(It's a part two!)This little light of mine.

I took Gage's perfection and rubbed it until it glowed, shining in the moonlight like a new coppery penny.

The candlelight makes him look gorgeous. I never noticed before. If someone keeps their cards close then you can't read them, obviously, and he's got the best poker face of all, it seems.

He takes a sip of whiskey and then holds it out. For courage. 

Why do we need courage?

Because I went from feeling like the big man to being afraid of you. 

Why would you be afraid of me? 

If I screw this up my landlady will kick me out. He laughs.

No she won't. She's kind and she understands this is hard. She's probably wondering if her tenant will still want to stay when he finds out what kind of person she is. 

I doubt it. What do you see in the mirror, Bridget?

A thief, a liar and a cheat. A hopeless case. A horrible wife. 

Your mirror must be aimed at someone else. That's not what I see. 

I take the whiskey and drink the rest. Go ahead, I know you're going to start piling on the compliments now. 

Naw. I told you this night is of no consequence. If you allow it, I hope it's wonderful and memorable. If you don't, I hope I didn't fuck up a friendship I treasure above everything. 

It's not too late, Gage.

Having second thoughts?

Second? Hell, I'm up to ninth or tenth, here. 

But you're still...here.

You're better looking than Schuyler. 

He throws his head back and roars with laughter. If nothing else comes of this night then that is enough for me. 

Is it?

Is this where I make my gentlemenly exit?

It is, I'm afraid. 

He leans down and kisses my cheek. Another time. 

Maybe. 

This feels better than being the subject of your regret. 

Don't think you aren't exactly that. 

Love you, Bridget. 

Love you too, Gage. 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? 

Let's be normal and not weird, though. 

Coming from you that's a horrible suggestion. 

It seemed like such a regular Monday at first.

And just like that, I snapped my fingers in the rain and he followed me home. Up the porch steps with our shopping bags and into the front hall, up the stairs where we dumped half the bags on my bed and then went down the hall and around the corner and down another hall to deposit his bags in his room.

And then Gage shut the door and told me he'd been thinking. 

About what? I ask, thinking it's just a regular, everyday conversation. 

About you. 

What about me?

There's a club...and I might want to be a part of it. 

What club? I ask as he pulls me in close, leaning back against his desk, bringing me with him. Never been this close. Never noticed how good he smells. Kind of like Schuyler but less disapproving, less perfect. Maybe less gay. Though I don't know. I don't get into his business. He comes and goes on the wind. He hasn't gone anywhere in a quite a while now. 

The one where I get to show my appreciation for what you've done for me over the years. 

Oh. That club sends me flowers. Sometimes helps out with extra chores. You know. I reach up and smooth his hair from his forehead. Up close he has fine laugh lines around his eyes and perfect teeth framed with a perfect smile. I think you mean the other club. 

What club is that? 

The one where you say you want me and maybe it all works out. I hold my breath. 

Give me some reasons why it wouldn't work out? But he's pulled me all the way in now and is whispering this against my ear while he unbuttons my shirt. While he plays with my earrings. While he smiles that stupid Schuyler/Gage smile that has devastated several of us already in ways we didn't think were possible. I've never seen this smile from him before. 

I get attached very easily. 

That's a bad thing? Oh my God. I can't concentrate with his warm hands on me. 

Always. You become something special and then I get upset if you leave again. 

Don't get attached, Bridget. He bends his head down and kisses my bottom lip. His lips are burning hot. Kind of like my cheeks right now. 

I take a step back and meet his eyes. That's what I do. I don't think I'd go down this road if I were you. You can't just do this and bail again. You know what I'm like. You know it hurts when they leave. If it hurts when you leave then I can't do this. 

There's nothing here to commit to, Bridget. There's no room for me in your nights. No strings, no expectation. Just a one-time thing. 

I don't work that way. 

Sure you do. 

With who? 

He thinks for a minute and suggests names. I shake my head. There are always strings. Always. There's always the iceberg that is my heart. The one you think you see all of. The one you think you can hold until you go to tuck your hands underneath it to lift it up and realize it's bigger than anything you've ever seen and you can't lift it. You can't even see all of it. If I let it see you and it gets a good enough look you're doomed, pinned to me forever. There is no one-time. There is no casual. There is you, and there is me and your life is effectively ruined. There is an army now and they are stuck with me.

You need to think about this. 

I thought I already had, Bridge. 

Not hard enough. 

No one ever said that about me. We've been under the same roof for a decade now. It's not too late to explore each other. 

And you're one of the few who isn't wrecked. I can't take that perfection from you. 

Maybe you won't. I'm a grown man, Bridget. 

I didn't think you were a gambler. 

Well then maybe you should get to know me better.

Tradition.

The bunny came around this morning, in a tux and rollerskates.

Down the driveway, through the kitchen and out the patio, a funny dance-hop-roll across the grass and away only to return a little while later with the big basket of chocolate eggs he forgot the first time around, I guess. He took his sweet time handing them out and since we were soon going to be late for church. We finally shooed him out the front door and he tried to slide down the railing sidesaddle only to loose his balance and go ass over teakettle into the grass. Chocolate eggs flew for yards all over the place and the giant fuzzy bunny head came off.

Dalton, today. 

We all had a good laugh and finished getting ready. He remained in the tux, and when questioned by Sam at the church steps he just said he thought it was important to dress up for this day, that it's the holiest. 

Sam appreciated that, and I pressed an egg into his hands. He looked at me with wide eyes and said oh, no, not that again (as last year we had hatching eggs that begat beautiful baby chicks and it was warmmmmmmm in the church for the first and last time ever) and I kissed him on the cheek and told him it was chocolate and he actually said, and I quote, 

Hallelujah!

A world lit only by fire.

Got the new PSTHMN EP (the remixed Posthuman album by Justin Broaderick and friends, making up Harm's Way.) It's delicious. Very Godflesh without too many surprises so I love it. 

It's a beautiful day for crushing, industrial noise with a chugging undercurrent that makes you feel sick to your stomach. The sun is out, PJ is headbanging and we're almost caught up on laundry. 

It's Saturday so once that is done I am free to paint. 

Paiiiiiint. 

Lochlan is working. Ben? Working. Sam is definitely working. PJ works his ass off all the time except when he's not and everyone else seems to be sleeping in. Missing the sun. Missing this noise. Missing me being perfectly regular (we don't say 'normal' in this house; that's a dirty word). Missing coming to pick up their laundry piles before PJ wraps the clean clothes around various blunt objects and throws them overhand into their rooms at sleeping forms. It usually goes over well and is one of my favorite parts of the week, frankly, especially when the objects of choice are big heavy things like downhill ski boots and table lamps. 

My birthday is only two weeks away and I'm sure the boys will soon shrug off their laundry injuries and ask me what I want for it. 

I'm going to say more days like this. 

Schweet.

We WON!!!! Now on to Sunday's nailbiter of a game 6. If we win that? On to round two.

Now go read about Notre Dame's bees. So happy they survived by gorging on honey. Now I know why I don't burn.

The measurement of my worth, in pop music knowledge.

Because as long as I don't know, I feel as if I'm still me.

Caleb once again did that thing, though much less malevolently, these days. I think he is mellowing, albeit in that way a cup of coffee cools on the counter into a softer version of itself with no kick to finish off the taste.

It's not too late to go to Indio for the weekend. (I swear he is the biggest hipster wannabe, for a mid-fifties lawyer kind of guy. What is it about lawyers and Coachella?) Why don't you look at the lineup and let me know? We'd be there by early afternoon.

So I look. You know, for 'fun'.

He comes back around twenty minutes later. My coffee is almost cold, my mood has set me back a hundred years. Who are these people? It's as if music comes in colors, and this is definitely all milky, chipped pastels.

See anyone you'd like to hear?

I don't recognize any of it, I frown. Is this a test? Like every couple of years we confirm that 'no, Bridget still doesn't know a band. As you were, everyone. Peace reigns in the kingdom', that kind of thing?

He laughs. No. I just offered a break. A little getaway. People do that sort of thing, Bridget. 

Rich people do that sort of thing. Instagram people. 

What's the matter? 

I'm not an instagram people. 

No, you definitely are not. 

I tried to be but it isn't me. 

And you are you. 

That's right. Sorry about that. 

Wouldn't have it any other way. 

Then go get your game face on. Hockey's at four. 

Oh, that's early. 

It's the playoffs, Diabhal! 

This is why I love you, Bridget. Your passions are few but a little unique. 

A lot. 

That's what I said.

Bring chips. But not ketchup ones. Oh, and can you get the Amon Amarth tickets when they go on sale? There's a band I know.

Exactly.

A wolf in white and blue.

Game five with me, Bridget? 

Yes. I smile at Joel, a peace offering because I was a little dick last time he came over, and because he's spending his days mea culpa-ing all over the place and I need to let him and not resist, instead of fighting him to be like everyone else.

I'll bring pizza. 

And wings. Lots of them. We'll host a party.

He smiles gamely (pun intended) and rallies handsomely, as we won't be alone. We never actually are, but this has nothing to do with him. I'm forcing everyone in the house to watch the Leafs.

For luck.

Because if my team can win the next two games they're still in the playoffs and we love a winning Leafs team. Or, you know, they could cave under pressure, throw the whole mess and start summer vacation early.

They'd better not. Last time they won the cup Lochlan was in diapers, and I didn't exist. I just want them to win one in my lifetime. That's all. And I hope it's this year because I take enough shit for being a fan of the wrong team in a city that loves the Canucks, a team that...has never won the cup, nor did they even grace the playoff schedule this season.

Suck it, Vancouver. No, seriously.

Guess I'm taking a paperback to read at break today.

PJ already knew about Amon Amarth and said nothing because he's already planning a date for the show.

I thought about this for a moment and then asked him, what if you're not still dating whoever then? 

I'll take Ben. If he's out of the doghouse by then. If not I'll take you and you can circle pit with me in GA. 

I'm not doing that. 

Okay, we'll get lower bowl, just in case. Lightweight.

He laughs warmly but he's still a little (a lot, okay, a lot) mad.

Last night when I got home, I went over to Ben who was in the driveway under the awning talking to Sam and he asked how I was. I said hot and tired.

He asked if I knew what was really invigorating and I shook my head. Too tired to answer.

So he picked me up and ran for the edge of the yard and threw me over like I weighed nothing save for the almighty heft of my screams.

I forgot my phone was in the pocket of my work dress.

My sturdy black work shoes did not fall off. Which means they were very heavy.

And Sam followed me in because I was very tired and therefore could hardly walk let alone swim all the way around the point.

The phone didn't survive two metres of seawater for fifteen minutes.

The shoes, well, they're at the bottom of the sea and now today I have to wear my old adidas and hope no one sees them. Maybe I can paint the stripes black with a sharpie? Either way I'm going to break my neck.

And Ben is in the doghouse. Not because my phone and my shoes got ruined but because the water was two degrees.

Two. 

It was so cold it hurt.

As usual, he has no regrets. And to clarify, I'm not mad at him. It felt really good for a minute there, like all things that will kill me, but everyone else was completely less than impressed.

Up all night.

It's definitely Monday.

Like it's holy-shit levels of Monday and Notre Dame is burning. Poor Paris.

We stayed up late for Game of Thrones. I couldn't remember any of the politics and forgot my manners and yelled out THEON when Alfie Allen came onscreen. He's my favorite out of whoever they are.

Everyone else is DRAGONS! I don't actually like the dragons, or the story or any of the people. But it's at least somewhat interesting. I like the scale. I like medieval things.

I'm tired though.

I had a hard time cashing out my tables today, in any case. Couldn't focus. Still can't. Had a bunch of messages from the boys pointing out my blog typos, my lack of laundry finished, my inability to make myself a decent lunch, instead taking four-day-old pizza for my break and then not being able to eat it. The baker gave me a muffin that wasn't up to snuff and I ate some of that instead.

I got caught up on paperwork at work too (I do some payroll at work now too). I gave Ruthie a lot of encouragement as she started a new job this week, having finished her second year of university. I've now saved $10227 in my 'work' bank account and I've pushed back my promise to quit to when Henry graduates.

Maybe.

I saw a few new job postings I might apply for but I sort of like the diner. It's a little retro and they're fine with my hours, plus if I really don't want to do something in the course of a day I don't have to.

Maybe.

We finished watching Afterlife on Netflix. It was good. I sobbed like a child at the end and I still don't know why. Life is beautiful and ugly and ridiculous and amazing. I hate my job but I don't. I hate people but I don't, too. It is ridiculous and amazing, this life.

I just found out Amon Amarth is coming to Vancouver this fall. I can't wait to tell PJ and watch him shriek with excitement.

Well, that was a whole heaping stack of AWESOME.

With many firsts.

No bag check, no pocket check, no pat-down, no capless bottles (fuck you, Queen Elizabeth Theatre for that HUGE discrimination between metal shows and every other show). Had to embrace a total stranger on request. Multiple bubble cannons. Confetti typhoon. A toilet paper/paper towel fight. The members of one band defacing the stage set of another band, and two other bands coming onstage to take over the song of a band just finishing up. Multiple times, no less.

(Also at least ninety percent of the crowd were Youth Leadership from just about every church in the PNW. So wholesome.)

Pretty sure Ben was the only one wearing a metal hoodie.

Pretty sure all of the over-six-feet tall youth pastors were standing in front of me.

So, typical Switchfoot show.

Tyson Motsenbocker opened the show with a very open, honest and beautiful set. He is self-effacing and engaging and had the audience laughing along as he played and sang for us. I would go see him again just for his banter, truth be told. And his talent. Can't remember a song he sang but he was so nice and wonderful to listen to. I'm going to look him up anyway because sometimes artists sneak right in and grow on me and he was very easy to listen to.

Colony House was...uh...TWICE as heavy live as on their latest album. I didn't expect that. They were freaking amazing. Far and away more than I expected and the drummer stole everyone's hearts. They sounded really good and the only issue I had is their bass was so much louder than everything else I could feel it in my chest and it hurt.

Switchfoot. What can I say? It was the sixth time I saw them and I was a little hesitant because the last tour they were so slick and polished it was scary.

The first time I saw them was a dozen years ago at a smoky little club that housed less than three hundred fans. The fifth time was here, same venue but they were wildly detached. Must have been an off night two years ago because they were back in force tonight. Holy cow. Jon roamed the audience constantly. They jumped all over the stage. Tim got not one but two bass intros. Chad...crowd-surfed (possible the first time ever.) We all cried as they celebrated Jerome being cancer-free. There was pranking and punking throughout the night as the three bands made good use of celebrating the last night of this tour and the audience, by the end, was one big happy family.

They played everything they could fit in and more.

I don't know why I tell you this. You might not be a fan, and if you aren't already then I am sad for you because you're missing out. They're something completely different and I can't even articulate why. Somehow they managed to make beautiful, catchy songs that hold an undercurrent of poignancy. They unabashedly ask the biggest questions ever with an openness and a grace that speaks louder than any concert they could put on, and they are incredibly warm, generous men besides. I've met them many times and they don't change.

It was a good show.

Rain for the fires.

And just like that in the rain last evening Caleb took his beloved Rag and Bone thermal shirt and retreated to his own quarters, and we were left with each other, a lot of fairy lights and some sort of quiet incredulity that he didn't fight to stay or make it something else, or cause any problems or even invoke his famous violence.

Perfect.

I love him more when he's like this, when he answers questions thoughtfully and without smiling, when he takes a breath before acting and when he's nice.

I slept so hard. Eight hours. A good solid night. I woke up in Lochlan's face but managed to get out from underneath his arms with the barest of acknowledgements as he sleeps on. I wonder if there's any of the good coffee left. I wonder if Ben crashed on the couch in his studio or if he is still awake and unaware of the time. I wonder if Sam is lonely. I wonder a lot of things this morning but at least I'm not wondering why I'm so tired today and I'm grateful for that.

Half an hour later I am dressed with wet hair and I head downstairs with a fresh cup of coffee for Ben. He is not awake so I leave it on the desk and just as I'm going back out he speaks.

I came up last night. 

After ten?

Before. 

He left at ten. I'm sorry. 

It's fine. Thank you for the coffee. I'm coming up. 

You finished? 

No, I want to have breakfast with my girl. 

Rag and bone.

It's foggy this morning. Chilly and dim. Caleb has lit a fire and dressed me in his thermal waffleknit t-shirt. He's brought up black coffee and chocolate croissants and we're having breakfast in bed, a weekend on a Friday. I am sleepy but today nothing hurts. I'll call it even, bigger because the odds are small.

I tried to give him grace and in turn he offered himself up for sacrifice. And I still sit here in surprise that it worked, that he actually got up, went downstairs and made breakfast instead of picking up a phone and having a stranger do it while he took all the credit and suddenly instead of making an effort to own me, he's making one to take care of me, one that doesn't involve wielding his money as a weapon or his wealth as a crutch. He's trying out life on his own two feet finally, a little humility, a lot of slow moves.

Here. He takes my cup and puts it on the table and returns to roll up the cuffs on his shirt. It's huge.

Beautiful, he breathes. Slow.

Slow.

Slow.

Thanks, mate. Lochlan reaches over me and takes the croissant off Caleb's plate, eating it in two bites. I was hoping you'd notice.

Check my brain (a quickie City and Colour + Alice in Chains review, if you will).

Okay, so If I Should Go Before You had me crying far earlier than I expected, and yes, in person Dallas Green sings like an angel. An unearthly, tattooed, humble fucking ANGEL.

I didn't know what to expect from the genre-bending pairing of he and AIC, but it worked. I was a little awed and I'm not often awed and even Ben turned to me with wide eyes at one point and I knew he was equally overwhelmed. Because holy. It was a rare religious experience for a group of seriously seasoned live music lovers.

It was so good.

Alice in Chains was also good. Tighter and more formal than last time but also having a blast. My ears are still ringing. They smiled so huge the whole time it was new and wonderful. They also played Heaven Beside You so I was content as fuck, though there were at least three songs I didn't know well and was disappointed in myself for. This was a show for the boys though. Mine is on Saturday when Switchfoot returns.

And now I need sleep because four hours is not enough.

A shift in group dynamics.

Ready? Caleb is in the doorway in a tight tshirt and jeans. Kill me.

Almost. Wait. You going? 

I want to see City and Colour, yes. 

Who's ticket did you steal?

Dalton offered me his. He's seen both acts and is tired.

Ah. 

Excited?

Very! But more tired. Weeknight shows are for the young birds. 

You're still a young bird. 

I laugh. I'm so not still young, but yes, I'm ready. Let's go!

Angels say they can make you suffer.

Oh my God.

So Alice in Chains is playing here tomorrow night. Of course we have tickets. Of course. Wouldn't miss them (please play Fly).

Today, after teasing fans for a week straight they reveal that City and Colour is the opener.

Everyone is like huh? Or fuck yeah, Alexis On Fire!

And I'm like Dallas Green? The voice of my dreams? 

His song, The Grace from Daniel Victor's Neverending White Lights: Act 1: Goodbye Friends of the Heavenly Bodies is still one of the most beautiful, and most forlorn things I have ever heard.

To this day.

(For credibility, I did a quick search. Here's a mention from nine years ago. If I had time I could dig further.)

Lawyers + chefs.

I returned to work today. Maybe I shouldn't have as I felt paper-thin, close to tears, shaky and not at all up to any of the bullshit I put up with throughout a regular shift.

I got yelled at. A lot. All day long, seemingly and through no fault of my own. I couldn't finish anything before being told to do something else. I couldn't get out of my own way. I went outside on my break and screamed into the void and then ate my sandwich and texted with Ruth, Henry and Ben and then I went back in for more punishment. The yelling continued, the stupid customers continued and I wondered why the hell I need to prove this in particular?

I looked at the clock, thinking it was ten minutes to two but it was ten to three. And at three, I ran.

I was so happy to be home again I forgot about work, forgot about just about all of it save for the ache in my shoulders and my legs.
I got a big hug from PJ, one from Duncan and one from Mark too, who is still here working on some tattoos for some folks, me included.

I got a really long hug from Lochlan who told me to quit. And I laughed because one crappy first day back after a micro-breakdown does not mean the end of this. Especially seeing as how I'm a little over two weeks from my first year anniversary of having a job.

And he laughed too, because he knows I'm so stubborn. Oh so stubborn. Maybe too stubborn for my own good.

Caleb came home later but I got a quick hug as he said he had a business call to attend to, that he was finishing tax season. I am suitably impressed, as I refused again to touch his taxes. He forges ahead though, and is getting it done. We'll talk when I'm done, he threatens. They make you cry, that's it. This charade is finished. 

It's a part-time job! Not a charade! I tell his back as he heads upstairs to his study.

In your case it's the same thing! He calls back down. Not going to wait until it's a legal issue. We can nip it before then. 

Don't you dare send threatening letters to my boss.

Those, my dear, are what make the world go around.

Quiet Gods.

I'm finishing my breakfast, just about to go back up and get ready (I don't go to church in my pajamas) when Caleb comes in, wraps his hand around my head so he can pull me in close, his mouth against my ear and tells me he isn't about to try and take Ben's place in my life, that it is sacred and he wouldn't fuck with that. Or Jacob's. Or Cole's. Or even Lochlan's. So that I can rest easy knowing he's not going to be the bad guy anymore in my life, that he sees how frightening and exhausting it is for me.

Then he lets go and puts both arms out wide. As if to say, See? I didn't even get angry or jealous when you pointed out that I'm not going to have a formal place in this relationship hierarchy in your stupid little blog.

I have shoved him to one corner of my brain, dismissed as the boyfriend. Here close when I need him and nowhere to be found when I do not. Then maybe after years and years have gone by without him reverting back to machiavellian devil-status I will relent and give him a more formal designation but we're barely one season away from his last monstrous turn and he's as predictable as I am when it comes to sliding backwards.

But he gets it and here's a first, I guess.

Can I have a hug? His arms are still out while my mind slips right through them. Oops.

I nod and throw myself at him, as I've never turned down a good hug in my life and he's always given some of the best.

He folds his arms in around me, squeezes hard and kisses the top of my head. Believe me, Neamhchiontach. I need to get this right and if you help me, I can do it. Then he lets go and swats my ass up the stairs. Church is in an hour and you're not ready.

You going?

Not today, Doll. I frown and he laughs. I'm sure you'll have lots of company. 

I come back down half an hour later ready to roll. Showered, warmly dressed and dragging Ben and Lochlan with me. Ben drives, Lochlan rides shotgun, Dalton pretends to sleep beside me, head heavy on my shoulder and I look out the window wondering if Caleb is acting or trying hard, as always.

Dry ride.

I can see you running, running
Every night from the same darkness
It's coming, coming
But you are not alone
If you just say the word
I'll be there by your side
You make me more
You make me superhuman
And if you need me to
I will save you

Joel must have decided the worst of the storm had passed or maybe I just made him horribly uncomfortable enough that he left shortly after the movie ended, not wishing to see if the final installment was out or hanging around to talk with the boys. Not even two months after our last altercation in which he tried to cross my boundaries and failed and I was short and irritated with him, and he with me.

We didn't actually talk last night and I made such an effort to be a jerk and he made no effort not to be one and sadly I think the tides have turned with him at last and instead of a novelty, a treat, a fascination, I have become a chore. A tiresome errand he has to make a long drive to in order to verbally spar with. A tiny thorn in his side, the one person that broke him and that he somehow feels some sort of lifelong allegiance to anyway.

Maybe that's done at last. He's not the first man to get fed up with me (that was Lochlan, ironically) and probably won't be the last. But Joel was a different kind of intensity, an incredibly invasive, personal, completely wrong relationship and I still torture him every chance I get. I lie to him. I make things horrible so that he will let go but he's slow to catch on. Or maybe he isn't but he's definitely as stubborn as I am.

He will call later and tell me I lied, tell me I'm only hurting myself, tell me everything I'm doing is only going to set me back and I will disregard that too. Everything I've done as of late has made things better and I don't know if I prefer the short term gains that maybe do set me back, or the long term agony that maybe works toward a better future. I don't know. I just don't. I don't know much of anything.

I just know that waking up this morning breathless, sandwiched between Lochlan and Caleb worked, yes, Caleb, Caleb who said last night he feels as if he's finally achieved what he wanted all along. Just to share me.

Yes, that's what he said. I swear to God he's in love with Lochlan and I'm just some sort of symbolic testament to that.

He just wants to share me.

I don't have the heart to tell him that isn't what we're going to do.

I don't have the heart to remind him that Ben has a Very Big place here and it's only because he's so busy perpetually that there's any room at all for Caleb.

He knows. I'm sure he knows but he's an opportunist, as always.

Just like me.

Netflix and Friday.

I can't believe no one noticed this big box of Animal Crackers in the pantry.

YOUR LOSS, BOYS.

Edit: Actually Joel ate most of them to feel less uncomfortable while we watched Fifty Shades Darker and he pretended he was having an innocuous conversation with me while we watched. In reality he was testing me to see if the worst is over for the time being.

Before you tell me I'm making a hostile work environment for him remember I found the cookies and decided to watch the movie before he was here. If he's going to show up unannounced then he must suffer. It's totally inappropriate to watch a movie like that with him, but that's what our entire relationship has been from the beginning, so why the hell not?

It's very uh..Fifty Shades. They should have gone for a hard R, I think. It would have been better. Also I feel like every movie I watch now just screams Vancouver so loud. I can pick out every location. Please kill me, I have lived here too long (Nine years now! CHRIST!).

This movie is like watching Caleb in action. LOL

Out of balance.

On headphones my only copy of Pearl Jam's Black features vocals and rhythm guitar in my right ear, drums and piano in my left, and the principal guitar skews back and forth wildly. It's distracting to the point of unlistenability.

Is that a word? It is now, folks.

Ben doesn't see the problem, except with what he now calls his Little Production Quality Specialist.

It's bad, Benny. 

But you love it anyway. Like me, I guess.

***

Lochlan is sitting in the gazebo when I come out, his phone and an empty coffee mug in front of him, a conflicted expression on his face. The wind blows his hair just enough to give him a leading-man appearance and I take a long minute to appreciate that. A very long minute.

What are you waiting for? Am I in your spot? But he hasn't looked at me.

Well, whatever spot you're in is where I want to be. 

Fuck me. You sound like Winnie The Pooh. 

I burst out laughing but he doesn't join in. Okay, what's wrong? 

Nothing you can fix, Peanut, and if you're okay then that's all that matters. 

Okay is a relative ter-

You know exactly what I mean. He glares at me.

I nod. Caleb staying.

Caleb staying. Because it's not enough to have a romantic dinner for four. He somehow charms every last one of us! What this fuck is that, even? Last time I looked I wasn't into the tall, dark and rakish type-

Rakish. What a delicious word! 

Don't change the subject. 

Another reason to want to be a man. Y'all can be rakish.

Bridge.

Yes?

How did he make me think that was totally okay? That of course it's normal-

Oh, it's so not normal, Lochlan.

I know that but how? How did he manage to bewitch me too? 

It was late, mayb-

Contrary to popular belief, I care very deeply for your approval in every area of my life, my relationship to Bridget included. Caleb is behind me and I jump fifty feet. I love you like a brother. Maybe more than that. Maybe you're beginning to see my side of this finally. I certainly hope this week is an indication of things to come. 

He turns and goes back in to the house. I turn and watch him go and then when I turn back around Lochlan is gone. I see the door close on the camper parked at the edge of the rock wall but I don't follow him. Instead I go back to the house.

Oh real love.

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

Dinner on the patio last night, later than ever as Lochlan was working with Schuyler on a thing and came back so late and all that remained by the hour long after which I should have been asleep was Ben, Lochlan, Caleb and myself. Ben and I were starving, Lochlan was indifferent but warm at the same time and Caleb was just quietly content. Happy to be there, maybe, happy to watch the waves and enjoy the food and wine and sparkling water and talk about nothing as I reset myself into life as it was before the nightmares resumed and blew me right out of my comfort zone.

Caleb spears a final olive on his fork. Problem is, it's from my plate.

Hey.

Come get it. He holds the fork high above his head and grins. I place my plate on the table from my lap and then his plate too, climbing into his lap and then standing up to reach my olive. He groans as I manage to hit all the right places to step and the others laugh.

I take his fork, for good measure and settle back into his lap.

Take my olive, will you. That's what you get.

I didn't think you liked the black olives.

If you would ever let me choose pizza toppings you would know I like those ones best. Actually no. Manzanilla ones stuffed with garlic are the best. Garlic and hot peppers.

Forget it. You get pineapple on pizza if we let you choose. It's better if someone does it for you.

Forever ten years old. Pick my pop flavour for me, open it too, because I can't, finish it for me since it will be too much and never ever ask me what I'd like on my pizza since it's assumed I will like what they like, without exception

And I mostly do, except for pineapple.

His offhand remark reminds me that this is my comfort zone, the place where everything is done for me, decided for me, chosen for me. It's a place that, when things are at their worst, I don't mind.

I put my head down against his chest and he slides me down to one side, one arm holding me tight against him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

Next time we'll get pineapple, he says, a promise instantly forgotten as he kisses the top of my head and squeezes me hard.

It's safe. And it's warm and I close my eyes and I don't wake up until he startles me softly. It's later still and the ice cubes are low measures of warm water in the bottoms of our glasses. Ben is watching me intently and Lochlan is standing beside Caleb's chair.

Come on, Neamhchiontach-sleepy-head. Bed time.

Lochlan pulls me up to my feet and I lean my head against his shoulder. So tired. We head inside and upstairs, Lochlan's arm around my waist, his lips against my temple.

Once inside our room Lochlan strips off my campfire-smoke clothes and marvels at how sleepy I am (eyes so heavy). Briefly he tries to head off the coming storm but then he is too late and it hits, capsizing us, knocking us into the sea where we flail against the dark before finding purchase again, before finding safety in Caleb, who didn't leave like I thought he would, instead remaining to trace my tattoos on my bare skin and remind me that once, he was the nightmare, and then he became the good brother.

When I woke up this morning, I could still smell the smoke in our hair, but their arms were around me, a dreamstate tug of war with all winners, no losers. I didn't ask Caleb to stay but he did, I didn't ask Ben to make space but he did, I didn't ask Loch if it would be alright if this happened (but it did and it was alright indeed) and this morning no one resorted to violence and no one could find any ghosts at all. 

Netflix + milk.

One of the best husbands I have ever had is definitely Ben. Ben who got up this morning (early-early) and got cereal for us on a tray and put Netflix on the laptop and propped it up so we could snuggle in late. We spent a couple of hours slowly finishing two huge bowls of Honeycombs with chocolate milk because he's insane and we watched cooking shows, because so am I.

Chocolate milk in cereal is terrible. Also Honeycombs are huge. I gave up trying to fit them in my face and ate them like cookies, picking them up one at a time to take bites of while we marvelled over the cinematography of the new season of Chef's Table, which I am struggling to finish (yeah..still). I think it's because this season they're really focusing on the personal trials of each chef to the point that the food is not even a second thought but a distant memory instead. Only there's no character development so I don't exactly care and my mind wanders and I have to re-watch.

Ben is barely watching it at all. He is watching me while he easily fits multiple Honeycombs in his mouth at once. He has a large mouth to go with his entire oversized being. Someone once joked that I was a third of a Ben, proper but I think it's more like precisely half. Either way he makes up a lot of ground on my behalf these days and took Lochlan's cheap opportunity to make up his own ground and threw it out the window.

Either make your huge sweeping gestures all the damn time or fuck off, Lochlan was told. This just makes things worse.

And true to form, Lochlan fucked off. Because he is flighty and fancy and full of fire as much as he is pragmatic and he also has a pride problem and so he went off to lick his wounds and Ben took the opportunity the moment it presented itself.

I need to get dressed, I tell Ben, licking my spoon. He will drink the leftover milk. I'm lactose intolerant anyway and not a big fan of chocolate milk, or even cereal but I am a huge fan of Ben. The biggest smallest fan of his that ever was.

For what? He asks, letting his forehead knit. He sounds cross at the thought of anything breaking this momentary, wonderful spell.

It's my turn to clean bathrooms. 

Let each of them clean their own. He orders.

And ours. 

The kids can do theirs. 

And ours, I repeat.

We'll make Lochlan do it. 

Seriously. Besides, it's cold right now, without clothes on. 

Ben reaches down and grabs his t-shirt off the floor. He turns it rightside out and puts it over my head, pulling it down over me. Whitechapel. Right on.

There. Now you're dressed. 

This will be a good look while I do my chores. 

I told you, we're leaving them for Lochlan. We're going to stay in bed all day and watch television and be regular people. 

We're so NOT regular peop-

WE CAN TRY.

Terrible, beautiful life.

Pretty sure This Beautiful Life by Colony House is the most incredibly gorgeous song in the world right now. If everyone isn't using as their wedding song already then they should be.

Pretty sure slow-dancing to it with Lochlan under the lights on the patio last night helped bring me back from the hole I dug using the sharp edges of my nightmares over the past little while.

Pretty sure his solid hold on me kept me from slipping any further, instead helping to give me purchase to climb back up.

He isn't a spiritual man. He is reality-based. Logical. Pragmatic. Cogent. Sensible. And also certifiably magical.

And even as I started the night knocking on the door to hell I ended it in a much, much better place. Even as the Devil answered the door in surprise, the surprise grew as I was pulled away again, led back down the hall with a refusal to even entertain my motivations or my actions altogether.

Sunset is starting, Lochlan says. Let's watch it. Let's just watch it and not do anything else.

It's a response to a complaint I gave when I was eleven and I just wanted to stop packing up for five minutes and watch the sunset but we didn't have time because you can't pack up after dark with no lights.

She (the eleven year old that mercurially rules my world) is very happy with the complaint resolution. It seemed like something so simple but the difference in experience led to endless disappointment as she tried to live in the moment and learned...not to.

One of my biggest regrets, he says as he spins me around under his arm.

And now, fixed. I reassure him and he smiles in the near-dark, curls backlit, mood backlit. Everything backlit. Magic hour indeed. Who needs the devil when you have a magician? Who needs a ghost when I've got a live one? Who needs the maturity of an eleven-year-old when...

I mean, I don't know if I can fix that part but I'm trying.

High there (Fourth Sunday in Lent).

I sat in the orchard this morning in the cold sun and laughed at the sound of the fat fuzzy bumblebees making their way from one bloom to the next because I could hear them, loudly and clearly. It isn't often I get that pleasure but it was so quiet. No music, no planes, no sound carrying around the point from others, no arguments in the driveway, no fistfights up the back steps to the loft or to the boathouse, no lectures that go on for days to the point of boredom, to the point of sheer willfulness to do anything, everything, just out of spite by that time.

Just me and the bees. I am a bee, maybe. Though I have no black in my golden hair, and I'm not very big or very loud like these bees. I am in the trees, though these blooms are sparse and early.

I am sparse. I am early.

I'm a flower, not a bee then.

Okay.

(God, these pills are amazing.)

Sam comes out to see me, tromping through the wet grass in his mismatched suit, a smile on his face.

You're alone. The smile vanishes. It was a Friendlies Approaching smile and now he's just disapproving-minister, kind of half-in charge, half hands-off approach most of them have, as in I am here for comfort or physical affection but if this gets really freakishly complicated or violent, I'm out.

That's what Jake did, anyway.

I am not. I wave my hand up toward the hill by the water to where Lochlan sits on the tree swing, not swinging, just swaying, feet planted firmly on the ground.

Like some kind of metaphor too, I just don't know what.

He is currently fulfilling the role of super-patient, highly-annoyed and ultimately deeply-concerned husband. Because his wife is a fucked up tiny grief-monster with a massive appetite for whatever she can get her hands on to make this stop and yet it's never enough, it never stops. Nothing ever changes. Even the bees came back. Even the grief comes back. I want this to change but it's as if the moment I step out and say, hey I think I'm doing bett-

It hears me, turns and comes charging back.

It's a monster. And that makes me the monster. The little blonde monster on the point that they pass around, a hot potato who is hard to hold, difficult to handle and burning for something, she just doesn't know what until she feels that heat.

Abruptly I remember to tell myself that I got my dream. Deep, romantic love on the edge of the seaside, a life beside the ocean, in arms at all times with few daily worries past what's for dinner.

But I got so many other things too. And maybe this is the price you pay for that dream. I wanted a neat little house by the sea, true love and peace.

It's definitely quiet here, the house is far too big and love is everywhere you look. Everywhere I look, anyway. Even in the dark corners where I become someone who doesn't appreciate any of it, instead favouring the losses because they overwhelm the wins. I do appreciate it. All of it. All of them. Even though I paid and continue to pay a magnificent personal price for it. But I appreciate even Sam, who saw from afar that I wasn't in the house anymore and came out to make sure I was safe.

Just making sure, Sam says.

Thanks, brother. Lochlan says it from the swing, his voice full of emotion.

Do you need- Sam sees an opening to minister.

We're fine. Lochlan cuts him off gently.

Sam comes right over to me, kisses the top of my head, then goes to Lochlan, does the same and turns and heads back over the hill toward the house.

They care so much for you. 

And for you. 

We're very lucky, aren't we? We went from being the only two people in the world to this. He smiles at me.

And it breaks my heart. I'm sorry, Lochlan. I spit it out in hot, frustrated tears.

We'll be okay. 

Yeah. 

I promise. 

And I smile, because that's a word that holds a lot of weight with this man now. And I can picture it because I'm fully high right now, but at least today, nothing hurts and that's a milestone with every single breath sometimes.

Bandaids.

I watched him by the pool. It's warm enough, though only if you spend enough time in the hot tub or the sauna before heading to the pool. It's warm indeed and as I watch him talk, as I let my brain register the fact that he is losing his accent slowly but consistently, that he is losing the blonde in his hair in favor of the same silvery-gold that I have now, that he has such little patience for impersonating ghosts even as he still needs things that people need, just like I do.

I use that to my advantage but he doesn't take it.

Instead he dropped me flat on my back on his bed in the sun, a bed that sways slightly from the heavy ropes suspending it from the ceiling. He dropped me there and he smiled his August-summer smile and he pulled off my bikini bottoms and got on his knees.

Heaven, like August, is a place you can go to. I went but the door was locked and so I hung off the knob, shuddering, sweating, crying out as August got back up and put all of his weight on me. Same moves as Jake. Same everything, same joke that maybe they were brothers instead of just friends. Same thoughts in my head that if he helps me pull on the door handle we'll get it open, eventually. It works and we spill to the floor just inside that threshold of heaven and then before I have time to look for Jake, or Cole, or Butterfield for that matter, August reaches up and slams the door shut, pulling me upright, pulling me away from it even as I reach back out for it, telling me I needed to go back, to let him be, to stop implicating him in this effort to stay stuck in 2007. That Jake is gone. That he isn't Jake. That he doesn't want to be Jake anymore.

And then he says if I want to come and see him for his own sake, for his own soul, that I am welcome absolutely any time and it will be different. That it won't be something Jake would do, but something new.

You're lonely. 

Everyone's lonely, Bridget. It's the human condition. 

And that made me more sad then the part where he said I should go.

It helps.

I don't want to help you anymore. I want to help me.

Things you don't deserve to hear.

In the beginning there was a fire, from which came a light. It burned warm and steady, always on, always there to show you the way. There to help you grow, like a surrogate sun. It was a light you could trust because you knew it wouldn't burn out, with a strong foundation and high flames. In the light you saw yourself. In the light, you saw your future. 

In time the light became such a constant, such an ever-present glow that eventually you took it for granted. That's not to say that you didn't appreciate it, but to say that it was just another fixture, like the old rope swing at the lake, or the rusted out packard at the end of the field by the fence, buried over the years by blueberry bushes and goldenrod. 

And then lightning struck, just at a sharp point on the ground between you and that fire, and for a brief moment in time you were blinded, enraptured by this new, exciting source of light, and in your mind it shone brighter than the other light, which grew so dim in the face of this white glowing light. It was a bolt you couldn't turn off, and fascinated, you walked right into it, standing in that glow, warming yourself though you knew it might be brief, and that it might hurt. 

You went anyway. Because you always did. Drawn to the brightness in the world, drawn to warmth always. You walked right in without hesitation and the light from this beautiful freak storm welcomed you. 

And then abruptly, the storm ended. And the night was coming. And when it came you weren't afraid because the fire was still burning. The first light, the constant. The still-going. And it burned for you. 

And it still burns for you, Bridget. And that fire is me. 

Springsteen and nine.

When I wake up next I have far too much real estate in the bed, two-thirds, if not more. Ben sleeps heavily way over on the right side and I hear Lochlan. He's playing the guitar and sitting by the fire. No fire is lit. The windows are open wide instead so that I can hear the birds. I can see the worn hem of the neck of his t-shirt. I can see his curls, head bent down over the guitar.

The screen door slams, Bridget's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays
Springsteen singing for the lonely
Hey, that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again, I just can't face myself alone again
Don't run back inside, darling, you know just what I'm here for
So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we're too young for more
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're alright
Oh, and that's alright with me

I'm nine years old and I want him to explain, or rather I need him to explain every single line in that song, even though he said he changed some of the words. I do this while I'm walking in circles, trying to step on my rainbow shoelace that's come untied. Every time I succeed I trip myself and he lets go of the guitar he can't hardly play to steady me.

It's just a song. 

You play it every day and you sing it all the time. I can hear you. It's like under your breath.

Don't stand so close.

But you smell good. 

So?

Why is her dress ripped? Did they rip it off?

No. She left her life behind. They get out of the shitty small town. Like we'll do when I get my license. 

Are we going where they went?

What? No, Bridget. We'll go somewhere better.

Caleb said I was a beauty. 

What? 

In the song, he says she's not a beauty but she's alright. Caleb said I was beautiful. 

He's grooming you. That's why I'll take you away. 

Like a cat does to her kittens?

No, Bridget. Not like that. 

Why did you put my name in the song if you're not going to answer any of my questions?

Ask Caleb. 

FINE. 

When I woke up it was five in the morning and Lochlan is playing the piano and singing Faithfully. He doesn't sound like Steve Perry, he sounds like Will South when he sings and my sleeping brain was so curious on how he was going to pull off the drum breakdown and endless lead at the end but he did okay. He also banned the Devil and his shady doctors from the house and so I woke up and the skies were clear, no hint of fog, no chance of rain.

He didn't give me the pills. He caved in and let the others.

Don't fucking demonize him too.

Present, hazy victories.

The buds are opening on the cherry trees, the apple trees too, though I always think they're dead like Jake until the blossoms are full and pink in the orchard. The roses are full of buds and the rhododendrons already opened. I'm most excited for the lilacs, though the buds are teeny-tiny on those, barely visible to the drugged eye unless you're right up close. Once again, I bought dwarf lilacs, and once again they grew to be eight feet and then some in as many years.

Maybe it's a sign.

But I can't read it because I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open, to the point that I didn't talk enough and Lochlan got spooked again and questioned if it was too much.

Yes, it's too mush, I agreed when I could finally pry my concrete mouth open.

Jesus Christ. But he's not talking to me. He's already figured out that maybe he can't blur the bad parts of my life like this, that he has to figure out how to weather them, a redheaded boat on a stormy sea the likes of which he's hardly experienced before. Lochlan has his own ghosts and I don't fault him for this. No one does. And he's trying so so hard and this isn't easy for anyone.

Stop it. He says it through closed hands, hands over his face. Stop. Just stop. Please.

And the Devil smiles and wicked smile and says As you wish.

There's some beautiful threshold between dulling pain and seeing miracles and I'm balancing directly on it, a tightrope of hope over despair. At the end of the rope Lochlan is there with his hands out, always, words of encouragement, support and pride. Driven to dive for me if I fall. To die for me even.

Down below (Don't look, Peanut! Look at me!) is Jacob. An audience of Jacobs. All wearing the same thing, looking up with concern but hope. Expectation. Awe. All watching the spectacle of my life to see if I can safely cross or if I'll hit the nets.

Caleb stands at the first anchor shackle and threatens to pull the pin. I can hear him shouting over the roar of the crowd of Jacobs. I can feel him threatening to send me to my dreams.

:(

Today was still drugged. A haze-Monday in slow-motion.

I'm fine.

That wasn't fine, Peanut. That was a level of not-fine the likes of which I haven't seen in a while.

A glitch, that's all.

A sign, I'd say.

And what does it say?

We got comfortable, maybe?

Caleb has other ideas. This is what happens when she's taken away from me. I can calm her.

(Huh. It's like I'm not even here.)

Hush, Diabhal. Lochlan I don't want to be on this stuff.

It'll wear off. He is dismissive. Hopefully by then you'll be too tired to scream any more.

It was a bad dream-

It was so tangible I was scared on your behalf! Those aren't normal nightmares and your mind, your mind isn't-

If you say normal next I'm going to kiss you.

He laughs and draws his hands down his face. Jesus, Bridgie. I was hoping we were out from under this-

It's a balance, Dóiteán. Caleb is calm and sure of himself.

Something she's always done better than the rest of us, Diabhal.

Sometimes everyone needs a little help. Caleb kisses the top of my head, folding me into his arm briefly. A reassurance that my ghosts will never be far, which is sometimes oh so little to ask for.

This is my garden...on drugs.

Church for me today was Sam coming all the way out to the vegetable garden and standing on the edge of the freshly-tilled soil, hands in his pockets, watching me muck about getting rid of the remainders of weeds and sticks left behind, plotting out rows and wishing desperately that I could throw my seeds in the ground now, today, rushing spring along like an errant bus on a busy boulevard. The mud is halfway up my boots and when I finally notice him it takes me a splucky-slow minute to get to him. When I do he steadies my lurch, smiles and then reaches down to find a little bit of dirt, which he picks up, using it to make the sign of the cross on my forehead while he prays for my simple, errant soul.

We grow from it and return to it. I wink at him.

You don't bury your dead. The smile is gentle.

I can't. I am earnest and forthright. It's true. I can't. I can't leave them behind. I don't understand people who park their so-loved ones in the ground, effectively anchoring them to one place forever. Cold. Alone.

This is good for you, today.

I nod. Pleased that he is pleased.

Will you be in for lunch? I'll be back a little early. He does shorter services in the weeks leading to Easter.

Yes. I'll help. 

If you feel like it. He's not going to mention the screaming. Not going to mention the fight I put up. Not going to mention the memories I drag around, rebuilding the mind-office, the darkened rooms full of file cabinets and their perfectly-organized thoughts, not going to mention Lochlan's fearful shouts and the wide-eyes as they looked at a little monster they thought was fixed, for the moment, but those moments are so few and far between. Grief grows like a weed all around me and I cut it back but it just regrows.

The good times aren't over, Bridget. He reads my mind. It's scattered like leaves across the grass in the heavier than usual wind.

Hope you're right. And I turn and go back to my work, which could be done by anyone else but today I need to do it. I need to see life on the trees and on the plants that survived the winter right along with me. I need to believe that things go on. I need..I don't know what I need anymore but this feels better than yesterday.

Plans.

Caleb has promised me an after-dinner swim this evening as the first of the year, much to Sam's dismay. Sam wanted the first swim of the year to be a refresher on my lessons. Never mind that they throw me into the ocean with alarming regularity, off a cliff, no less, he wants me to be able to swim around back to the point without assistance, by myself.

But your first rule is not to swim alone. Ever. 

This is emergency preparation, Bridget. Just like the fire extinguisher in the kitchen. 

And in the hall, in case the kitchen is already on fire.

Exactly. 

And the upstairs and downstairs halls-

Right. Preparation is key. 

So you're making me into a navy seal?

No, just a strong swimmer. 

I don't even think my shoulders or my arm are up to swimming today. I mostly plan to float. 

Also a plan. In case you're injured or tired.

You're becoming more like Lochlan every day. 

Really? He laughs. How so?

Contingency plans. Always a good contingency plan. 

Lochlan is very smart. 

True. But not academic smarts.

No, that's Caleb. Lochlan is life-smart. 

Thought you were going to say street smart. 

No, he goes above that. 

Yeah, he does.

Who does what? Lochlan comes in. 

We were just admiring your mind. 

How's that? 

Sam wants me able to return around the point alone in case of emergency and I told him that was a very Lochlan-thing to do. 

Yeah. He nods at Sam. Good idea. I didn't think of it though. 

You've wished for it before. 

But unlike Sam, who has more faith than anyone I know, I didn't think you could train for it. I just figured you were too small to fight the waves. 

I can fight anything. 

Yeah, you can. You're strong. A lot stronger than before. 

Tears. Geez. We've having a full-on circle jerk here and it's really nice. 

Imaginary daze.

HE FILLED THE POOL.

But it's cold outside. And it's supposed to rain tonight. So yeah. It's like baking a chocolate cake and reallllly wanting some but not being able to have any.

He called it a lesson in patience.

Ironic, that.

***

My love for Mark Morton (from Lamb of God) kind of reached a fever pitch when he said he was putting out a solo project. I was so excited. I love him. Mostly because he looks like John (yes, I've mentioned it before here, several years ago) and he's also hella talented, though as I grow up I skew doom/progressive, not so much thrash/metalcore. So while I've seen LOG live and and I've had a crush on Mr. Morton for like twenty years almost now, I thought he would sing, for whatever reason, on his album.

But like Slash (another famous guitar player who put out some solo work), he doesn't. He has guest vocalists.

Except for one song. So I threw it on the stereo and I'm like Hey! His voice is nice! He sounds so...friendly and not like what I expected.

But I listened and it didn't really stick with me. Kind of...safe. This album is testing the waters or maybe I'm jaded but I would have cranked the levels and drawn out the notes and really thrown the book at it. It's too safe. It's too benign. It doesn't have teeth or heart. Which disappoints me but I won't stop staring at him if I get the chance, or staring at John (if I don't) and when I ask the boys what's missing from this album they think I'm harsh or cracked or naive or just being bitchy because I really want to float in the pool and look at the clouds but I can't.

Imaginary Days for sure.

(Any thoughts on what I'm trying to find on this record that's missing? Email me. I want to love it.)

Crunch, crunch, soft.

Time management seems okay today. I did my annual first full day of spring plea for the pool to be filled, was refused (as is tradition) and went and whined to PJ, who checked my reality for me, proclaiming it very low and remediated it post-haste with another cup of coffee and a banana. We got groceries. I taught myself, PJ and Ruth how to make gỏi cuõn (cold Vietnamese salad rolls, SO MUCH EASIER THAN I THOUGHT) (THANKS YOUTUBE) and then I ate four of them. Not the huge ones. I forgot about sizing and bought smaller, I think nine-inch wrappers. So good though. I love love Vietnamese food, and their coffee too. I would eat my way across their little country save for the fact that it isn't on my bucket list. Maybe it should be. 

I was so proficient in the kitchen this afternoon. It was a marked departure from lying on the floor facedown this morning, hands clasped out in front of me, a dramatic request for just a little water in the pool. We don't have to fill it all the way. Six feet in the deep end will suit me just fine. 

But no. Too soon. Not yet. 

I bet there are people here who swim all year ro-

I said no, Bridget. 

My face is surprise and disappointment and he softens. Get up, Sweetheart. 

If I stomp my feet would it make a difference? 

Absolutely not. 

Damn. 

So get up. 

My arms hurt and I want to float. 

So have a bath. Or a hot tub. Both will allow you to float.

Yes, but I can't fit as many people in the bathtub with me as I can in the pool. 

So have it alone. 

Well, where's the fun in THAT?

Love letters to my own cracked soul.

I had to listen to Dare you to Move three times just to get out of bed. Today is a fight from the moment I opened my eyes and I plan to win. My corner's strategy is to power through. Take deep breaths. Envision it all rolling right off my back like a wave. Floating looking up at the clouds. Letting the weight disappear. Digging through the still-cool earth in search of life, but knowing where the (figurative) bodies are buried, and letting them rest.

My playlist is messed up and when all the iterations of Dare you to Move were finished, Wonderful Feeling came on. I have two of those (thanks, iTunes. Christ.) Okay, I feel better. Aspirins help too. My body hurts from running all day with coffee pots and arrows shot by entitled, spoilt-rude customers that I emerge wounded each night and everything aches something fierce and I have to fight that too.

I am two paychecks away from ten thousand dollars (not including tips, which can be really big. I just blow those because my charm demands a ransom for what it puts me though, after all) and I don't think I'm quitting yet. I want to prove I can fix myself and I'm not sure how this is going to do it but what if it is?

(Now today, people, please be nice in the ring because I'm really fucking tired and not in the mood for your shit.)

Beets, maybe.

They conveniently rallied around the Devil today, inviting him out for lunch, asking him for help with stuff, hanging out, being brothers as when one of the brothers in the Collective is hurting the others will always, always swoop in to help. By the time I came home from work, sweating right through my dress, done with customers, done with shit, done with life, they were having a grand old time tearing up the garden, sleeves rolled up, shovels and the tillers in overdrive.

I stopped and watched for a moment, smiling, though it hardly reached my face for being so tired. I wished for a picture, as I could have had it developed in black and white and added it to our history. Conquering the new world, or putting down roots, would be the caption.

In all honesty, these days we practice Irish gardening. I throw a handful of seeds towards the dirt and harvest what comes up. It works a little too well sometimes and some years it's a lot of work but with time management and all of this help we'll figure it out and come out ahead. Gardening is a very peaceful thing for me, and I don't care if it's flowers or food, it does more than pills, counselling, distraction or time.

I'm really glad they picked him up where I left him off. He needed it. I needed it too. 

Hasselblad heyday.

I went up to deliver Caleb's mail (it's my job this month. We all take turns and you get the task for the whole month. No one has to come dig through mail in the front hall. If some is for you it will be delivered to your room. It keeps my front hall clear.

I knocked and he said Come in and when I came in he was just standing up and turning off his monitor. Just a second too late.

What is that?

Just finishing up some banking-

No, your wallpaper. Turn it back on, please, I want to see. 

He sighs and lets his shoulders drop but he complies.

One of Cole's photographs of me.

You live in the same house. Do you really need a...a...technological shrine?

It's a beautiful photograph. 

They all were. But I don't want to see them. 

Then don't put them on your computer.

It feels inappropriate. 

It's nothing of the kind. My brother took a nice picture of my girlfriend, if you leave out all of the history. It's nothing you need to worry about. 

Do you have a lock of my hair and a few candles burning somewhere too?

No, I blew those out already. That's why you're here. I had a little summoning circle.

Oh, Jesus. 

Well, you asked. I'm just up here all day making voodoo dolls of Lochlan and casting wizard spells to make you mine. Seriously, Bridget. Thank you for bringing up my statements but honestly it's a good photo and if you stick around long enough you'll see they rotate through a sizeable collection of his work, including some even of Chris and Loch. So while I love to flatter you and you deserve it, it's really just a picture. 

It's never just a picture. 

No, it is. It really just is. I miss my brother. Let me have that. 

Captain Marvel update.

It was AWESOME!! The first half I was all lol aliens and the second half came back and put me on my ass. It was very very good and worth a weaker first half, which I was told sets up the Avengers world or something. I only fell asleep twice but rescued myself thanks to Lochlan glaring at me in the dark.

Lol. Aliens.

Also, managed to hear Heart, Lita Ford, Garbage and Hole in the same movie. WTF. 

Happy Saint Patrick's Day. My very own in-house Saint Patrick made coffee and french toast for us this morning, encouraged us to go outside and eat on the patio (which is fully decorated so I wonder if we're having a party tonight) and then got tickets to see Captain Marvel for the squad this afternoon.

I guess he got the morning half-right.

I'm KIDDING.

(Really not a Marvel person.)

(Maybe this one will change my mind.)

On the other hand the theatre has coffee. And nachos. So good enough. Lunch is decided. Actually coffee and nachos is not a good combo.

(Also I learned last night that when Thanos dissolved half the people on earth in the last Avengers they'e actually dead. I thought they were transported to another planet. That's weird. It totally looks like they're just being whisked away but WHATEVER, people. Give me the cliff's notes and eventually I'll figure it out.)

(PSS we watched Mortal Engines last night. AMAZING concepts which fell mostly flat. Can't figure out why. Why why why? Everyone in the movie was a beautiful soul. Why did this movie not work? At all? Let's all go think about it and touch base later. I realize you're not here for my reviews but I also don't care.)

The princess and the violet fog (spoilers if you're dying to see A Star is Born and haven't, yet).

Let me be naive here, just for one post.

Have you tried the gin? McQueen & the Violet Fog? It's like drinking rosemary-licorice cordial and it's very very good. I had way too much of it yesterday and yet I woke up okay today. Maybe because I got up at seven sharp and made coffee. I've decided to double my coffee consumption because honestly I'm cooking dinner now and I'm head-dropping while I stir boiling things on the stove, while I set the table. While I sort the mail (into eight piles. We get so much mail holy shit)

More coffee is not going to stave off the narcolepsy but the nervous energy it creates will help to insulate me from its effects.

So after thinking over my movie viewing yesterday I figured out why I didn't like it.

It was La La Land in a different package, with a grittier face and a far more tragic result of said actions.

I'm all for people going for their dreams but what happens if you find love along the way? According to Hollywood, you stomp that shit out post haste and continue on your way.

In the old days you would give up your dreams and settle, because love.

Modern days, hell, modern demands have changed that so it's the opposite now. God help you if you give up those dreams, and god help the significant other who holds you back.

Why can't you have a happy medium? Keep your dreams, and keep your love. There was no reason why she couldn't have brought him on tour. No reason why she couldn't have forced him to go, brought some keepers to handle him (because that awards show fiasco was so preventable) and then everyone is happy.

Instead they decided to be tragic. Fuck that. Choose love.

Shallow.

Ben came home early from his meeting and I am positively halfway to shitfaced, which is probably two martinis too many, but this is my fourth, I can't enunciate any more and I'm afraid he's going to be disappointed in me as I lost my grip on the day, a grip that was one-handed anyway, greasy enough to slide too far for my comfort and already way past theirs.

It's March break still, the last one we'll ever get. It's spring which hurts in a weird way. I always seem to fall in love in the spring and have my heart broken in summer, fall and winter, if we're keeping track but right now the buds are on the trees and it's a retina-searing eighteen degrees but cold in the wind. 

That's fine. I'm inside. 

Nothing particularly bad happened today, I'm just tired. I lie that information to Ben and he fails to believe it. He asks me if the concert cancellation (Breaking Benjamin (not my Benjamin) and Asking Alexandria cancelled their western Canadian tour dates due to 'production issues'. I know what that means, I'm not dumb, but I am seven hundred dollars richer again soon because refunds! Refunds and breathing space because we had three concerts in one week in April and now there's only two) had anything to do with it. Of course not. Shit happens ('production issues', apparently). I just...eh...I need more sleep. 

I'm watching A Star Is Born on my laptop (the remake with Bradley and ah..er...Lady? Not the Barbra Streisand one, but I'm going to dig that up next) and it's freaking GREAT. Their chemistry is blowing me off my seat. 

I'm glad you never met anyone like that, I tell Ben. Or rather, I almost tell him. Some of the words aren't fully formed. 

I did, he says. 

I mean someone who could sing. 

I did, he says. 

OH my fucking God! I mean Lady Gaga with her million award nominations and Saturday Night Live gig! 

Yeah, you're not really all that, are you? He said it as a joke but I just took another huge swallow of gin and put the movie back on just in time to see Bradley Cooper take a big swallow of gin, too. Oh, I get it. In this story, I'm the guy with a fucked up life watching someone steal my starshine. 

Gotcha, universe. Touché.

(Also I went into this knowing nothing, laughing about how much Bradley Cooper sounded like Sam Elliot with his Deep Voice and then Sam Elliot comes on screen. Yay.)

(Boy did I ever go into this knowing nothing. Oh my God. Next time go ahead and spoil it, please. Everyone was like It's great! It won awards! Well, to someone like me it's a battlefield disguised as entertainment and I don't have any fight left in me. Ben almost threw the computer out the window.)

Nice try.

I think they're planning something.

I waltzed into the kitchen in time to see PJ putting bags in the cupboard. He saw me and did a double-take and then all but threw the bags inside and shut the door. I saw a flash of green foil.

When I asked Lochlan and Ben what they want to do this weekend (Drive over mountaintops? Freeze to death kayaking? Spend the whole damn thing at the movies?) they both demure on making plans, saying they are tired and we should have a quiet weekend to rest, since no one is sick (ha, still coughing a bit), and since we don't have to do anything specific.

But it's St. Patricks Day! I complained. My national holiday! The one where everything is green except whatever I eat because I'm allergic to food colouring. 

Eh, it's not a specific holiday, Bridge. But I see Lochlan struggling to keep a straight face so I let him off the hook because I know something exciting is coming.

Yeah, you're right. I guess I'll mark it in my own way. 

That's my girl. Hey, maybe we can go see Captain Marvel this weekend. 

Or we can do nothing. You said you were tired, right?

Yeah. (He (Monsieur MCU superfan) was hoping I'd be on board but I'm die-hard DC, remember?)

Typical.

What would you like for dinner, Bridge? 

Toasted marshmellows and cold vodka. 

Where? 

In the pool. 

When?

Moonrise, of course. 

You're weird. 

Thank you.

Pies offering.

I did go to work after all, and halfway through the day I turned and walked all the way to the last booth, pulling down the menu and finding Batman there. 

You were coming to see me, that day you got..ah..distracted with Jake. 

I was.

Why?

Maybe a loan. 

He laughs a big, rare laugh. For what?

Does it matter?

Perhaps. 

I need to buy all the Jeeps. 

Why? 

No one told me how fun they were to drive.

Maybe I should get one. 

Yeah, you should. Take mine out this weekend and see. 

You'll lend your beloved? 

It's insured. Ruth takes it, sometimes. 

Possibly. 

Does this mean you might come back and see me and actually find me at some point? 

They wouldn't be very impressed. 

That's fine. I don't live to impress the commune. 

Collective.

Whatever. 

You're part of it. 

If I were I would have a place at the table. I am nearby. Close enough to keep an eye on you. 

I soften briefly. He is difficult and and it's rare that we're into each other. So rare. I appreciate that. 

I'm glad to hear it. Maybe now I can try this famous pie of yours? 

What kind would you like?

Surprise me. Just warm it up a little, please? 

I'll be right back. 

Light be mine.

Ben had to pry me away from him this morning. Who wants to go to work when there are sweet reunions to be had? But under promise of more snow I went, because I knew it would be less busy, hopefully and more organized. I like it when it's organized. I hate it when I'm running nonstop. 

I got another kiss and Ben said he would be lonely until I got home and Lochlan glared at him and asked if he was just a third wheel or what? Ben didn't miss a beat, winked and Loch and said Shhhhh. I'm just letting her think what she wants. The minute she's gone I'm all yours. 

Lochlan laughed out loud and the happiness in the room made it even harder for me to leave. 

The day went fast and once I was home time slows back down, the way it should. We made dinner, I got caught up on laundry (have to wash my work dress for tomorrow since I only have one) and now they're looking at a gold-panning video online while I make my lunch for tomorrow. 

Maybe I'll call in sick.

Times change, routines don't.

Ben is home. I sensed him before I heard him, and when I turned around he had filled the kitchen archway, bag still in hand, smile on his face that said maybe he missed me as much as I missed him, and I dropped the pot into the sink and ran.

I am in his arms off the ground before he has time to say hello and I wouldn't have it any other way. His absence is a familiar ache and I always loved it when he came back. Still do.

I didn't get a welcome like this from PJ. 

He just doesn't want you to mess up his hair. 

And I get a kiss. A Ben-kiss which is one of the best kind.

Tired? 

Yeah. I didn't sleep. It was too quiet. There was too much space. I need my velcro friends. 

You got them. 

Okay, can we go to bed at maybe seven? I'm really wiped. 

I can do that. 

Lochlan? 

He's next door dropping off some papers with Schuy. Brace yourself when he runs at you. He's been working out. 

How so? 

Trying to get past the others to punch Caleb. 

That's a good workout for him. 

Not really but sometimes he's stronger than they are if he's in the mood. 

Where's Cale? 

Church, I think. 

Ooh. Alone? 

Yeah. I've done it. YOU'Ve done it. 

True. 

He smiles with crinkled eyes and I put my hands on his cheeks. I'm so glad you're home. 

Wow. I should go away more often to get a welcome like this. I figured you'd throw an Oh Hey over your shoulder and keep doing whatever. 

You should NOT go away more often and I've never done that in my life. 

Lies. You did it that one time I called Jake out and then went to Europe for three months. I've never felt so small. 

Oh, you deserved that though. You were being an ASS. 

I was. And I'm glad I'm not anymore. 

Me too. 

This is my brain on the sunrise.

I will not rescind a word
Of what I've said
For the vultures overhead
But for every line I vent
Another ten
I'm afraid I'd lose you then

Pre-dawn coffee from the firepit with Diabhal, who is soft-spoken and completely willing just to spend the time this morning. We've made toast with melted cheese directly on the grill over the fire and I give the ashes a stir, my own version of a dark zen garden, tracing patterns in the embers, envisioning them as water flowing black over my ruminations, eroding my efforts to shut him out as he deserves to be, these days.

The coffee is good. Hot, rich, tempered with just a little sprinkle of brown sugar. The bread is sawed rough from a round loaf of sourdough, broken with his hands into pieces small enough to eat, the cheese cut with his pocketknife and balanced on each piece of bread until soft enough from the flames to melt into the crumb just the way I like it.

The dawn is beautiful. The sun bursts quietly through the lavender-grey horizon gently and without announcement, casting a beautiful glow on our faces, erasing years, lines and deeds in a brief instant before casting shadows once again as it chases the moon out of the spotlight.

He's done it. He took a strongarmed action and strangled it off, returning to the patient Devil, to the reactive instead of the proactive emotional strategy he usually feeds off.

I watch him as I sip my coffee. He watches me back. Almost imperceptibly he nods. As if this is good enough, if this is going to be the way it is. He has softened around his sharp edges, mellowing at last, aging gracefully into what I always hoped he would be, but what I figured would always be just another daydream for a little girl looking out the window as the road wound like a ribbon around her life. She wanted to put the Devil in her pocket, along with the crushed paper cone from the cotton candy, and the seven pennies she found underneath the window at the ordering counter of the ice cream shop, so that she would always know exactly where he was, and he'd never be able to surprise her again. Then she would take her sticky hand and thrust it into Lochlan's and they would be safe.

Manic pixie dream boys.

Five nights straight all to ourselves and we've already resurrected old sleeping patterns, old habits and old feelings. Five nights straight of Ben being away (work. travel. argh. fuck. retirement. apparently) and I'm pretty sure that while we slumber away pressed closely together in each others faces, PJ is probably sleeping on the steps outside our door, an exhausted sentry, a one-man-band, tasked with keeping the peace. Not alone but mostly in charge while everyone else is off doing their dailies and he remains on high alert at all times because the moment you let your guard down otherwise Caleb and Lochlan will be at each others' throats because that's how their friendship is mapped.

Caleb thinks he is untouchable. Lochlan thinks he can carve rules in stone, that our routines will never change. Caleb has some foolish notion that we can move forward, all the while carving his name into the chip on Lochlan's shoulder.

We try to move on and then the past drags us down into the abyss. I worry that it might always be groundhog day around here, even as I tried so hard to move on, to find someone new, completely outside of the Collective and..it ended badly. It ended abruptly, and I went running back. 

Didn't know I had a reset button.

I was getting ready for bed, putting gloss on my lips from a little pot and Lochlan appears in my reflection, turning me around, taking the pot from me and putting it on the counter, taking my hand, finger still up, using it to trace my lips. His face is an inch from mine but he's very intent on holding my finger steady, gently sliding it over my lips. His mouth is open, breath held just for a moment as my eyes try to take everything in. Is he angry? Is he resigned? Is he fine with it, fine with everything or is he going to barge in with some sort of gentle demand that I can't fulfill?

He moves my finger to his lips and traces his bottom one. It's probably the most tender moment we've shared in months. Maybe even years. Then he kisses me and I replace the previous moment with this one, because it's soft and slow and perfect. It's not a Hurry up and prove I'm the One, it's a We're going to take our time moment.

He picks me up and sits me on the counter, legs dangling over the edge on either side of his hips. He pulls his shirt off and unbuttons mine, leaving it around my shoulders because I'm always cold. He pulls my hips right to the edge where he is there to meet me, and I cry out, surprised at the cold counter, and at the warmth of his skin, always. When he hears me he lets go of my hips and wraps his arms around me, lifting me up, taking me out of the room, into our bedroom, gently putting me down on the quilts, then following me there. Another kiss and he smiles and turns me over, pressing me down into the covers with his weight, pushing his arm down underneath me in order to pull me back up against him, hand firm against my belly, suddenly driving so hard into me that I have to make fists into the blankets just to breathe, just so I don't cry out too loudly.

His other hand is twisted in my hair. God, it's so long finally, he says, and I don't know if he's talking about my hair or the length of time we've been without this kind of comfortable privacy. He pulls my head back and kisses my ear, then lets go and I am shoved against the bed over and over again until he evens out, turning me back over, making me climb walls until I'm begging him to stop and then he comes too and I feel like his grip might pull my head right off, his other hand anchoring my thigh so hard he leaves a placemarker bruise, one that is still present this morning.

He slows to a crawl against me and another kiss is my reward for conquering the dark.

I like your lipgloss, he says. It tastes like raspberries. 

Everything ends in a fistfight. That used to be my complaint about movies, that it didn't matter what special powers anyone had, they would fight the enemy with punching and beating. 

My guys have super powers. They do the same.