was a feeling. Now I know it's an object one has to get around. Or through. But not over. Never over.

So what can I do? Here it is. The part where my trust strips back and shows the raw pain on the inside, the part where he said goodbye because he couldn't manage his own feelings. He never could. I thought I do better but the fourteen-year-old he kissed goodbye all those years ago still regards him with suspicion while she waits for the other shoe to drop. And that's why she goes to them. And keeps him at arms length even as she swears she won't.

Trust me. 

Oh, that's a big one, Lochlan. 

You trust your demons. You trust your nightmares, Bridge. 

They've never left. 

I won't either. 

Those are just words, Loch. You're so good with them. 

Not compared to you. Your words have torn me apart and rebuilt me. I'm asking you to stop. To trust me. I'm not playing musical beds for the rest of our lives. I'm not. Something has to change. I've tried everything. We need to try this. 

We did it before-

That was then. This is now. 

Why is now different?

Because we deserve this. She. She deserves this. 

But he doesn't mean Ruth. He means the fourteen-year-old he left standing beside the fair gates.

How do I just forget that and go forward? 

Believe in magic. 

It's a risk. 

So is everything else you've ever done but the Bridget I raised would jump with a laugh and not hesitate. 

The Bridget you raised has been through too much to be that girl anymore. 

See, that's where I think you're wrong. He pulls the knife out and I bleed all over the floor in my own death before being resurrected in his flames once again. Let's have the greatest love story ever told. Like we always planned.

White spots, short wings, mate for life.

The clouds and the thunder roll back in over the point and the fairy tale ends, real life picking up and running with the narrative for the new week. A busy week. A trying week, and it's only Monday. God help us.

The rain is coming back and it makes me happy. My garden loves it. The cauliflower are the size of volleyballs. The lavender is strong and beautiful. The grapes are coming in so fast we can't keep up and the peas and beans are flowering like mad, as are the tomatoes. I have a huge rosemary plant, and an equally impressive oregano one, and I feel accomplished when I look at the gardens. Like I can at least do one thing right. I inherited my grandmother's green thumb and I'll never waste it, that's for sure. The only difference is this year we're doing two cucumber plants instead of seven, because last year things got a little out of hand.

Plus it's therapeutic.

Who's going to knock that?

Lochlan finds me out on the bluff where the strawberry patch is, wind in my freshly shorn hair, skirt billowing around my ankles as I water them diligently. Rain or not, some plants need a ton of water. I'm making sure they get it.

He came and went the past few nights. Leaving just as things were getting good only to reappear when things were on the downswing. He's subtle like that, generous like that, and now he's here to make sure Caleb's most recent gift isn't going to put him on the outside for yet another night.

Peanut. What's this? 

Yellow beans. 

Ah. Everything's growing amazingly. 

I nod.

Bridgie, I know you're mad at me.

I'm not 'mad' per se-

Ruffled. 

That's a good way to describe it. Like a bird. I'm a bird.

You are like a bird. Like a magpie. Finding pretty things and flying away. 

I say nothing. Here we go with the stay-puts and the stick-beside-mes as if he can undo history and fix all of this shit in one go.

I just wanted to know if you feel better. If it works. If this is what you want. What you need. I don't know. I just want to know that it's worth the sacrifice. If it isn't then we should change it. 

I shrug. I don't have the answers I think he wants.

Do you feel better though?

Let me put it this way. I felt like I've felt all along but then just now you got here and now I feel better. Relieved. Safe. 

Oh, that's the best answer I could have hoped for. He's got tears in his eyes and I feel so small suddenly.

Loch-

Don't say it. Leave it at that. That was all I needed to hear.

This time I'm actually going but I promise I won't talk about it at all.

The rain stopped but the fun didn't and the love is real. I got breakfast in bed. And pinot gris too. I got a text from Sam reminding me that church was at 745 if I needed a lift. I did not reply and I didn't hear his car leave but I wouldn't anyway, on average.

I got drunk..ish on a Sunday morning and I have no regrets. I don't spoil myself much, actually unless it's with men. My swims are regimented for time, I cook at home for an army of twenty on a nightly basis because eating out is stupidly expensive. I don't drink unless someone offers and I don't go for massages, manicures, haircuts by real hair stylists or anything. I don't shop for clothes. I don't shop except groceries. I don't have a housecleaner. I don't have an assistant. I have a lot of help, mind you but at the end of the day, I run everything, I schedule everything and I run myself into the ground.

So fuck it. Not today. I'm on the verge of tears perpetually. I'm so tired. I'm so not up for life today so today I'm calling in sick. 

I got a Daniel and Schuyler sandwich, and I'm not ashamed of that. They bring the affection ten-fold. Daniel is stronger in the dark then in life. He runs on love, as I do. He's confident and sure here. He's fierce and loyal yet playful and accommodating. He's experimental. He's like his brother. He loves Schuyler with a devotion I admire but he's also loathe to pass up a chance to hold me, or love me.

Schuy rarely participates. He's content to give Daniel whatever Daniel could possibly want but this weekend he didn't hold back and it was new and fun and exciting too. It was rare enough to appreciate but still familiar enough to let go.

It was a catalyst, as this morning Caleb sent me a three word message, because he knew they didn't leave and he knew it's been days and days now. He knew I wouldn't have any regrets or second thoughts and he knows that I need a way out from this life sometimes. I don't get bored, I get restless and there's nothing wrong with that unless you never find a way to make that feeling stop.

Fine. Burning man

YAY!

The fab five.

Heavy rain from late evening until the early hours of this morning and I slept like the dead, wedged in gently between Ben and Lochlan, who also slept soundly, only waking when one of us would shift. I wake up foggy, in a panic, wondering if they're leaving me but they always touch me to reassure me that they're not.

Without words. Who needs these words? We roll on touch around here, you just don't know if it will be a punch or a hug half the time and though everyone will insist that boys will be boys I'm now insisting on respect. Some of them have zero self-control and though it may have looked cool and tough to go around with a black eye or a good cheek bruise in your early twenties, in your early fifties you just look like a fucking degenerate.

Look it up, Peanut. Maybe that's what we are. 

I don't know how Lochlan's ever become such an accurate walking dictionary over the years, I've never seen him with one but here we are.

Daniel cut my hair for me yesterday, back from a lazy almost-bob into a pixie again. He proclaimed it adorable, got confirmation from Duncan and PJ and then invited me to come watch Queer Eye all weekend with them, eat Polynesian takeaway in bed and drink pinot gris.

(Note for the always vigilant: Schuyler won't be drinking the wine. He will have juice or sparkling water. Yes, he's in recovery. No, he hasn't fallen. Not sure why I have to spell it out every post. Trust me. If someone in recovery falls off the wagon, pretty sure I'll write about it post haste.)

I said I'd be delighted, wondered what I should wear and then Lochlan mowed him over like a freight train.

One thing you don't do in this house, or in any house for that matter is attack Daniel.

Ever. 

Daniel was helped up and pointed out to Lochlan that he could have said no, that he doesn't need to resort to violence, and that he's living a civilized life now where brute force isn't necessary to make one's point.

Like a Queer Eye episode for the emotional, reactionary guy. For the jealous guy. For the guy who's just trying to hold on to what he's got.

And to his credit, Lochlan threw himself on Daniel and we all shouted but it wasn't a second attack, it was a hug. A big mushy hug and they talked in each other's faces about love and Lochlan apologized and thanked Daniel for his patience (Danny's delicate, for sure, but still bigger) and boy did Loch feel awful for a long time after that.

But while I still did not get to go to what sounded like a fun way to spend a rainy weekend,  Lochlan did proclaim my haircut to be awfully cute and he promised me we would have an equally fun rainy weekend in bed with Ben and with whatever else my heart desires.

So I brought Daniel and Schuyler with us.

Under the surface of the water you'll hear the way I hear above it.

I spent the day sitting on a big round towel in the shade by the pool, eating egg salad sandwiches and salt & vinegar chips, drinking lemonade and reading my book (still slugging away at David Sedaris's Theft By Finding, which finally went from weird and sad to hilarious so I can't wait to pick it up every chance I get), while Ben snoozed on a chaise nearby and Batman swam laps or as near enough to laps as you can swim in a huge kidney-shaped pool.

It's so lovely and quiet, breezy and yet calm. No hearing aids. No sirens. No yelling. No music. No anything. The perfect late summer day if ever there would be one, and so I don't wish to miss it. The bunting flags bounce and twist in the wind and there are boats on the water and I already had my swimming lesson review, in which Sam asked if I remembered anything at all and then we had a twenty-five minute debate on the risks of wearing jewelry in seawater versus chlorinated water.

We agreed to disagree and I had a pop quiz in which I had to do my own laps, front crawl, back crawl, tread for five minutes and then demonstrate my knowledge of CPR, using a half-awake Benjamin, who hijacked all of my attempts to be serious with his tongue and left me howling with laughter and covered with spit. I did get a damned good kiss out of it, and Sam said I passed my review later on, because he was laughing too hard and had to walk away for a bit to compose himself.

Officially they're all a full whoppingly ten percent less nervous when I'm in the water now, or so I'm told.