What you don't see that delineates any huge romantic gestures by Lochlan from any of the ones perpetuated by Jacob (that I have detailed exhaustively here already) or anyone else for that matter, is the fact that while doing said gestures, Lochlan is/was usually lecturing me at the same time.
For example? When the flowers began to bloom and I realized he planted them all around our lot, I tried to go out and visit them. He told me to stay out of the mud. And not to touch because dinner was soon and he didn't want to traipse all the way back to the water trailers so I could clean my hands (again).
The Romanian coffee thing? He took it and poured it out when I had drunk only half.
Because caffeine, Peanut. You're only a slight of a thing and won't sleep for the rest of the week otherwise.
(There was no goat involved. It would have been so metal if there had been though.)
His parental tendencies interfere with the romance of it. This is his struggle now, to supersede his natural tendencies to baby and control me in favor of just enjoying the hell out of me now. Clearly I survived, albeit scathed, into adulthood. His brain can't shift gears though and that leaves us a historical, incestuous mess.
He will tell you he is not parental, that I am insulting. It's not an insult. He wants to take care of me. He always wanted nothing more than to show me the magic of the world from the safety of his arms.
So mission accomplished.
But still he never sleeps.
***
Sam did Jesus Beach today. That's what we call his outdoor services at the waters edge whereby he warns his congregation at the beginning of each season that certain Sundays they should dress down and he makes them hike out to the beach and does his sermon there, in the wind, the rain, whatever. It's beautiful. He comes back to do a pre-lunch, later service for the people who don't want to/can't hike though. Two services every Sunday and one on Thursday nights. He's getting a couple of extra people finally, he's grown the church to a size that has exceeded all expectation and we joke that he's the little pastor that could. He's been proactively busy without Matt here. It bothers him but he's sticking with keeping busy and he and New Jake and Dalton have been busy helping to build when he's not writing/studying/working.
He seems content and a little more centered now. He's my twin but he's far better at self-preservation and control and not at all impulsive in the manic sense.
Mentally healthier, is the term someone used. But I'm not insulted. Like Lochlan, I simply try my best and sometimes I might not try at all but at the very least I can't be put out if someone calls a spade a spade.
I know my limits, my strengths and my weak points. I just can't guarantee which of them I can deploy purposefully on any given day.
I wish to be like Sam when I grow up maybe. Friends with Lochlan in a capable way that leave him confident that I can manage without his hand-holding but still in touch with my emotions enough not to go stiff in order to get through an emotional experience.
It will never happen but sometimes I wish it would. In any event, the romance seems to be the thread that decorates and strengthens every aspect of my life. And love isn't a fleeting thing, it's a foundation all on its own.
***
Jesus Beach couldn't save Duncan this morning. He went with me but he did it half-drunk and I drove and didn't talk because he's falling into the same hole over and over again as he stands there wavering, insisting that he went and learned and he's still learning how to put up warning signs that there's a hole there in the first place.
On the way back to the point he sat and stared at me. Flask in one hand
(Jesus won't mind, he assured me) and leaning up against the inside of the passenger door of the truck he tells me,
Sam would go straight for you.
Yes, I know, Duncan.
Would you ever marry a preacher again?
Not on your life.
I wouldn't let you bet anything against my life, Bridget. I worry you might be bad luck.
Might be?
Probably are.
When we get home can I have some of what you're having?
No.
Nice.
You're far too pretty to have a drinking problem, Bridge.
I have enough problems anyway.
Yes, you sure do. Sorry I'm one of them. I aimed to be better. Some days it's too hard.
Maybe you need to write more poetry.
Maybe you need to fuck off, Bridge.
We didn't say anything else on the drive home. That seemed to be lots. I handed him off to Ben and disappeared to cry in the laundry room, where PJ was all caught up and said he didn't need me and that was kind of the last straw because I feel that way a lot lately.
Duncan came and found me later and asked me not to take his crap personally. I'm sure someone ordered him to do so, probably PJ. Maybe Loch. Hopefully Sam, who had watched Duncan take sips from his flask during the service and had already 911'd the boys who didn't attend. Duncan said he's not all that proud of his recovery efforts because he wasn't doing it for him, he was doing it for us. The rest of the boys and me and the children and trying to be good and perfect and nope. Not working.
I gave him the same offer I give everyone who complains about life in the collective sometimes getting overwhelming. Forgiveness if you leave. Understanding if you can't remain. Financial help if required. Emotional support and affection until the end of your days if you just come and take it.
But he said he doesn't want to go, he just needs to figure out how to navigate this stage of his life, because cool will only get you so far, and he thinks this is the end of the line.
