Not even ambush..this was full PRObush and I love him so much it's gross.

Ben doesn't even wait until we're on the beach before he deploys his fears and I have to grab the railing with both hands so I don't wind up carried off on the tide of his words.

I want second place back. I don't want to be the third.

Who said you were second? 

Who demoted me to third, or maybe fourth when I was busy? 

No one, Benjamin. Maybe we just need more time together. 

I was trying to give you time with Loch. And that seems to translate into time with Caleb. And I don't know if I want to encourage that. 

You used to be fine with it. 

I was there. Now I'm nowhere. I feel like I'm running to catch up now. 

You're not a third wheel. You're not falling behind, Ben. I love you. 

Burning building?

Oh, don't even. It would be you. Lochlan would save you over me. You're the first person on our minds always. Especially when you hole up to work. You think I don't miss you? You think I like coming down and finding the light on and having to turn and go back upstairs because I can't come in and see you when you're working?

You keep calling Caleb your boyfriend. 

He's asked for that formality. 

Well, now I'm asking to be above that. So it's very clear to him and to everyone how this works. 

Well then what do we call you? 

Lovers? He grins. He suggested that when we first got together. He refused to be friends anymore, and wanted to be lovers so we cemented it at Nolan's cabin and we've been inseparable ever since.

Lovers. I grin back.

We should cement this with some serious fuckage, Bridge. 

We have a birthday dinner to go to, remember? 

Okay, after. 

After are the speeches. I can't miss them. I'm the birthday girl!

And then? 

After the speeches we will go to bed. 

What if Caleb wants to see you? Or Lochlan? 

Well, we can bring Lochlan but Caleb doesn't get to come. 

Okay. Maybe Loch could use some serious fuckage too. 

From you or from me?

Don't matter. 

Wow, Ben. 

What?

Now I'm wondering where I am in this hierarchy, because if it's third, I don't want to know.*

(Editing for clarity. Though, who needs clarity when ambiguity is such a wonderful thing? Ben's first love is music. So that would make me second or possibly third, if Lochlan is loved more. Which he might be. I picked the right two, I think.)
 

And this is just the first couple of hours.

Guess where I woke up?

In the camper, on the beach (!!!), the sound of the surf filling my ears so beautifully it supposedly took Lochlan five tries to whisper Happy Birthday to me as we curled up together in sleep in a bed so tiny I slept like a baby, and never felt even once like I was falling. Our history in these tiny trailers is the reason why I can only fall asleep if I'm pressed in between solid things. Like a wall and a person, two people or absolutely packed in tight with heavy quilts. Otherwise I don't sleep and if I wind up untethered in the King size beds in my room I feel weightless and unprotected.

So yes, PTSD for everyone, as Lochlan didn't sleep at all. He fretted about whether we'd be warm enough, even as Ben and John carried the heaters down to the beach just in case, Caleb rolled his eyes and lamented Lochlan's choice of camper, without a heater. He would have spent more. Hell, he would have just built a house there.

But who needs a heater when Lochlan is fire incarnate?

I wasn't cold. I slept so hard I may never sleep in the house ever again, and being by the water's edge far exceeded the camper up in the backyard. But Lochlan finds it difficult to return to a time when he rarely slept, always on edge, always on alert. So I don't know how to fix that except the way I've been taught. If you're afraid of something the only way to stop feeling the fear is to immerse yourself in it. It worked with me for elevators, and Caleb's dominance, and isolation when I remained behind in the Prairies packing up the castle when we moved the Collective here to the West coast. It hasn't worked for heights for me though. I can't subject myself to anything higher than a Ferris Wheel, or in this case the Wonder Wheel. Planes are okay but buildings, ziplines, gondolas and chair lifts make me scream and I won't go.

I keep veering off-topic though.

We were starving when we woke up and Lochlan had breakfast ready to roll. Coffee pot in the fire. Croissants and cheese and apples. He put the croissants on a stick and warmed them over the fire while the water boiled. It was amazing. I didn't want to leave but maybe we'll be back tonight. We dressed in yesterday's clothes and made the climb back up the cliff.

Reluctantly.

And the backyard was finished. The inside is finished. The trailers are gone. Tools are gone. Mini-backhoe is gone and and flowers are everywhere. Decorative shrubs are gone and the steps are finished. The low walls are finished. The palazzo is finished. The yard looks incredible. They structured the back to match the front with its brick walkways and driveways and the fountain of the most alabaster fine concrete I think I've seen or touched, something that weathers to a beautiful soft ash.

And then I realize the pool is full. The chairs are back. The shades are pulled up, the barbecue is set in place in the outdoor kitchen and it matches the new outdoor kitchen here in my yard and wow.

Supposedly they worked all night on the landscaping and cleaning to get it done and then when it was finished Caleb and Andrew got up at four in the morning to begin to fill the pool.

And I didn't know of or hear any of it because we were sleeping at the bottom of the cliff, on purpose. So it was a huge group plan and Lochlan took the hit because it means more to him that I'm happy than that Caleb wins.

Except he didn't. I won't tell him though. I think it will be obvious when he sees I've transferred all of the costs of the camper and barge from his account back to Lochlan, since Caleb piggybacked on Lochlan's plan, taking advantage to score points.

Caleb comes out to stand beside me in the wind as I look over my new beautiful...er...grounds. I can't call this a yard. It would be demeaning and inappropriate at this point. Even the new grass looks expensive.

What do you think, Neamhchiontach? 

(Not Happy Birthday, not Good Morning but how did I do in the contest?)

It's incredible. I love it! And he looks so pleased with himself as I turn and look up at him. But I'm angry with you. And I leave him there to figure it out. I really need a hot shower and some new clothes. I need to change the trajectory of this day. It's my day, after all and Caleb isn't going to make it his.

First of all, it's not a contest, dickheads.

Caleb snapped at something or other when he was leaving this morning after bringing back a couple of books and so I chased him outside and asked what was wrong.

Oh, let's just say the playing field isn't level. 

What are you talking about?

Lochlan's allowed to make all of these sweeping gestures and when I try you won't allow it, send it back, refuse, or generally hobble all of my efforts, Neamhchiontach. I just want to spoil you for your birthday and every day and instead I have to watch Pyro win all the time by renting a goddamned barge and putting a camper on the beach. 

Is that how?! Wait, how did he get it off the barge? Does it float? Oh my gos-

With a crane. He puts his fingers to his forehead as if I've given him a headache. The barge has a crane so you lift it onto shore. There was a tug involved. It took a fair effort to get it far enough back from the tide. But you've missed the point. 

Which was? 

Why can't I make the gestures?

Because your gestures involve things like buying me the Eiffel tower or twenty-carat rare diamonds or-

Would you like to go back to Paris? 

Look who's the one missing the point now. 

So you're saying my gestures are too large. Too much. 

A little. Okay, a lot.

And I'm supposed to step out of the way now so the man who made you sleep in goat pastures gets all the glory. 

Caleb-

He'll never be able to do for you what I can. That barge stunt cost him his entire bonus for the project, you know. I don't think he had any idea of the costs involved before he planned it. Or how he's going to get it off the beach now that it's there. In any case, I feel like he's learning a lesson about going up against someone with actual means-

This isn't how life works. They don't learn. Someone doesn't love you because you impress them, they love you because you finish their sentences, you're within reach, you're alike in so many ways. You make them feel comfortable and safe. It's a deep attachment you can't put a price on or give a trophy for.

I leave him standing there and go find Lochlan, who is in the library reading, his glasses halfway down his nose, a fresh, significant haircut to start a new chapter of life (and also because I did manage to knot his hair up good yesterday and he actually doesn't want his dreads back).

Your bonus from the network. What are you going to do with it? 

Surprise the love of my life. 

Oh my God, he was right. 

Who? 

Caleb said you spent the whole thing on a barge to make the beach campsite.

He's wrong. 

Oh, thank God. 

The cost of the camper was actually slightly more than the barge but not by much. If you add them together then yes, that was my bonus. 

Why did you spend it all on something that's going to bring up bad memories? 

Wait, wait, WAIT. Who said it's going to bring back anything but good memories? And I can spend it how I please, so if I want to make good on a promise you won't let me make good on, since you want to live in a camper by the sea but you also won't move, I'm then limited to making campsites and hiring barges. 

Oh. Yeah.

Oh yeah yourself. 

I still love it. 

You'd better. 'Twas expensive. 

(Oh, he's using Doppler radar. The faster I move away from him, the faster he closes the distance between us.)

Fate itself unraveled
Make the emptiness my home
Into the starlight will I go
Soaring into the unknown

I think I spoiled my own birthday surprise and I couldn't be happier.

Everyone seemed so busy today. Lochlan was so wrapped up in emails (not related to the project he's just completed but a random host of beta-software testing, Cirque du Soleil presales, random confirmations of upcoming appointments for his truck, teeth, eyes, arm followup, etc. etc.) that he let me start random dreadlocks in his hair. Though I don't know what I'm doing.)

PJ said he was just back and had a lot to catch up on. 

Like what?

PJ eyes left and right. Uh, you guys suck at deep-cleaning kitchens.

I don't. I even wiped every single blind on blinds I only drop down to clean. I scrubbed the crumb tray in the toaster oven. I bleached the inside of the dishwasher. Fuck you, Padraig. Find me a crumb.

Dalton and Duncan are nowhere to be found. Ditto August. Emmett is available, walking toward me and so I quickly turn and head briskly in the opposite direction.

Caleb is about to go for a run. Daniel is out. Andrew is out. Batman isn't taking the bait as he's smarting over the past week's rebellions and Jay's probably a bad idea. Sam is sleeping. Gage is away. ARGHHHHH. I just want to go for a walk on the beach.

Maybe tonight? Ben says helpfully from behind his giant mixing board.

Sure, I lie. It's come to this. Promise?

Do my best. He smiles distractedly and I head back upstairs, turning left down the little hallway behind the kitchen that also leads to the back foyer where the patio doors circle the entire back of the house. I don't even grab shoes. Who needs shoes? I walk purposefully across the backyard, skirting the concrete-pouring extravaganza and disappear behind the gate.

I look out before I head down the steps and right away I see it.

I scream-whisper because I know damn well I've ruined it but I don't care. I also don't want to scream-yell or they'll all freak and come running and I'm not supposed to go down to the beach alone. Too many steps. Too steep a drop-off. Slippery rocks, hazards, sometimes sea lions. Sometimes distracted Bridget and a hungry Pacific. Sometimes just to make them feel better I listen to them. Sometimes I agree with them.

But not today because look at that.

I turn back to the right to head down the steps and bump right into Lochlan. Who was standing behind me probably the whole time, because he has weapons-grade hearing skills and a loaded, somewhat angry smile.

Peanut. You fucked up my plans to surprise you.

Oh no I didn't.

The grin becomes relieved. Excited?

You have no idea.

At the other end of the beach, there's a brand-new tiny shiny camper set up. A fire circle is built. Two chairs are opened in front of the door, under the canopy. It's safe from the tide but not back far enough for me to miss, tucked in safely against the cliff.

This is my dream.

I wonder if he'll let me sleep out there, with him? I wonder what the weather is like for the weekend. I wonder how they got it down here. I wonder if it's finished inside. I wonder if I'll ever come back up except to spend time with the kids. If he wanted me all to himself, he's done it. I don't even think anyone save for us could fit into it.

That's the idea.

We're going to live here?

Maybe. Maybe some nights. But you don't get to go down there until Friday evening.

My birthday's on Saturday-

Right. Don't you want to wake up there? By the water?

And then I'm crying. Geez, not the pretty cry. I don't even have that feature. Naw. All streaky-red, blubbery gratitude-soaked relief that he did this. Finally.

Glad to see you're happy about it. He shrugs in mock doubt, pulling me in close, dropping the act, confidence blooming back. You think I don't know what you need but I do. I promise I do and I'm trying to make it happen. It may take me a little longer, you may think I'm not paying attention or understanding you but I am. Also what did you do to my hair? 

The renovations have spilled outside and they're going for broke. You know, while the 'guys are here'. Someone save me.

What would you like for your birthday, Neamhchiontach? 

He is thrilled today. So, so pleased that I demonstrated my allegiance past the end of his bedpost. Happy that I stuck it to the (Bat)man, beyond relieved that I set a boundary and for once Caleb winds up on the same side as me.

To have the pool filled!

Not until the work is finished. Too dusty. 

They're working here, not in Daniel's backyard! 

Soon, Baby. Soon. Trust me, I'd love to see you in a bikini again. 

Why? You see me naked. 

Something about it, I guess. 

Huh. Well, I've never wished in a million years I could see one of you in a speedo, so that's where we deviate, I guess. 

If you saw me in one, Bridget, you'd change your mind. 

Let's not continue this line of conversation. 

And he laughs. What a lovely sound. Not even a tinge of evil in it today. Done. Let's get back to the topic at hand, which was birthdays, if I'm not mistaken. 

Yeah. 

You're impossible. You hate surprises but you refuse to give me a list. 

You'll buy everything on it. 

Because you're conservative. Most women pull out the 'I want a private jet' card. You do the math and learn it's cheaper to lease one when it's required. Sort of a singular Sugar Baby, in that. 

I have everything I need..

Except? 

A night of really crazy horror movies and chocolate cake and maybe a walk on the beach. 

Done. 

Yeah but you'll fly me to New York, rent out a theatre, have a Michelin-starred chef bake a cake and the beach is in Montauk. 

I figured Lochlan had that covered. 

Oooh! I hope he does. 

So much for the singularity. 

I'm petty sure we'll fly commercial. 

He laughs again and we didn't actually sort anything out so I really hope my birthday present is an end to this endless construction and my house and yard back. 

What solidarity looks like to him. And possibly to you.

Excuse me, for the asshole throwing around words like 'cult' and 'human' trafficking' just know that you aren't correct and also the definition of human trafficking clearly delineates and defines commercial sexual exploitation so Matt, you can just fuck right off.

(Sam is doing great and Matt is offended by that. Which is bent in half, let me tell you, because he should be championing Sam like a true love would but instead he is kicking at the wall he built between them because he wants to be the hero so bad right now, even as he set down ultimatums and dealbreakers like blastmines all over his life with Sam and Sam stood his own ground and broke the deals, then. Because love isn't supposed to be like that and because Matt won't give a goddamned inch from his perfect life to accommodate a whole other human being into it. Sam always felt like an interloper, a visitor, a guest and that's not how it's supposed to be when you're in love.

So oooooh yes, we're a cult (what a shit word. We use Collective) and we've swallowed Sam up whole and I'm being trafficked and Caleb and Batman are evil and everyone else is a mere goon and what else? Matt talked at me for like twenty-five minutes and then I yelled at his retreating car for another fifteen but he didn't hear any of it, I bet.

I tried though.)

Matt, we went dry for Sam. We hold him up when he wants to sit on the cold ground. We surround him with love and support, with affection and loyalty and comfort when you're too busy changing out your winter to spring wardrobe and probably going for a hot shave, as it's all about you all the time.

Sam puts everyone else first, as do the rest of us and that's why you never fit in here. That's why you stood out, resisting our efforts to welcome you like family. But since you resisted please understand you know nothing about us and anything you do know is a gift. You talk such a good game though. You made so many empty promises to that man. You should stop throwing words around now because they hurt but only if we hear them and they stopped listening when you started yelling and I couldn't hear you because I don't, all that well. And we don't need that now, not from you.

You're not going to hurt him. You've done enough. You made your choice, you're not part of us anymore. Please go away.

It's complicated. Still.

I'll smile, I know what it takes to fool this town
I'll do it 'til the sun goes down
And all through the night time,
Oh, yeah, I'll tell you what you want to hear
I'll turn my head and shed a tear
It's never the right time, yeah

I'll put my armor on,
Show you how strong I am...

(Well, fuck it. I broke the song.)

I feel as if we've reached the part of life where we look up overhead, into the sky in time to see the Kaiju fight the Jaeger. They wreck a bunch of stuff, suffer wounds and retreat back to their own sides, with a solid divide in between to keep them apart perpetually.

There's an analogy for a sleepy, rainy Monday in which I've had four hours, maybe three of sleep and have an absolute mountain of work to do and I don't think I want to talk anymore, for that's all I ever do and I find it tiring.

Batman is angry about Caleb.

Not your concern, I say it flippantly, looking straight ahead. If I bluff maybe I'll get out of this alive.

Oh, it's my concern. I didn't even get a whole breath and I'm dead as the oxygen is sucked up through the atmosphere and out into space.

Cole is dead. You don't have to soldier for him anymore. 

I'm not defending him. I'm trying to defend you. 

You don't lead this army. 

I would if you'd let me. Especially when Lochlan hasn't been here. I don't think he's even willing to notice how Caleb creeps in around the edges of your life, attaching himself to you-

Stop it. Please. 

Bridget, you can't let Cale have these sweeping gestures. 

Oh, I get it.

Get what?

You're jealous. 

It's not jealousy. It's concern. 

Okay. 

I don't say anymore as I turn on my heel and walk home. I deployed that last word and I'd like to keep it, a boomerang of loyalty that won't stick to Batman no matter how hard he tries. The only thing between us is the nostalgia of a brief moment in which we learned what life would be like with money and we never looked back. Or rather, the moment Cole got so much worse and Caleb shifted from tormentor to savior and everything got so fucked and lost we never found our way back at all.

When I return the creep in question is in the kitchen, harassing PJ, who just returned from his own trip and talking with Lochlan, who doesn't seem to recognize anyone or anything and is all fucked up in his routine and where to put dirty plates and what times the dog goes out, every manner of a decided level of exhaustion that trumps common sense.

Between the three of them I'm about to get crushed by the present too, it seems.

Amazing how men straighten up and unconsciously flex when I walk into a room. As if I'm the final boss they have to fight. All five-feet-nothing, one hundred pounds of me. Hell, if you're not looking square into the doorway you'd miss me coming in, if the truth were known.

And it is. No one's in denial here.

Hey, Ugly-

Peanut-

Neamhchiontach-

One nod, two searching looks and I keep walking because suddenly I'm scared and I'm overwhelmed so I make some excuse about letting the dog in and I walk out the back door, across the patio, down the path next door to the still-empty pool and I climb down the ladder and jump off the final rung to the bottom and walk to the center, sitting cross-legged in the shallow puddle of rain and I close my eyes. If I do that they can't see me. They can't hear me. They can't find me.

A voice next to my ear makes me scream suddenly as I don't hear people when they sneak up on me and my head was already off in my imaginary land, doing other things.

Bridge.

My eyes fly open expecting Cole, getting Lochlan, who is on his own, now in two inches of water in his good shoes. But he doesn't care. I don't care. It's a relief suddenly that grounds me again. Centering me where I want to be in life when I rarely seem to know.

He smiles hopefully. At least you stayed in the shallow end like I told you to.

Jesus petrichor.

Long day with church, brunch, Avengers Infinity War and a long walk around the neighborhood while I tried and failed to reassure Batman of anything and he of I. So we called it an impasse and I'm home now with a million chores to do and a lot of Lochlan to catch up on.

Eight straight.

That's a perfect battle song for you, Peanut.

He said this last night in the dark, in the pouring rain as he went past me up the porch, lugging two laptop bags, a laptop not in a bag and three travel mugs. All his things from the latest job. Finished.

(Anything else goes to Schuy, and the new team he's set up. Because as much as I didn't want Lochlan to be gone all the time for months on end, Lochlan himself had no interest in doing another huge project but then got caught up in the big numbers to do it and the endless pragmatism he needs to bring to his life to keep himself under control. He wanted it done right. And he has self-control. I don't. It's something every serial daydreamer needs to learn to function in society so he learned both his own and mine, on my behalf, and I learned exactly nothing.)

He went upstairs and crashed hard into bed, dropping his things on the floor just inside the door. Probably not noticing that the Devil was already there, because when Caleb found out how upset I was over this he moved in. Probably not noticing the windows all open to welcome that cool rain. Probably not noticing he didn't bring me with him.

I followed him upstairs, stripping everything off, leaving my clothes on the floor, crawling up the center of the bed where we formed a sleeping sandwich. A CB&L, which is what? Something bacon and lettuce. Something I can't label.

Ciabatta. Caleb says it sleepily from the dark and I burst out laughing.

Shut up, please, guys. My head is splitting. Lochlan replies and we settle in close in the dark, Caleb's cool hand around Lochlan's forehead, from underneath my neck, my hands clasped around Lochlan's neck from behind piggyback-style, my legs tucked in behind his, Lochlan's arm thrown back to clutch my hip against him as we all spoon on our lefts. Love you, he whispers and he's out.

I've been in some strange places in my life but this is definitely at the top. Then I'm asleep and it proves to be the best sleep of my entire life, bar none.

Ironically, the album is called...(wait for it) 'Gone'.

I'll put my armor on,
Show you how strong I am
I'll put my armor on,
I'll show you that I am

I'm unstoppable
I'm running with no brakes
I'm invincible
Yeah, I win every single game
I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident
I'm unstoppable today

What a roller coaster of a weird week. So much happened, let me see if I can wrap it up neatly, since it's Friday, it's still sunny and eventually Lochlan...has to stop working, right?

Please?

Because FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

I burned the roses. Lit 'em up like the fourth of July and Schuyler laughed in spite of himself. Nothing says love like soaking flowers in fuel, let me tell you, and then striking one of the big wooden firepit matches against the brickwork and setting everything within reach aflame. If it can burn it went up. It makes me feel close to Lochlan when he isn't home. Clearly I couldn't get access to his zippo lighter so I had to take measures into my own hands.

They understand. Sometimes my make-believe life runs in slow motion, crashing into real life with magnificent, cello-noted, piano-drenched frustration to mark the worst of the destruction.

(Speaking of which, did you hear the new Red album? From last October I mean. I'm trying to keep up, here, cut me a little break. It features the regular cover version of Unstoppable and then a beautiful acoustic version that put me on my ass. Bless you guys for these softer versions of such heavy recordings. But there's more. Let it keep playing and the next song is a remix of Step Inside, The Violence that is just fucking NUTS.)

(Also a weird side note: Anyone else think Kevin Matisyn formerly of Evans Blue sounds just like Michael Barnes of Red when he sings? Kind of a glorious little discovery. Like extra albums from each band, though I had to abandon EB when they lost Kevin.)

This week the Leafs stepped out of the playoffs. It was a good run but in game seven against the Bruins it all fell apart. Don't blame Gardiner. He did his best.

ABBA reunited. What the fuck. This is great. They are Daniel's favorite band. Don't tell him I told you that.

North and South Korea are about to stop a war that's been going on since before even Caleb was born. I hate the news but this made me feel like there's hope for the planet. Or it did until I kept reading the news (Disclaimer: I don't read the news. Too sad. Too awful. I'd rather remain in my bubble. I also feel things and take them on like a weight so it's just better if I skip all of it altogether) only to see Yellowstone is going to blow up soon or space junk is going to fall and we're all doomed anyway.

On my list this week is to buy a bunch of chargers for my phone and in the event of a major catastrophe I'll still have music to soothe myself while I wait for Lochlan.

It's the only thing that works anymore.

Rainbow roses.

It's twenty-five fucking degrees.

Yes? 

Can we not fill the pool? 

No, the temperatures will be back down to seasonal by the weekend. 

The pool is heated!

I said no, Bridget. How many tantrums are you going to throw this week, anyway?

GAH.

To make me feel better Ben tossed me off the cliff into the sea, which might have been twenty-five degrees below zero and I may have screamed, swallowed a whole lot of water and burst an eardrum. Which..great.

Spent the afternoon getting a lecture and some drops for my ear. Got an offer of discounted plastic surgery (again). God. What a day.

Schuyler sent flowers. I was confused for a few moments. The doctor just left. How would he know already? Then I read the card which read: He'll be off at 3. This is on me. Don't be angry with him. (Meaning Lochlan.)

I look at the clock. It's four-fifteen.

Lochlan calls. Schuy said he sent flowers. 

Yes, they're beautiful. Clearly they were fertilized with whatever he's full of. He said you'd be off at three. 

Just last minute fixes. 

I understand. 

No you don't. He laughs. But I will be home soon. What are you up to? 

Well, earlier my ex-husband violently threw me off a high cliff into the sea. The doctor said I never would have survived it anyway but then the Devil brought me back to life just enough for conversation and now we're arguing over the perks of being rich and how much power is too much power when all I want to do is put water in the pool already but I'm dead so I have no authority here presently.

So your typical Thursday?

Yes.

Alone in outer space.

Castaway
My cries are blocked by the horizon
Suffocate
I was doing this all for you

I'm in the shallows
Stuck in the gallows
I tried to save you now I'm swallowed
You wanted war
I am the war
I alone

My apologies. Yesterday I melted down and today I'm someone else. Poured myself into a new mold and I'm just trying to keep my shape as I get bent right out of it so easily.

Lochlan got called back to work nary a breath after saying he was off and I. lost. my. mind. The sad part here is that he said he was on call. But I wanted people fired. I wanted heads to roll down the street like bowling balls. I told him he wasn't special. That anyone with basic IT skills can make a network work and what the fuck, why can't they leave him alone now?

(I was truly the biggest little asshole ever.)

No, of course they can't. Sometimes projects run over. Schuyler jumped the gun on letting him go when they need a day, maybe three to iron out some issues. Sometimes people live in the grownup world where life ticks along and you're expected to contribute, be professional and do your part, Bridget.

Except I'm not like that. I like in a magical world of daydreams and stars and I don't contribute to the normie noise. Never have save for that brief decade when I attempted to be a functional adult and look where that got me. Jesus. Never again.

I want to look into space. I want to feel the sun. I want to have everyone I love around me while we lie on our backs and I show them the sky. I want to not worry about ringing alarms, intrusive phones, rumbling bellies, antsy dogs, stratospheric bills and endless numbing rain. I don't want to do new math. I don't want to cook green beans. I don't want to get the winter tires off the trucks. I don't want to say goodbye.

I don't want to say goodbye.

I want to be little forever, running along hopping into his shadow and yet somehow I've almost kept that stature while losing the absolution of being a child. One minute they protect me, let me off the hook, take away all the things I don't like and the next minute I'm expected to grow up, be accountable, put in my presence as a dot on the map of an average, ordinary day in the universe that shouldn't revolve around me, but does just enough for me to find the light before I'm flung off again, into the dark.

I don't feel like writing anything but today isn't a total loss, since Starset put out an acoustic version of Ricochet. The rock version is INSANE, but this is so beautiful and completely perfect too. With headphones. Incredibly loud. Don't know which one I like better, but thankfully I don't have to choose.

Moms I'd like to fool.

Lochlan wasn't the least bit upset about Duncan (who is still there, by the way, in our bed, enjoying a change of scenery or maybe catching up on sleep or maybe he's doing exactly what he told me and fulfilling some errant daydream of a true communal lifestyle, which for him clearly includes sleeping all day, waking up for food and sex and passing her around because sometimes, man, you just gotta hand off the fun and take a moment to appreciate where you are in life.)

I love him the best right now. I'd much rather he call me man than Mom, okay? That irks me to no end. He's older than I am.

Lochlan did not want to linger in bed. He wants to Do Things. He's a stupidly-early-morning person when he gets into the habit and he needs to be productive. I pointed out his brain/body/mind/eyes probably needs a break and he agreed and then went straight out to buy some engine parts for the latest motorhome he is fixing up. Then we went for breakfast. Then he needed a new phone and made an eye appointment and wondered out loud if he should make a dental one too and then we went back out and did a little grocery shopping (where he smiled at me so contently, and said God, I missed this) and he's been affectionate and not fatherly and not angry and not tired and I lasted about seven hours before I stopped in my tracks and said Okay that's enough. What's gotten into you? 

He smiled again. Guess when I go back to work?

Monday. Please don't say Monday, I was really hoping you'd have more than a week. 

Not Monday. 

Is it...the Monday after that?

No, Peanut. 

I cover my face. Oh my gosh! You've got THREE weeks off? 

My next project is in October. 

Bullshit. Don't say that if you're going to take something on before then. You keep telling me you're taking a break or stopping and then you don't and I-

Bridget. Ask Schuyler. Or Batman. Ask everyone, they all know already. I was trying to make it a surprise. 

WELL IT WORKED. 

I thought you hated surprises. 

I do but I love it when you're home. 

I thought you'd like that. 

Yeah. He's smiling ear to ear while I'm crying. We've worked so hard to be weird but this, this seemed so normal for once.

Fairweather fiends.

I'm holding on
I'm holding on to you
My world is wrong
My world is a lie that's come true
And I fall in love with the ones that run me through
When all along all I need is you

That feeling when you've sung a lyric wrong for close to ten years is a joke to some people. To me it's just one more reminder of my shortcomings, something vital and precious that's soon to leave me. That will be a grief of a whole different kind but for now I've got my headphones on in church and they're on rather loud, though you can't hear them sitting right beside me because Ben chose these ones specifically and he knows what works for every occasion.

He squeezes my hand. I got him out of bed to go to church, he's loaded us up on fresh hot forbidden coffee in return and Sam isn't going to say a word about these headphones because we brought him coffee too. He's been a stranger lately while he sorts himself out and I miss him but I also replaced him for the time being with Duncan who woke up and laughed because no, he didn't want to go to church so we left him there in our bed to wear off the high of sleeping on the coveted third floor. Or whatever the draw is. Can't be me. I'm not whole. God's not going to make me whole, Duncan's certainly not and really there's no hope but I put on a pretty dress anyway and showed up with a smile because that's what you do. Life isn't hopeless, after all. It can be a rollercoaster though, that's for sure.

Speaking of coasters, Lochlan leans his head in between Ben and I. I feel his presence a heartbeat before that happens, a teenage thrill that runs up the back of my neck and that gives me hope that the sound of life will be replaced easily by bigger feels, stronger intuition, bulletproof telepathy when now it's somewhat unreliable, spotty coverage, like wifi on the point.

Guess who's on vacation? 

It's finished?

My part, yes. I don't have to go back. I'm only on call until Tuesday and Schuy said if anyone calls me they'll be fired. 

He climbs over the bench to sit on my other side, arm curling around me, pulling me in tight. What did I miss? 

I smile because I wonder if he's been home. We're here for appearances. 

Ben laughs, No, we're here to prop up Sam. 

Sam's doing better. 

It goes past appearances, I remind him of what I just said. He needs to know we've got him. 

I think he knows. He motions to Sam who comes over and leans toward us to hear whatever murmurs we're about to have with him when Lochlan grabs him fully and pulls him right over the bench into his lap.

How are you doing, Preacher? 

Good. Good. Nice to have you here. I need to see your faces today. He grins sheepishly, kissing Lochlan's cheek. He stands up and hugs me for a long time and moves along to Ben for a hug. Ben kisses him on the lips possibly with tongues involved and holds him hard while he does.

Oh. I love to watch these things.

Sam laughs with tears in his eyes. I needed that too. And Ben laughs and claps him gently on the back, letting him out of the row. We sit back down and listen as the whispers spool up behind us from those who disapprove of what I don't know. I'm sheltered. Maybe they think affection and church mix like oil and water. Maybe they think people shouldn't show their feelings. Maybe there should be no visible love between brothers. Maybe preachers shouldn't fall in love with their landladies and spend time in their beds. Maybe they can go fuck themselves. I'm not here for them. I'm not even here for God. I'm here because I want to support my friend who has supported me since forever and I'm not going to apologize for a goddamned thing anymore.

Except maybe replacing him with Duncan because I'm sure that will come up later. Whoops.

Bridget's not cool Vol. 73645246726

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

It says DEAF BEFORE DECAF.

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

Roger that.

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

Oh well. On to brighter and better things soon.

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

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

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

There's no place like Rome.

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

I know, right?

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

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

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

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

My hashbrowns read my future and other Thursday stories.

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

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

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

Why are you afraid of me?

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

Wow.

Yeah.

Want me to walk you back?

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

Catch you later.

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

Yes. We heard it on Friday.

I didn't hear THAT.

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

Coffee.

Jesus, Bridge.

Asher doesn't know that rule.

Ah yes. How is Batman?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah.

Let's go out for breakfast.

If we do that I'll want more coffee.

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

I always forget about that.

Yes, I know.

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

Fearless moral inventories (Bridget anonymous).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why not? 

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

They're not going to climb the eavestroughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bridget. 

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

Bridget, I'm sorry. 

The sea is so blue-

BRIDGET. 

WHAT?!

Look at me.

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Will we be up for church tomorrow?

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

He has a point.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back downstairs and still no people.

Empty, I tell you. What a gift.

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

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

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

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

The hell is this. He says it quietly.

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

Where's Lochlan? 

WORKING. 

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

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

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

Did I?

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

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

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

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

Post selfless.

Wait
Wait
Wait
For wings

Now
Run
Run
From me

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

What is this?!

Godflesh. 

Figures. 

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

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

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

Yes, it is. 

So we can blame our small town upbringings? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of their dance or something else?

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

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

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

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

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

You can ask him, you know. 

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

You two are children. 

Yes. 

I can bring him in and we can talk together. 

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

Not when my friend is hurting. 

Your friend is always hurting. 

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

Selling them the fear of hell and fairy tales absurd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I like this. 

Well okay then. 

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

Caleb thought I would love it.

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

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

I think I like to clean.

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

Disciples, discipline (Jesus referee).

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

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

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

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

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

Do you want me to go to them?

You can do that?

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

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

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

It is. 

You would have left me for Loch anyway. 

Probably. But you'd still be here. 

Yes. Like the rest. 

Then come back. 

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

He's not going to hurt me. 

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

Oh. I didn't think of that. 

It blows my mind that no one suggested that. 

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

Bridget, I-

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

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

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

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

***

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

What is it, Neamhchiontach. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Indigo people.

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

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

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

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

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

Sam believes that too.

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

Tiny Friday scaries, tiny Friday braves.

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

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

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

Loch said just not to talk about the ring.

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

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

Forced into silence I called Joel.

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

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

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

I go see Caleb.

Where is the ring?

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

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

Making what official? 

Girlfriend/boyfriend status? He laughs.

Which means the pressure's on now, huh. 

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

Then you should ask Ben to marry you. 

He's not my type. 

Too big? 

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

I told you. I lost it. 

You didn't. 

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

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

The traitor. 

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

Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. 

So you put it in a glass. 

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

What? 

The Canucks. 

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

You can go get it if you want. 

Don't go anywhere, Bridget. 

What if I do? 

You'll wish you hadn't. 

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

And yet here we are.

Shotgun picks the music, driver shuts his cakehole.

What are you running from?
Taking pills to get along
Creating walls to call your own
So no one catches you drifting off and
Doing all the things that we all do

Caleb is driving, therefore I get to put on playlists as loud as they will go. This one is called YESTERDAYS, which means every song has the word Yesterday in the title. It's ridiculous. I only turn it up until I can feel the melody in my very blood and no further, though if you ask those with perfect hearing they may claim it's a volume that hurts. They're not wrong. It hurts me too and I like it.

We have business downtown. I keep saying he should summon everyone to the point instead, because even the bankers will come to you now but he prefers to keep business in offices and keep home for not working much at all anymore. We split up for two meetings, meeting back up for the third and end with brunch, which to him is a good enough reason to head downtown. We find a patio that isn't even open for the season as of yet but he speaks with someone and soon we are seated alone outside under the first turns of the newly serviced heaters. Every place has them here. We have them at home. It makes a nice difference but I leave my coat on nonetheless. Might have to make a quick getaway. Might have to make sure my food isn't poisoned. Might have to face this firing squad of one as he calmly reloads, missing me by a hair's breadth over and over again.

Why this song? 

It's sad. It hurts. 

And this is good?

Oh, yes. It also has no history for me. I like that part more. 

I remember this, I think. You were out of school.

Yes. 

I was already practicing. 

Yes. 

Seems like a million years ago. 

Twenty years. 

Jesus Christ. Do you not SEE how time is speeding past? He begins to speed. I jumped forty feet when he yelled. I would have launched myself out of the car had it featured a sunroof.

Diabhal, please slow dow-

Keep the fucking ring, Bridget. Know that it represents all of my promises to you with assurances that I don't expect more than I have but I want to-no, I NEED to legitimatize this relationship and the only way I can see to do that is to have you wear a ring from me. 

If you were secure in your own-

It's not for me. It's for you. And I ran it by Lochlan. He didn't care. 

Don't believe him because he's lying to you. 

Maybe he and the rest of the Collective enjoy the lifestyle they've become accustomed to. Maybe the threat of losing it on a whim by a girl with a head full of stars and cotton candy is a difficult threat to live under every single day. 

Then maybe you should give them rings and they would have that security. 

They believe in you, Bridget. 

Well, that's dumb. But I say it under my breath, facing away from him, looking out the window at the cold rain on the streets as we drive home. The ring is heavy on my finger but heavier on my heart.

Let's talk about anything but my love life today, okay?

I finished Hoffman's Rules of Magic. Yes, I know it took me over four months but some nights I don't get to read. Well, most nights I don't get to read, not to mention it took me a good two hundred and fifty pages to even like the book. It was difficult to catch onto and I felt like the first half was a rehash of it's sequel, Practical Magic, with scant interest in the main characters (the aunts, Frannie and Jet (short for BRIDGET *screams*)) and their brother Vincent. Until their aunt dies and BOOM. The book comes to life and I cry and I sob and then more people die and it's so beautiful suddenly and it ends right where Practical Magic picks up which is a perfect place to stop and I don't know if I could be an Alice Hoffman fan or not. She weaves a good story, albeit with a massive slow build I wasn't expecting, and has moments of pure brilliance in her writing that take one's breath away but surrounding that is a mountain of lazy editing, in that the repetition, the detail doesn't hold my attention.

Will try a third one of hers, though, since I think it's me.

But up next is Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked. I haven't been this excited about a book since Geek Love, honestly. It takes a lot to get me to go looking for a book. They usually find me. 

C8H11NO2

Until I get proof that you've taken it back.

I can't. I told you, it's bespoke.

Then sell it.

Bridget-

Sell it for parts. You can sell loose diamonds, have the metal melted back down, sell it by weight. There's a way. Stop being difficult.

He laughs. I'm being difficult.

Yes, you are. You know where we stand and it isn't at the place you've made in your head.

It isn't at the one you've made either. He isn't smiling anymore.

But mine wins.

Bridget, I don't play by their rules.

You don't have to play by their rules. You have to play by mine. Stop being all menacing and just take it back! JESUS. 

He laughs again. I love you when you're desperate and frustrated. You revert right back to that stubborn ten-year-old.

I grab my phone and walk out. I tried. Guess we're done. He did indeed wear me down. Just not in the way he thought he would.

Hyperextensibles.

Ben woke me out of sound sleep last night, pulling me away from Lochlan, up into his arms, pressing his face into the space between my ear and my shoulder, exhaling as he held me so tight he would have to breathe for both of us, because I couldn't any longer and that's what woke me up.

He put me down underneath him, pulling my arms up around his neck, forcing my legs around his hips, kissing me softly as he moved to become a part of me. I pulled myself up hard against him and I'm no longer touching the earth, just Ben. It's a memory come back to life. He's still here. He still breathes. He still reaches for me in the way I reach for him.

One arm pulls me up so hard I don't have any control anymore, before being pushed back down just as hard, pinned tightly underneath him. His eyes are huge in the dark but he doesn't say anything, he just wants to make sure I'm awake.

I nod without words. Who needs words? We don't.

An eternity later we're up, sitting together, limbs tangled, euphoria achieved. I'm afraid I might be hurt if I move. He won't let that happen. I lock my arms around his neck tightly to protect myself as he holds me up slightly, bringing me down just enough that he loses his grip on the night completely, sliding into the dark, taking me with him. He gets up and forces me back down on my face, pulling me up away from earth again. I feel Lochlan's hands take mine and he is there and no way. Not doing this. Ben puts his hand over my eyes, pulling my head back against his chest. No no no. I flail against Lochlan's arms but he presses his head against mine, just above Ben's hand.

We won't hurt you, he promises but I don't believe him. Instead I fight and Ben pulls me back, flipping me down onto my back, pinning my arms and legs.

It's fine. 

I shake my head. Lochlan smooths my bangs back, whispering shhhh against my temple. Headphones are put on me and I close my eyes and dive deep down into the music where they can't find me.

I feel myself pulled up into thin air and Lochlan is behind me now. They stroke my head, my face, my skin. Once the goosebumps go away, once I stop fighting, once I forget and go back to the music, all muscles relaxed, they take over and I let them.

I can't breathe. The music is so loud. We're moving but we're not moving. Lochlan's arms are locked around me so hard I feel like my ribs will break but it's also the least of my worries somehow.

The sensory overload kills me dead and I am resurrected all in the same night. If only it were this easy. If only this were easy. If only. Easy. If. 

Sweet fools, glittery Jesus.

I woke up hoping for a miracle but prepared for a lot of work. Easter is busy, but April Fools is busier. I was pouring coffee and passing out waffles to a lot of not-ready-for-church goers when someone pointed out a PWC was coming in from somewhere, to our docks.

We all went outside and there was the big bunny, in an ill-fitting new suit, with a wetsuit underneath and a backpack. It was one of our waverunners, and now I need another bunny head, since this one isn't going to survive the spray. I just replaced it last year in time for Batman's turn too. They're very expensive.

The bunny charged up the stairs, breaking into various boys' signature runs to keep us guessing as we did random head counts and tried to figure out who it was. Who was missing. Who's turn it was.

Once the bunny got close enough he began to drill eggs at the boys. Underhand, overhand, he passed a few out gently, he left a few on the steps. He dropped the backpack and came to me, dipping me backwards, low, before leaving me upright with a big foil-wrapped chocolate egg in my hands and he took off up the driveway, never to be seen again.

We collected the eggs that weren't handed specifically to a person and piled back inside to finish breakfast. No one could figure out by the body type or walk who it was. Maybe Batman again? Maybe we hired an outside performer? Where is Loch, oh, no, there he is. No, the bunny was too tall anyway to be Loch, that's for certain.

They were all still marvelling as they went to get ready for church, and it wasn't until they went to put their wallets and phones in pockets that they realized everything was filled with glitter. Soft glitter. Undangerous glitter I now buy in buckets. Shirt pockets, breast pockets. Watch pockets. Everything is full.

We get to church and Sam is already there, trying to shop-vac glitter off himself in time for early resurrection rained-in service. The most sombre and exciting of all. I always hope it will be Jake but I've learned to eat that anticipation so that I don't disappoint his friends when it isn't. Maybe today will be different. What an ultimate, cruel April Fools joke that would be. He would win everything.

But he didn't come back so we group ourselves around the collection plate when it comes down our row and fill it with eggs, and since it's full, PJ returns it to the front, leaving it on the table, fetching a new one to pass to the row behind us.

Sam is wrapping up his service when the first chick hatches, a fuzzy little wobbly-damp orange blob in the collection plate. Then they all do over the next fifteen minutes and Sam is overrun with sleepy new baby chicks that we quickly help him scoop up to put in a large box.

He grins from ear to ear as he tells the congregation to have peaceful easters (knowing ours won't be) and that God loves them.

We were home and having second coffee, kids were finally up (they don't go to church much) and telling them of our exciting morning as several of the boys did house checks to figure out who the heck the bunny was.

They couldn't tell for certain but Andrew came in as the biggest contender. Right size, and hasn't been the bunny in a very long time. But until he confirms or denies we have to wait.

Sam finally gets in, the box of chicks taken happily back by a nearby hobby farm up the other side of the cove who I've been working with to find timely eggs. Sam is still covered with glitter mostly, complaining that it made him look like he just rolled in from a bar or something and put on a suit and went straight to church but I said it made him look like a Twilight vampire instead and he laughed for so long he was no longer annoyed.

When, over brunch the boys came to the conclusion finally that I must have hired someone to be the bunny this year I finally spilled the jellybeans, even as we were interrupted by PJ pouring juice and swearing that there was glitter in fucking EVERYTHING here, (which makes me so fucking happy actually but don't worry, in the food it's food-grade cake glitter, just enough to make its presence known, not enough to change the taste of anything. Much.)

It was someone who lives here. It was one of us. 

Everyone's accounted for! Someone's lying! Where was August when the bunny hit the grass? Maybe it was more than one person? The questions rose up and I started to laugh. Been waiting forever to pull this one off.

I can't believe we fooled you-

TELL US! 

Henry stands up and waves, and I hold out my arms to indicate him and bow, for this was the best April Fools ever. And possibly the sweetest, because for the first time they saw him as one of the brothers, and not as a child. He really isn't a child anymore. He's bigger than half of them and now they see he's faster too.

Hang on to your britches, bitches.

Emmett has brought me a large coffee every single morning that he's been here since Wednesday. I've never had such a productive week. Eventually someone's going to tell him it's a bad idea and he'll apologetically stop but for now it's nice. He's trying to bond with me. I'm not dumb. If you asked him behind my back he would say he's just trying to make this transition easier and being polite to the owner of the house, plus it gives her a chance to voice concerns if he can check in each morning. That's what he will say when you ask, trust me.

I give them to Lochlan after drinking a quarter of them and I'm still contemplating painting the house while I single-handedly do massive spring cleaning jobs and Lochlan repeatedly wonders aloud why caffeine is such an incredible boost to me when no other medication seems to do a damned thing. They're practically fogging me with horse tranquilizers to get me to sleep half the time and so this is a strange turn for certain.

But the work is almost done. And I'm glad for the fact that for the next two days no workmen will be here and neither will Emmett which will mean no coffee curses but also a lot of room to plan and exact the biggest mashup of holidays in the history of this collective: April Fools' Day and Easter Sunday, falling on the same day for the first time EVER in our lives.

We're all doomed. It's going to be great. I'm ready. I think they are too.