Understanding owners.

Emmett went to my house to settle up with Caleb this morning and then somehow ended up at my work, inviting me out for breakfast, lunch or dinner to apologize for the overrun and overtime and overbearing noise. The boys aren't allowed to come to where I work. If they do I'd take my apron off and walk out the door and go home with them so it's better if I don't see their faces while I miss them.

You want to take everyone out for dinner? Like all of us?

No, just you. 

Should I ask my husband? 

That mean you want to go? 

Honestly? No. But I think you don't understand I'm not single. 

From what I understand it's open?

Not in the slightest. 

Then I've misunderstood. 

It happens. 

Friendly work dinner? 

Not this time. 

Unfriendly brunch then? We can scowl at each other?

Emmett. 

Explain it to me? 

I don't have to do that. 

But outsiders aren't welcome. You're a closed group. 

I tread so carefully. We have those who have joined late but...not for me, specifically. 

Now I understand. 

I hope so. 

Well, then, let me say good afternoon and it's been a pleasure to work on this project and even moreso a pleasure to meet you. 

Take care. 

You too. 

I let him see himself out while I took a peek into the envelope of invoices and receipts he left me with. Then I hear a familiar voice in front of me.

You did well, Neamhchiontach. 

Oh, was that a test? Next time let me know so I can study for it. 

I thought he reminded you of Ben. 

Well, he does. But that doesn't mean I'm going to invite him to stay. Now do you want a coffee to go or will you just leave so I can get back to work?

Irredeemable (and not sorry).

I've been up since six, on my day off, which still counts as sleeping in since my alarm is usually going off at five-twenty. Sam was already awake.

(Snort.)

Happy Mother's Day, he whispers and Lochlan stirs almost telepathically, snaking his arm back around me and pulling me away from Sam. Sam gets up to go but leans down to kiss my forehead. See you in a bit, he says.

Busy day. Church will be packed. Every mom gets a beautiful flower and a package of seeds to grow more at home. Sam will talk of how mothers are spiritual in their own right, unselfish and nuturing and that today we celebrate motherhood. I roll my eyes and laugh to myself at the thought, as my own children will stay home sleeping in, in the sun on the point and haven't been to church for months, as they are allowed to choose whether or not they go and at this age it's a solid nah, but they will if Sam really wants them to. Sam lets them off the hook. He didn't go when he was their age either. They'll join us when they are ready again. He's fairly confident and so I let him lead.

Ben sleeps on. Lochlan sleeps on. I don't really want to go today. Too crowded. Parking sucks. Sam will be stuck there until two so I'd have to bring my own car. I text him at eight to let him know I'm sleeping in and he cuts and pastes an all-caps litany about eschewing Christ from some Fundamentalist website spanning some fifteen pages into my text messages. I laugh and put my phone down.

An actual day off.

I look around.

Huh.

Not sure what to do first. Make another cup of coffee or bring some juice out to the pool, since we don't have the outdoor kitchen stocked yet. Stay in and read or go out to the hammock and nap? Sit on the front porch and draw or finish the laundry and get ahead for the week?

Laundry wins, as I head downstairs and throw in a load of towels. I can have coffee and draw while the washer does it's thing, killing two birds with one stone.

My plans are thwarted when I reach the laundry room downstairs, running into Dalton in his pajama pants, sorting t-shirts from jeans, sporting his customary Sunday brunch boner. He's a rager in the mornings. He's super-sexual. Worse than me sometimes but also...better. Ha.

Sorry. I can wait if you want to put a load in.We both burst out laughing because we're horrible people.

Go ahead, Dalt. You look like you're ready anyway. (I can hold my own with the boys. They raised me on this humor.)

Wait. Are we still talking about chores here? Also Happy Mother's Day. He leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

Yes, we're talking about chores. 

Damn. Too bad. He says and he smiles, hits the button on the washer and heads back down the hall.

I would have followed but I'm trying to follow Sam's description from the sermon he practiced earlier in which I am supposed to be 'unselfish'.

Christ, indeed.

He didn't die.

We brought Caleb home with us, inside the main house and we hung out in the great room so I could keep an eye on him for a bit. He went with us upstairs to sleep last night. He woke up with us when the sun poured through the blinds I forgot to close and he is indeed okay but I needed that time to see for myself.

Sometimes he's the worst monster and sometimes he's the best, as he wolfed down the eggs and bacon I made for the house and brought upstairs for him, proclaiming it to be the best breakfast he's ever had.

I'll return the favor tomorrow, Neamhchiontach. It's Mother's Day. 

I shake my head. You won't be here tonight. 

Sad to hear that, he says but he knows better.

Lochlan felt a little bad, but not too bad. Ben didn't feel bad at all but then I realized briefly that Ben could have also gotten hurt on the jump to the water and what would we have done then? With PJ too busy laughing and no one else handy. What if all three of them had gone in and gotten hurt?

Odds are small, Peanut. Lochlan doesn't want to talk about it anymore. He doesn't want me to write about it, think about it, dwell on it or worry about it any more. He says we should move on and enjoy our weekend together because then I'll go back to work on Monday and he's going to miss me.


This job of yours has really thrown the whole Collective for a loop. 

Why? 

Why? Well, the thought of you busting your ass for a measly eleven dollars an hour-

Plus tips.

Plus tips, and the fact that you're out of arms reach all day and struggling to figure it out alone when we'd all prefer you to stick close and not have to fight so hard to get through the day is tough. It goes against everything I am. 

But you haven't said to stop. 

I'm letting you figure it out. I raised you well. If it's good for you, you'll be fine and if it's not you'll tell me. 

I will. I promise. 

Hard to let go of you, Peanut. 

You didn't. Jesus. I go to the diner, I put on an apron and serve breakfast and sometimes lunch and then I come home. To you. 

Thank God for that.

Fight club (thanks for a great day off, guys).

I don't think I'm the feral one after all, though some will say they found me in the corner of a boxcar, lifting the corner of a crate to find me crouched underneath, filthy, unable to speak English and clutching a cone of blue cotton candy. That I grunted something, screamed and tried to run but Lochlan caught me and taught me the words I needed and I fell in love with him and grew up. But when pushed I revert back, so the story goes and this morning, well, I've got the caged look and monosyllable responses down cold.

Both Caleb and Cole were raised to act out their negative emotions physically and I don't understand how that happens. How do you raise a child to lash out in anger and then soften in tender moments to the point where the violence from a moment ago melts away?

I asked him this but he told me he didn't know. He isn't saying much either today, except sorry a lot. No excuses, just that fucking word. Four different letters that don't mean much. He's been saying it since I was eleven and he first cornered me in the camper.

Sorry. 

I didn't mean to. 

I didn't know it would change you. 

I was drunk. 

It's your fault I'm like this. 

Sorry. 

Sorry. 

Sorry. 

Keep the gun, you'll need it out here. There are people like me everywhere and that's one of the reasons I didn't want him to bring you.

I don't hear the sorrys the way normal people do, I guess. Not anymore. Maybe it's just a part of life. Maybe Boxcar Bridget didn't have such an easy life and maybe the fact that I do now in so many ways is a beautiful ending to a terrible tragedy. Maybe it's something I can't get used to and that's why I went screaming back to blue collars and campers so fast, so easily. Maybe it's why I'm more comfortable around old guys with weathered visages and plaid shirts. Farmers. Carnies. Working folk. People who don't have much, if anything. People who aren't so spoiled they can't see the reason for things, they can't control things, they don't understand things and are offended by that.

Maybe people raised with nothing are less demanding. Less judging. Less of everything, sure but better in so many ways.

Caleb's fine though. Lochlan dragged him out of the boathouse, down the steps, across the driveway and the grass too. PJ watched and did nothing which he probably lives for. I think Dalton filmed it to show Duncan. Ben followed them to make sure they wouldn't actually finish each other off, as Caleb is bigger than Lochlan and so Ben was standing close by as Lochlan pushed Caleb right to the edge of the cliff, finger in his face, words flying. Thick red Scottish rage making him unintelligible. To his credit Caleb seemed deflated, unable to push back, unable to defend his undefendable position. He got rough, he has to pay for that. Violence against me is unacceptable. To them. It feels normal to me. It's just the way he is.

(Sorry, Bridget. You just look so pretty when you cry.)

(What a liar.)

Lochlan leaned him way out over the cliff until they were finished the discussion and then started to pull him back and Ben, still pissed off, reached over Loch and shoved Caleb off the edge.

Caleb landed headfirst on a wayward log that was in the water.

Ben then had to go in after him to save his life. Caleb took in a lot of water, has a nasty concussion and was short of breath so we went to the hospital for many, many hours then we brought him home.

Then the sorrys began. but no excuses because he has nothing left.

Caleb is just a monster. One I've spent my life trying to stop being afraid of. One I'll never outrun. That was worse so I've tried to embrace him instead and it's been very hard on me. You don't get it. You'll never get it and that's okay. And Lochlan's grace just shut off like a fucking tap.

But not for me.

Do you want to keep the job? Lochlan asked me in the hallway outside as Caleb was getting ready to leave the hospital.

I nodded.

Why?

I can practice my English, I said and he laughed. It was a strained donkey-bray kind of laugh, more an exclamation of disbelief than anything but I'll take it.

Caleb opens the door. Ready, he said, and the laughter stopped.

Too early, too late.

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

When I came home from work this afternoon Caleb was pacing the driveway. I parked my car facing him and he waited a moment because I didn't get out and then he charged across the brick and opened my door with one hand, pulling me out of the car with the other. I was marched up into his kitchen and let go roughly against the fridge. I grabbed the handles keep from falling and the doors opened and I felt a bit like a duck on skates while I attempted to right myself.

Have you quit yet or do I have to take action? He plucks me up off my precarious hang from the stainless steel handles and gives me a shake like a dog. Hard. My teeth chatter and I shriek at him and he finally focuses again and puts me down rather gently to the floor, making sure my feet are underneath me so I can stand.

I'm not quitting. You don't get a say in this. Sorry, Diabhal. It's a whisper but my guts are showering through.

He stares at me. I don't know if it's rage or resignation for a flicker and then I do. Very well.

(Very well? Who says that? Oh, wait, Batman does. And he's rubbing off on Caleb.)

I nod. Not sure if this means I can keep the job or he's now resigned to murder me after all. My nod falters into a bobble briefly and I square up in front of him, staring at the fourth button on his shirt instead of up into his eyes.

Do you even like it? You've come home crying twice in the first week and I feel as if Lochlan's forcing you into some sort of teenage Bon Jovi song where you go back to having nothing, being nothing because it's 'romantic'. 

I don't like it sometimes but other times I love it. It depends. 

On what? 

If I get the orders right. 

That's a very humble statement to make for one such as you. 

Such as me?

Yes.

I am nothing, Diabhal. 

Not to me.

The would-be sugar poet.

Progress. I didn't cry when I left my new job today. I have a nametag now. It says BRIDGET. When no one is looking I'm going to steal the labelmaker and print one that says BABY.

Just because.

When I got home after the lunch rush there were trucks all over the place again, doing a few little things we noticed after they left that weren't completed so I had to drive all the way down to the end of the driveway and park between the side door and Dalton's patio. My legs hurt and I wanted to lie down and his was the nearest bed from the car so I went into their suite and into Duncan's room, throwing myself on the bed, legs hanging out over the end, heavy black shoes and label still in place. The apron is balled up in my purse, which is now on the floor.

I pull the quilt up over my head, close my eyes and when I open them next Duncan is lying beside me, smiling.

Can I get a refill? He asks and I bean him with one of his pillows.

No. We're closed. 

Do you have to do this, Bridget? What if I...I mean, I can give you money if you need it. 

I'm not doing it for the money. Well, not yet. I'm doing it for the hustle. 

Also you smell like burned strawberry pie. 

Fancy that. As it happens, the cook burned one today. And you should save your money. 

If it means you don't have to do this, I'm fine with it. We'll make our own arrangement. 

Why don't you want me there? 

It isn't the diner in particular, it's just working in general. You're easily overwhelmed. 

Lochlan doesn't think so. 

That so? And what does Lochlan think? Tell me. 

He's so proud. He thinks this is good for me. So does Ben. I get out of my own head. I help others and I can sharpen my skills. 

You going to rob them while you serve them lunch? Or maybe walk a tightrope?

Not those skills, Dunk. 

What skills then, Bridge?

Blending into society better than I do now. 

Oh. So is everyone on board with this? Any detractors or am I alone here?

You're not alone. Caleb has forbidden me to work. 

And?

I will continue to defy him. 

He'll buy the restaurant. 

Oh, probably. But if he does that I'll fire the cook and I'll never burn the pies I make. So it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.

Baby Driver.

"Sometimes all I want is to head West on 20 in a car I can't afford, with a plan I don't have, just me, my music, and the road."

Lochlan, to his credit, has been very gracious with everyone. Moreso than he used to be, maybe he is mellowing after all. Maybe he has faith in me and in our grand plan to rule the world, or at least our experience of it as I embark on yet another item on the big list of the life that points us toward our dreams.

The Collective isn't forever. It never was. We know that. We understand that, as does everyone here. It's a stepping stone, a fun time, a helping hand living here where things cost so damned much. Everyone saves money if we all live together and no one has to be alone. The army will stand fast while I weather this long season of Life After Jacob, and the transition back to weirdness that was always the plan. But not quite yet.

In other ways, sooner than we think.

I may have rushed a little part of it. Walking the house spending time talking with everyone, painting a little, writing a little, trying to catch up on sleep and affection, being so OCD with chores and being Organized isn't all that productive. I needed to check off something on my list that would throw all that into the sea. That item that's been waiting for me. Get on with it, Bridge.

I got a job.

And it's not an executive job, no sir.

And I didn't have recommendations or networks. No one's lending me out. No vulture capitalists are involved. No pretty clothes and lovely desks are involved. Oh, you're going to laugh, just as the boys laughed when they realized I wasn't kidding before they turned super-serious.

Aw, Bridge, they all said. You don't need to do this.

But I do.

I got an entry-level job. Working for minimum wage. At a restaurant not all that far from home. Taking orders, pouring coffee, as the owner decided I needed to be the first person people see when they come in. Wearing sturdy black non-slip shoes and a contrastingly pretty apron and dress with my notepad and my bottomless freshly-made coffee pot in hand.

Yup. Me.

I was too busy to hate it until I walked out at the end of my first shift and It hit me that I didn't really learn enough to go back, but I will be returning. Tomorrow. Already.

Yes, I cried on the drive home.

That's sixty low-quality minutes (and a level of crankiness no one's even seen before now.)

I had an iced coffee yesterday midafternoon and it cost me all but a single hour of nightmare-laden, restless birdsong-filled sleep and today now I am weirdly high-strung and faintly miserable and yet I can't go to bed until at least ten-thirty tonight because that's when Ruth gets home from work.

I'm never drinking that shit again. I might go off coffee again altogether because wow. That was so awful I can barely quantify it. It's bullshit, is what it is.

I would love to be a coffee or tea-drinking fanatic but strangely it seems too challenging. Sam says some people just can't. Others are hardly affected. I asked him why it takes a mountain of heroin to get me high but just looking at a cup of coffee leaves me awake for weeks. I was hoping to shut him down with horror but he was incredibly matter-of-fact and I got a long lecture about different drugs creating different results using our individual biochemistries. Then I got a lecture about trying to shame the shameless and the devout. Ouch, Sam.

It's okay though, Ben was game to stay up all night, since he generally does. And we are all caught up on time with each other, mutual depravity and maybe a little shame too, but only if you look us both directly in the eye.

(Snort.)

And it's ten fucking degrees today, which means no pool time for Bridget, who doubled-down on chores yesterday afternoon so I could free up all of today for myself and that freshly-filled pool and this is what I get for my efforts. Nice.

Coffee for your thoughts? Sam asks as he veers around my scowl.

I won't write down the words I said in return.

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.