Smaller people get colder faster.

There is an incredible bliss to having coffee and big homemade bagels with homemade grape jelly on the patio while it's pouring rain in sheets all around me. It drums on the glass roof and I have two of the heaters on low. It's twelve degrees and not meant to go any higher today and so denim overalls, a pink t-shirt and a fuzzy pink cardigan are comfortable and warm, though it makes me look like a highschooler from the eighties. I was a highschooler in the eighties so I don't mind so much.

I may have to make another bagel though. This jelly is so good. I made it last fall when it turns out we got some decent grapes, though not enough to make wine with so I harvested what I could and got four good-sized jars of jelly. The first one never set and we used it up but I just opened the next after ten months and it's perfectly set and delicious.

I love to can. I do old-fashioned style in a big stock pot in small batches and I make everything from pickles to jams to tomato sauce to preserved vegetables to applesauce.

Lochlan agrees. He's just poured us each a second coffee to sip for our final hour out here before the chores start. It's Monday after all. The incredible amount of rain means no running with the Devil this morning. I haven't run enough, I think but at the same time my body is far happier if I don't anymore. Ruth goes back to work today. Henry doesn't work again until the weekend. A lot of businesses are opening today and yet I plan to help the boys clean the house, maybe do some baking and then tackle my mending pile while I watch Win The Wilderness on Netflix.

It's very good. I wonder how I would do in a challenge like that? Not like I'll ever find out. I have stupid things I love too much to give up like the heated floors in the stables and really fast wi-fi thanks to Lochlan and my stand mixer for when I do bake (I have a very weak elbow on one side that has never fully recovered) and I really love the motorized retractable glass windows across the kitchen wall that I don't really talk about because then people will think I'm spoiled.

(I am spoiled, though but also self-aware so I hope it counts for something. In my defense while you spent your teens and twenties living at home borrowing mom's car and shopping I was singing for my supper and it wasn't much, let me tell you.) 

I don't think I could give that wall up to regularly get visits from grizzlies. We do get visits from black bears, does this count? It's my little luxury-Alaska, I guess. Our bears are used to people though and not nearly as terrifying as grizzlies. On the show they say it's the other way around. Huh.

Hoping to finish the mending today though. Lochlan's getting low on flannel shirts. He wears the elbows out so fast because he doesn't roll up his sleeves all year around like some of the others. I darn some of the least damaged and patch the most. It suits him.

(Also a fun fact: I embroider the initials of each boy on the sleeve cuff of their flannel shirts or I can't tell who owns what. We don't do our own laundry separately in the collective. We do whatever needs to be done.)

Heart (and hand)warming.

And today I went kayaking with Matt.

Matt was nervous, Matt tried to be at once a father, big brother and best friend. He wasn't sure if I could lift my kayak, wasn't sure if I could push off on my own from the beach or the dock, didn't know if he should warn me of anything like wakes or sea monsters and wasn't aware that he's been watching me do this for YEARS and no one does anything for me. In fact, I'm fine. I tend to pull instead of push when I paddle if I stop thinking and start thinking (as one does) but otherwise you don't have to teach, warn or babysit me. Not there. Not on the water. I was born on the sea. I know what I'm doing. 

We looked at logs, seals, jellyfish and tourists. We paddled silently halfway down the coast to the end of my comfort margins and then turned back. He thanked me for reminding him to wear a hat and sunglasses and he said we should bring Sam with us next time.

Then Sam and I interact and Matt stays on the fringe. I don't know if that's a better idea? I'm trying to get to know him in reverse.

I point that out to Matt and tell him we could have a Saturday morning 'yak with just the two of us and a Sunday evening one with Sam included and he seemed to like that. And by the time we returned to the dock I think he realized that I don't bite, I don't rule this point with an iron fist and I don't hate him. I hate some of his previous actions because he hurt someone I'm incredibly close to but otherwise he is a new blank-canvas boy and he seems to fit in here well and still toe a line of respect that some of the boys would be well to adopt. He held my fingers in his hands to warm them back up. It was a sweet gesture.

He's okay. I told him that and he laughed and said I was okay too. He invited me to come in for a drink on our way up the steps but I have to get back. Lochlan and I are doing some things this afternoon.

Maybe come by later for it then?

Maybe tomorrow, I tell him and he laughs. Okay. Whenever. We have an open door.

Same goes for you both.

It's appreciated, Bridget. Thank you. It's been unreal.

What has?

Being home.

Get off my lawn.

We're not going to talk about how I spent almost two hours this morning trying to see what movies we've bought on the x-box. Nevermind trying to hack my microsoft account to see, or even which x-box I was supposed to check it on, or how to turn on the x-box. Then the dance of logging in. Then the which profile will show it. Then a bunch of random updates and I finally passed the controller (very gently, without even throwing it) over to Dalton with a mention that I may just throw anything with a plug off the cliff later today if I can't get what I need and he laughed and said he'll figure it out. Do we still have x-box live? Is it golden or regular? Do we even use these things anymore? Is this worth the hassle? All of these make up the great mysteries of the universe and I've decided I don't care.

Life was so easy when playing a game involved finding a quarter.

Edit: Update! 11:30pm. They couldn't get in either.

I finally tried to log in to xbox from my computer and found the password hanging out in Firefox. Then seven or eight submenus deep I could look back on ten years of orders which..well, who has time for that?

We had to rent The Hobbit, in other words. Also x-box is dumb. I'm going to live in the Shire.

Having shirts printed. One says Princess. One says Devil. His will be red. Mine can be pink.

Caleb heard me coughing through the night and lost his mind again.

I've been gardening a LOT. The poppies are blooming. The onions survived, as did the radishes. I somehow wound up with fifty extra tomato plants after burying a rotten tomato in the ground one night on my way out to see what was coming up. Better compost than garbage and there's room for a few odds and ends but the tomato disappeared and the seedlings shot up and the jokes about Irish gardening persist. Irish gardening is that you throw a handful of seeds toward the dirt and eat whatever ends up growing and yes, I planted an entire row of potatoes this year.

I was really excited about the poppies though. Two years ago I planted a sad little leaf and it did nothing until this spring. In February it quadrupled in size and then BOOM. It has five huge bulbs and one of them blew it's cap earlier this week and revealed a gorgeous papery red flower I can't help but visit fifteen times a day. This beats vegetables by a mile. I transitioned half the vegetable garden to perennials due to the sheer workload of a garden that size and it's gorgeous now. Full English with Irish planting.

But Caleb doesn't want to hear about my allergies. He holds his hand against my forehead and looks worriedly into my eyes.

You need to take a day off. We'll snuggle in and watch movies and get some takeout.

Ah. A Date.

No, a rest-day. Every time I see you you're like a hummingbird. You need to stop or this could get worse.

I don't think allergies can increase in severity any more than they already do for me. Same time every year. More if I'm touching the tomato plants.

They could help you, you know.

Or you could.

He smiles abruptly. Perhaps I could be your personal gardener.

Oh! That would be fun. But only if you wear really tight jeans, no shirt and be slippery-sweaty. Did you know gardening is a better workout than anything el-

Anything else? Yes, I've heard that. So what do you want to do, direct me? And I'll look after the physical part? He's still smiling.

No. I need to get dirty and dig in the ground or I'm not right in the head. You can move the rocks when I find them and wield the wheelbarrow.

But otherwise?

Stand around shirtless and look handsome.

Shouldn't you be shirtless? God knows, we can't keep you in clothes.

No I burn too easily. Naked is for nighttime.

Ah. A new mantra.

It isn't new.

Fear IS a mindkiller (Thanks Fear Factory, I get it now).

I broke all my nails trying to flatten all of the stupid cardboard boxes they (meaning NOT ME) throw into the garage to keep 'just in case' when they order things and now I'm in a bad fucking mood. I didn't have enough sleep, got a little or maybe a lot overwhelmed and Lochlan asked me how I was doing and I bit my tongue and said fine.

Practically with steam pouring out of my ears.

Want to talk about it? He asks quietly. Lochlan is trying to learn to help me in place of the others. I am still loathe to let him. Not because I don't want to but because I can't.

It's like little things are snowballing and I can't hold it together and I'm getting so angry lately over things that didn't use to bother me.

It's because of the added stress of the quarantine and the scariness of going out and running what are supposed to be mundane errands and trying to get what you want done with all that extra weight of the world.

Is it?

I feel like it might be.

Oh. Okay so I need to just distract and just go and do things and hopefully it will get better.

Henry took me to the grocery store to pick up a few things.

When I came home I had a shot of vodka and a chocolate bar. I read a book for a few moments and I'm going to paint my nails and maybe shave my head. I got a cascade of emails this afternoon telling me the dentist and eye doctor are opening back up, Ruth goes back to work on Monday, our favorite restaurants and parks flung open their doors this week and I want to run and hide. Not because I'm afraid of some virus but because I really embraced this lockdown hard. The only part I ever minded was the fear, as always.

And now it's almost over but I think it should continue. Just a little while longer. Just to be safe.

Breakfast with the Devil (because that's all he gets).

The afterglow of Sam and Matt's wedding persists, pushing back against the grey rainclouds of today, even though I have already turned into a pumpkin (a snack jack, if you're planting) and Caleb has already come back strong with a little Coldplay on the kitchen stereo (Clocks) and some incredibly incendiary Irish Coffees for breakfast. A small fruit plate to share. Plans. A late walk on the beach instead of a run. Some help putting away the decorations if I want it (because it takes a village to get him to give in to my whims) and lunch out, since things are opening.

I give a yes to the coffee + Coldplay, okay to all of the blueberries and kiwi on the plate, a beach walk instead of the run but then my day is Lochlan's. We've decided we're going to re-watch all of the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies this week and boy, are they long. Trying to cram them in around other things is proving difficult as meals are late, laundry is done during snack breaks and we've eaten ourselves round.

Someone asked via email if I've gained weight this pandemic. I don't know if it's appropriate or not but I fired off an answer as my emails are getting numerous again and I'm unsure why so it's hard to find much time for replies.

Six pounds. Puts me at 103. Lochlan's up about fifteen so you can't get cut by his chin anymore but he's still thinner than I'd like. He says the same thing about me.

What about your fabric and lights?

They're staying up indefinitely.

And lunch?

We have green salsa and nacho chips and tequila.

Sounds nutritious.

I had fruit! Just now!

Tomorrow?

Same. You can have until eleven.

Which day is completely free?

Next...Thursday I think.

Next Thursday.

Right. Not THIS Thursday, but nex-

I understand.

Then why do you look angry?

Caleb's face softens then as he checks his expression. The wedding made me have some thoughts. I'd like to share them with you. I didn't want to wait a week.

Sorry. Or we can talk right now. Or on the walk.

He starts to say something and then I am struck by the music. What is that? I interrupt.

He stops and listens. Warning Sign.

Oh. How appropriate.

I'm sorry?

Every time there's a wedding you have bridesmaid syndrome.

I guess I do.

Well, you don't have to.

That doesn't change how it feels.

I'll remember that sentence to tell you the next time you tell me not to be afraid.

Have tent, will perform.

Matt and Sam made everyone breakfast this morning as a thank you for the wedding, something they didn't expect but something we are oddly good at. They would have done it yesterday morning but we were up all night and this was the quietest property you ever saw yesterday as very little happened and no one woke up for hours and hours, until the day was almost gone. No point in trying to feed people who aren't awake.

You should be squired away having a honeymoon, I protested as Matt put the most drool-inducing plate in front of my nose. Fried tomato slices, back bacon, grilled English muffins and poached eggs with rosemary. Sam poured me a cup of coffee and said I was not to move, that he had organized a committee to unwind the lights.

Can't we leave them?

You'll get electrocuted, Lochlan pointed out. I'm surprised they still work after that rain. They're not outdoor lights.

I'll risk it, I point out helpfully and Lochlan frowns.

Then who would plan a beautiful funeral? He asks as he takes his plate to the sink. He was starving and ate while I was chattering, as always. Eat, he points at my plate. While it's hot. I dutifully pick up my fork and dig in while they head outside to unwind at least eighty kilometres of fairy lights and a hundred yards of tulle.

I actually had that all in storage to make my own circus tent someday, I mutter and Lochlan stops in his tracks, turning at the open door.

Say that again?

It was going to be my own circus tent. I wish you'd leave it.

I think he's decided I'm insane and he walks out the door. I hear him call Sam's name. Leave it up. We're leaving it, he yells.

Perfect.

He comes back in. You are not to touch those wires. Ever. If you do it all comes down. I don't want to come out looking for you and find a burned spot on the grass where you used to be.

But that would be neat-

Bridget!

Dancing in the violet shadows.

(I have trouble describing these moments. Bear with me.)

We all walked in small groups down to the gazebo. Umbrellas and good suits. My favorite embroidered gauze dress and bare feet. Flowers in our hair from our garden. Flowers in PJ and John's beards, and in Ben's ears. Everyone is smiling, talking quietly and laughing, holding hands. When we reach the gazebo Matt and Sam take each other's hand and walk up the steps where Sam's second at the church waits for them. He reads a beautiful poem and then asks the boys to exchange their vows. I put down my umbrella in order to get drenched so that they won't see me cry. Caleb foils my plan by pulling me backwards underneath the shelter of his umbrella. Lochlan does not let go of my hand.

Now is where I admit that the rain on the umbrellas means I could not hear their vows.

Had I said something every umbrella in a forty yard circle would have been closed at once but I'm not one to steal a spotlight or break a heart that is only just healing in and so I didn't tell Lochlan that I couldn't hear and had to wait for cues from the boys to know what was happening.

You can't choose the weather for a wedding. If you choose a deaf girl for your witness you're going to have to fill her in. I saw their eyes. I know what they've entered into, once again. I could tell by the way my own heart sped up to a lightning speed, skipping along at a crazy pace as I watched their faces.

The remainder of the night was a whirlwind as we exclaimed over their beautiful bespoke bands (also with S&M2 engraved on the inside) made of pirate gold and dreams, stuffed our faces and I was passed from arms to arms to arm dancing dizzily fast sometimes and achingly slow at other times. We watched Sam and Matt dance together but mostly they just stood nose to nose, smiling softly into each other's eyes. We couldn't tear our eyes away from them.

After they cut the cake they made a speech, thanking us all for the night, for the space and for the understanding, the room to figure it out and the privacy to hash it all out and clear out the past to make way for the future. They thanked us for being so open to love in any form and for allowing them to be a part of something so special in this Collective and for having a voice at the table, a vote on our life together moving forward and an open door always. 

Sam pulled me aside later and asked if his vows were okay, that he was too nervous to share them before the ceremony so he let them roll.

I couldn't hear them because of the rain.

His face. Oh my God. His face. Stay here, he tells me so I do.

He comes back two minutes later with Matt. They recite them for me again. By the time they are finished the tears have turned to a waterfall. If only I could ever make words sound so beautiful. I would want for nothing else.

Yeah, they're okay, I tell him, laughing-sobbing as I try not to wipe my teary face all over the front of his suit. Matt gives me his hankerchief and pulls us both in by our heads so I can't help but get tears all over their suits. It's okay, though. You couldn't tell them apart from the raindrops.

Prequel, sequel, Preacherman, love.

We put Sam in the middle of a group hug early this morning as he attempted to record a short message to be played instead of a podcast this morning. The podcast will be pointed at one of the global broadcasts from the church on a unfamiliar, formal level instead, if people are missing a sermon that badly.

Because we forgot to record it and put it up a few days ago in the rush.

He had to rerecord it three times, overcome with emotion over the support and the love he feels in this house.

Last night offhand I asked him if he wanted to use A Thousand Years Part II for their first (second) song and we both cried because the words are so beautiful so that's it, that's the song. Perfect since this is the sequel wedding. We've stuck little number 2s on everything that they haven't seen yet, including the cake topper, the gazebo and even all of the tiny sparklers for lighting after dark are shaped like 2s after Lochlan bent them gently with a pair of pliers, having figured out how to do it without losing all of the coating.

And we're ready. Sam prayed for all the wayward single souls on the point with a laugh and then got serious, asking God for some strength and courage to move forward and the bravery to be able to secure this island against the storms. His hands are shaking. He is afraid and he doesn't have to be. Love is a cloud. You jump and then you realize so much later that it's on fire or it's cold or it's not big enough for two. And he already jumps so he knows this is his cloud. He knows he is comfortable. He knows he is home. But still, when he takes my hand his trembles so slightly it makes me cry.

Don't cry, Bridget.

So happy for you, Sam. I choke it out and he sends me inside to make sure everything is ready because he can't. Because he is losing it. This gift. This second chance. Planned for summer, pinned on Easter, now falling somewhere in the middle. We'll get it done. Six o'clock tonight and he will be back where he belongs as Mrs. Matt.

It's one of those beautiful days on the point that I always want to remember. Every door to the outside is wide open. Everyone is here. Everyone is happy and excited. The air is electric. The tiny lights are on. The table is set and the rain can come or not, we don't really care.

Lochlan takes my hand and squeezes it and I burst into tears. I love this. I can't help it. As much as I always feared Sam would never recover from Matt breaking his heart, I know first hand how sweet it is when the one who broke it figures out how to come back and fix it for good.

A lighthouse.

Suits are ready. Daniel and I steamed them and ironed all of the shirts and ties and made sure there are nice socks, polished shoes and multiple freshly pressed hankerchiefs for the inevitable tears. When all that work was done (we've become heathens in old madras shorts and soft worn t-shirts or should I say they have) I went outside to sit on the patio and take a break and Sam was out there sitting by himself, looking over the ocean.

Do you think Jacob would have liked Matthew? He asks me with so much curiosity. It took me by surprise.

Jacob would have adored him. He would have been so happy that you both came back together after so long apart.

Do you think he would have felt the same about you and Lochlan?

I don't know, honestly. Sometimes I think he understood the closeness of the Collective and sometimes I think he was happier when we were removed from it. When it came crowding back in and he saw the depth of it he was overwhelmed.

Do you blame us for his absence, Bridget?

I don't blame anyone but Jacob, Sam. I say it fake-brightly now, determined to make this a happy weekend. They can deal with me later. He would have had great talks with Matt about life overseas and science versus religion. He would have considered him a very close friend very quickly, I think.

I think you're right.

Why would you look for confirmation from a ghost, Sam?

I just wonder why we spent the past four years apart if this is so right.

There's a conversation for Lochlan, not me.

Your circumstances were absolutely insurmountable, Bridget. There's no comparison there.

And yet, we overcame.

And it's incredible.

Is it? A lot of the world says this is unhealthy and doomed to end in an epic disaster.

I think it already did and we've been rebuilding it ever since.

I hope you're right.

Do you?

Yes, Sam, I do. We're coming out the other side.

Then can you do me a favor, Bridget?

Anything you need, you know that, Samuel.

Can you sober up? This is heartbreaking to watch.

I thought I was being sneaky.

I've been in the program a long time. You're visible from a hundred miles away, shining way too bright.

Well, fuck.

Better a day and a half drunk then a few years, trust me.

Or a few decades, like Ben.

Exactly. He and I talked yesterday morning about this.

That obvious?

I don't know why you think it wouldn't be.

I figured you were all distracted.

That's the beauty of this Collective. We don't get distracted to the point where we don't see that one of us needs the rest of us.

Then maybe y'all should have a chat with the Devil.

As we speak, Bridget. Don't you worry about a thing.

Calculator, decorator, tailor, slave.

Welcome to my cage little lover
Time to rearrange with you baby
Still don't know your name miss honey
Let's go up in flames pretty lady

Caleb continues to be unimpressed this morning. He was taken outside yesterday after breakfast by Lochlan while they hissed at each other and in that moment I decided that for the summer of 2020 I think I'll become a high-functioning alcoholic because it's easier than this stress and I'm sure I can hide it since they don't compare notes on my diet or alcoholic intake unless something is glaringly obvious, like I'm falling down drunk or way too enthusiastic about something I normally avoid, like...uh...shrimp or anal sex or sitting on an airplane for an extended period.

We ran up the mountain in silence this morning while I did budget stuff in my head and he made offhand comments about hurting me to the point where even if someone did touch me again I wouldn't feel it. When we got home and parted ways he said he loved me.

Is it Friday? Who cares? I've already squired away half a bottle of Mexican liqueur into my coffee over three cups and I swear they wouldn't notice if I poured it straight over my head. Or theirs. For lunch I have unearthed another case of champagne because I needed it out for the wedding anyway.

On the upside before I decided to spend this hallowed weekend loaded for bear I already collected all of my vintage black iron oil-fuel lanterns and put them on the steps and the rock path leading up to the gazebo. I pulled out all of my airy tulle teal curtains and went and bought out all of the blue fairy lights I could find (early this week, not driving drunk. PJ drove anyway) and have big plans to drape the openings and line the whole thing with the lights until we're positively blind from the beauty of it all.

For dinner (this is taking place on Sunday evening) after the short ceremony (I called Sam's comm. minister and nailed down the time and already sent him a huge stipend so I don't feel bad about not inviting him to stay for supper since it's a small group only) we're going to do a lobster boil and have potato salad, rolls and champagne/pellegrino besides. I'm baking the cake tomorrow. Angel food with buttercream icing and their original cake topper which simply says S&M and sends us all into fits of giggles so I still have it.

Their honeymoon will have to be in the boathouse but we have plans to add a bowsprit to it with a mermaid or a dragon or something to make it feel like they have bon-voyaged nonetheless because there's nowhere to go in these times anyway. Trust me. I tried.

It's going to be great.

Planning weddings, learning programming and escaping the grasp of the Devil. That's my Thursday.

Have I slept? No I haven't slept. Lochlan finally turned away and implored me to let him get at least some rest and we would deal with details tomorrow. The last wedding of Sam and Matt was a devastatingly poignant moment on the beach at night during the winter solstice. It started snowing. We had a devil of a time ferrying guests back and forth. Caleb ended up getting a plane. It made four stops. The work of dismantling the dinner on the beach took four days and I will never forget the beauty of that night or their words or the fact that I may not have cried so hard at any point since.

Sam says this one will be smaller. In-house with his community minister popping by to officiate in the foyer or maybe the front porch but otherwise no fuss, he says.

Oh, I'm making a fuss, I told him. A big fucking fuss.

Bridget, we're just undoing a mistake we made. Let's keep things light.

We will but it still has to be special. You need to mark this with-

Bridge-

Just let me whip up something beautiful. What's your limit on people? Who does Matt need? All I need is a guest list and I'm good-

Anyone who wants to be there. We'll need you and Lochlan and Ben but otherwise if anyone's free or not, it's fine. Short notice. I don't expect any bells this time. We're literally just re-legalizing.

Sam, don't you dare sell love short to someone like me.

Okay, uh...how's this? Make it beautiful but very small. Like you.

***

Google has done a thing to Blogger and I'm struggling, guys. I have no free time to figure it out so if my formatting gets weird it's not me. I am a Luddite, a basics girl. I don't know any HTML and they've smushed it all together with numbered lines and it's impossible so bear with me for a few years and just when I get it they'll change something else. I can't even figure out how to get my phone to stop taking live photos or how to turn on the television or the x-box anymore so yeah...sorry.

***

Caleb isn't too happy that I gave Matt and Sam a big old wedding gift of myself. No, he's not happy at all. He made an elaborate breakfast for us and just as I was about to take my first bite of eggs Benedict he asked me to detail what happened.

Um, what?

I want to know if Matt touched you.

Do you now? I return my fork to my plate and put my hands on the sides of the chair. I want to be ready to run when he flips this table. Or burns down my universe.

That's a yes if you're getting ready to bolt.

No, I'm just aware of your temper and how it translates to me.

Bridget, can't you just stay put?

Can't you just be happy they figured it out and are back together?

I just don't understand how you factor in.

I think for a moment. I could give him the slap in the face of the truth or I can blur the edges a little so that it doesn't cut quite so deep. It was probably just a impulsive decision to test their commitment. I don't know. I was home with Lochlan very early. I shrug for effect.

Caleb flips the table anyway with a reminder not to lie to his face. Not to break his heart. Not to Always. Put. Him. Last. Or at least that's what I think he yelled. I could hardly hear him for the thunderous sounds of footsteps running toward us.

Five days lead time? I can do this.

They tried to side me blind but I've been waiting for it all along. What I didn't expect was their delivery. No, I didn't expect that at all.

Someone brought my favourite gin to the table. I was the only one drinking it in the boathouse as the rain poured down on the skylights so hard that I briefly wondered, as I always do, if the glass will hold against the water. Then I wondered if the gin would hold against the night.

And then we went to bed.

(Spoiler alert. The glass held. The gin? It held too. Until it didn't but by then who needs alcohol escape when I can have figments instead?)

When I woke up Sam and Matt very gently told me they are getting married again. Victoria Day weekend. That it won't be big (first one wasn't) but they waited an entire holiday past what they set for themselves as a marker and they figured out how to navigate me (bring her over, touch her for a while and never say a fucking word about it again, every couple of...months or so) and here we go, boys. Time for another wedding.

Night birds and early owls.

I won't let it go
I'll stick to the plan
Deep in the throes

I won't let it go
I'll fight til' the end
And then you will know

When I took my coffee outside this morning, headphones, ipad and plans for half an hour of privacy in the pouring rain under protection of the glass-covered pergola, I was surprised to find Schuyler already there. He's ready for his day and waiting for me, clearly.

Where's Lochlan?

Sleeping. If you need him I can get-

No, I'll talk to him after.

Want coffee?

Oh, I want to talk to you as well.

With...coffee or without?

May as well stay here. Knowing you if I send you in for more coffee you'll go straight out the front door with your car keys because somehow over the past twenty years I have been 'scary'.

Not scary, just...foreboding? Maybe? I don't know.

All those pages and suddenly you don't have words?

Schuyblue-

No nicknames today, Bridget. We can't operate a Collective like this by force. We've learned that. So if I have some sort of vibe that's off I need to fix that.

Schuyler, I don't think I need anyone else trying to fix anything here.

You forget who you're talking to, Bridg-

THAT. That's what happens. Who am I talking to? Why do you stalk Jacob and know absolutely every single thing that's going on? I know you and Caleb somehow work together to keep an eye on everyone but at the same time you are far less but far more frightening for it.

We're all just trying to be strong for you. That's it. You know how it goes. We check each other now. So nothing goes too far.

So nothing goes too far.

Bridget-

I get it. Just far enough but not too far so that you can't live with yourselves.

He stares at me. It's six in the morning. It's too early for this and we're doing it anyway.

I am one with the wind and sky (if it's hot sing Frozen. At the top of one's lungs because they don't like it).

Schuyler and Daniel showed up very late last night with reminders that there are four strong men living next door, and they don't seem to have the mood swings of the ones in my house. I pointed out those four strong men don't have to live with me and Daniel laughed a little too hard and pointed out if I lived with them there would be nothing left of me and I half-expected Lochlan to go right through him at that point but Lochlan isn't going to fuck with Daniel because no one fucks with Daniel and besides, not like I went over there. They came to me. They brought an ice-cold bottle of wine and decided if I got just a little drunk I'd probably sleep and feel better.

What do you know? They were right. I was sent up after three glasses. Lochlan had already put on ceiling fans and opened all the windows and I was out like a light.

This morning the feelings aren't so sharp, the sunburn isn't very raw and he smiled at me when I woke up, instead of frowning. We've already got the laundry caught up, tackled the wasp nest on the porch and planted radishes. I need to water everything and hit the post office to send my parents masks and pick up some things at the drugstore and then the rest of the day will be slow-moving and cool-ish, as we don't attempt herculean outdoor chores on the hottest fucking weekend of the year.

Christ.

Lochlan still thinks he's sixteen or even twenty and can stay out all day in the sun, busting his ass and being clipped with everyone. He has a long history of yelling at me as I burn and whine and then feeling bad later. I HATE the heat. It makes me physically ill. I don't like the cold much either, but in-between is just fine. Rain is fine. Fog and wind is the BEST, but anything over about twenty-two degrees and I am NOT having it.

Sorry, Peanut.

It worked out. I'm still a little mad.

But not much.

Schuyler might be a better counsellor than anyone.

Only because we're all afraid of him.

True.

I picked a fight in my own defence and am ending this Mother's Day with broken fingernails (from helping to lift things like hard tops, lawn mowers and rocks), a terrible sunburn from the top of my head right through to the tops of my feet, a heathen attitude towards Jesus and a stomach ache that won't quit. I think I have heatstroke. I think I might be losing my mind. If you find it, don't even tell me, just kick it off a cliff into the sea and let it sink to the bottom like a stone.

Ben wants me to try harder. Lochlan keeps telling me to never be normal. Caleb just wants selfish hour after selfish hour and everyone else wants to watch.

Throw my brain overhand, please. Make it go far in hopes it will never be found.

Sunburned.

Kayak this morning, then gardening. We finished with the four-ish yards that remained. Ben came out and delegated the work and it was finished by one.

Good. In time so you don't burn. He smiles at me, pale and tired. Working in his studio he doesn't see the sun so this is good. Or at least he won't get rickets.

I'm already burning, I point out.

So I hear, he laughs. Rough night?

Who were you gossiping with?

Lochlan.

And?

He doesn't get it but he's trying to roll with it.

He's not trying and he doesn't have to like it. It's only like once a year or whatever now.

It's a cumulative problem, Bee.

Is it?

Maybe.

I don't think it is. I haven't gone anywhere except to Caleb's in a long time.

Lochlan's getting old.

Don't you think we all are?

I think he thought after a couple of years you might settle down.

Then how come he won't say that to my face. He flat-out encourages me, Benjamin-

He's trying so hard, Bumblebee.

To what?

To be everything you want. To bite his tongue. To be hands-off when you need him to be. If it helps he lets it slide. He'd do anything for you. I think it's time for you to return that favor.

I would die for him, Benny.

I don't know if he knows that, Bridge. Maybe he tells himself you would but when he goes to sleep, half the time you're not there.

At least he remembered my favorite flower without having to check his notes first.

Batman bites his top lip as he watches me take a sip. He's become the good-whiskey guy, always with the sparest inch in the bottom of my favorite stoneware cup, ice cube taking up the whole space, because he wouldn't want there to be any question as to whether or not I could think for myself if I stay later than allowed. He always makes sure we have a snack too, moreso because he thinks if he can circle my wrist with his finger and thumb that I must not eat and so he has a plate on the small table nearby with olives, crackers and cheese. He is in his favorite chair and I don't get a chair, because he pulled me into his lap the moment I was close enough and I didn't mind because a good pair of arms for a hug or a hold is better than oxygen to me.

How are the lilacs?

I pressed my face right into them. No smell yet. I frown and finish my glass. He sets it on the table far away and then sets down his too. Twenty bucks says it's still full. For a good-whiskey guy he hardly drinks. I've seen him tipsy twice in my life. He looked so happy, for a moment.

He pulls my face into his. Stay. Have a belated birthday visit. I have a gift for you. His eyes are bright.

I need to be back by sunrise.

I will have you back, he swears.

I let him kiss me and I return it. Do you need Lochlan here? He is gently rubbing at a bruise on my upper arm, suddenly all concern and consent.

It's from kayaking. And Lochlan knows I'm here.

He can join us-

It's fine. I return his kiss twofold just so he'll stop negotiating and figure it out. Dawn isn't all that far off. He's not into frenzied moments, he prefers to savour absolutely everything. That's why I'm still in his lap an hour into my visit.

Come up with me. He leaves the glasses but brings the bottle, taking my hand, leading me down the hall, through the kitchen and then up the main stairs. Down two more halls of a big empty, untouched house to his master suite. I prefer the garden guest bedroom for the big black iron and glass doors that look out onto a beautiful English garden path.

This way we won't see the sun coming.

I say his name and he looks dismayed. Just- Just let me pretend for the next few hours.

That's a hole of one's own.

Who says our demons are all named Jake?

I almost leave right then. I don't need to take on his pain too but I understand I'm the personification of it and I never minded giving him what he wants, as long as it doesn't make things too hard. Sometimes it does and then we have a long time apart, like now.

Let's just have this night, Bridget and in the morning we can go back to who we are.

I don't change for you. I stare at him while he avoids my eyes.

I'm grateful for that. He finally meets them and pulls my hand toward his, leaving a small box in my fingers, putting his hands in his pockets. Open it. A belated birthday present for my favorite person.

I open the box and inside is a fine gold bracelet. A thin chain with a tiny golden four-leaf clover attached on each side to the chain.

Tiffany? I asked.

He shakes his head. No. I had it made for you by a goldsmith.

It's beautiful.

Will you wear it for luck?

I nod as he puts it on me and I leave it on even when everything else is off. For luck, I remind him as he reacquaints himself with everything we've forgotten and will forget again. I arch my back against the dark as he pulls my hair back just hard enough to send a thrill up my backbone and press my teeth against his shoulder bones as he holds me close again. I can't even breathe by the time the night begins to fade and he pours us a drink to share finally, halfway full, no ice. I burn a swallow all the way down, maintaining my thirst and he finishes the whiskey without offering any more and then I get one final kiss as he moves to put his shirt back on.

Pumpkin-time, he says.

Would you like me to keep the bracelet here to wear?

If you do that you'll never get to enjoy it. Take it with you. It is yours. Thank you for staying, Bridget.

I nod. Thanks for having me. I laugh in spite of his sad expression. Under the circumstances it's a weird thing to say.

By the time I get back to the house before the sun blooms fully in the sky there's a transfer waiting for me to accept to my bank account with a note that says Like old times. I type in my password to accept it and then call him.

You can stop doing that. My life is different now.

You never would have given me the time of day without it, Bridget.

You don't know that.

I do know it. The girl I met was so desperate for Cole's focus she had to be coerced to go with dollar signs.

That was between you and Cole. Money or not, I never got a say.

It was between you and I. I asked you, remember? I wouldn't have touched you otherwise. I still won't.

May I send it back?

No, you may not. It isn't an insult either. Or a payment. It's just my way of making sure you always have a way out. I wanted you to feel like if you had to leave him you would have the means but you never went.

I loved him.

I know you did. But you should have left him long before you did and I wish I had stepped in sooner.

(He didn't step in at all.)

Perdition Island.

I made an effort today, forgoing the usual dance leggings and a big t-shirt in favor of a pretty sundress from Anthropologie, perfume, a braid and lip gloss. Diamond studs and my diamond rings. Surprise. I'm a girl, not a small lycra fairy.

And it works. Everyone's doing double-takes and once-overs as I attempt to charm them all into finishing the gardening for me instead of merely watching me do it. This works great on Ben, but then again I haven't seen Ben today and he hasn't seen me. Maybe if the world opens back up on time he'll work less instead of more so there's something to look forward to.

We'll get the onions and avocados in the ground at least. Maybe beans and tomatoes too. Maybe not though but maybe.

Everything else over the course of the next week definitely. We have the better part of four yards of dirt to move from the driveway into the garden and while heavy machinery would have been nice (one of my dreams is to learn to operate a bulldozer) the power of a dozen men is just as good. It just takes way longer. The power of one hundred-pound woman saw three wheelbarrow loads in an afternoon so at that rate I *might* be done by Christmas or at least one year from today.

Premier Horgan surprised me yesterday and said everything's coming back, sooner than I expected. Malls by Victoria Day, theatres by Canada Day. Groups, but small. Dentist appointments and elective surgeries. No one needs nightclubs so those can wait. But the normalcy I suddenly missed is on the horizon at last.

I asked around after most of the boys to see if they were interested in rejoining life before the pandemic, or in re-celebrating my birthday as it had to take place during the pandemic and they did not. They kind of like this, this not leaving. This everyone being here. This changed life, somewhat quieter than before. This different speed, this unusual moment in time. 

I asked Lochlan what he thought and after being quiet for a moment he said he thought he might take a match later, light it and burn away the link to the mainland, that we could maybe push off at high tide and drift our point out to sea and never return again. Henry can work for Schuyler or Batman, we can have groceries and supplies helicoptered in or drop-shipped or get things by boat and it will be the best life ever.

I could point out it already is but maybe he knows.

A laundry list.

Oh, great. Blogger's made changes and I don't have time to fuck with this today as I have to take Henry to work and I want to make a drugstore run. PJ offered to do it but I like to be the one to take the kids to their jobs, though only Henry works outside the home at this point and I hate it. I want to keep him home and safe but he's six-two and handsome and fine with going, fine with danger pay, fine with the pandemic as he said he hardly notices except for not being able to spend time with his friends.

Soon, I tell him.

I know, he replies.

When I get home the dryer will be finished so there will be clothes to fold and while I do that PJ will probably make us strange noodles for lunch and clean the kitchen. I'm plotting a second do-nothing day save for picking Henry up again and then cooking dinner tonight, since my headache won't budge even though I've had coffee and another five-kilometre run (this time in the wind and rain SO MUCH BETTER) and a decent sleep.

Today they're going to make the opening announcement for our province but I'm already scared we're going to get left behind, stuck like this forever. I need my eyes checked, my teeth cleaned. I want to go to the shops without getting dirty looks and I want a doctor's appointment without having to resort to the Russians and I want to go to Golden Ears instead of Cypress. Cypress is a joke played on the rich people. It's not a park, it's a gravel pit on the side of a mountain.

I want OUT.

But I can wait.

And I won't even complain.

PJ nods and says it wouldn't do any good anyway and I know he's right.

Who needs a post title? I have a magician.

When you reach the part where the heartaches come
The hero would be me
Heroes often fail
And you won't read that book again
Because the ending's just too hard to take

I walk away like a movie star
Who gets burned in a three way script
Enter number two, a movie queen
To play the scene of bringing all the good things out in me
But for now love lets be real

Two years in a row, two birthdays running, I point out to him gently in the early morning light as he struggles to wake up. Lochlan is out like a light, zonked on my other side but Caleb is half-alert, tense as he fights his dreams on the way back to the surface.

Happy Birthday, Neamhchiontach. Thank you for letting me be here for the first early hours of it. 

I nod, as if we get along, as the only time he's the absolute best is under strict supervision. As if it wasn't a little bit overwhelming last night though they didn't need to fight over me at all. As if he has ownership now. I need to make sure he's aware that he doesn't, even as I gleefully followed every instruction he gave me not to doubt him as he pinned me to the dark last night and kept me there for hours while Lochlan burned us alive and then when Caleb finally handed me back he blew out all of the flames on us until the dark roared back with a vengeance and I. need. sleep.

It may not be every year-

I'd prefer not to think about that right now and just enjoy this. He puts his arm out, pulling me back down. I can still smell a hint of his Tom Ford cologne and soap even and I close my eyes for another minute.When I wake up again he's gone and Lochan is awake.

Come here, my birthday girl. His toothy grin, wild hair and sleepy eyes make me burst out laughing.

You look crazy. 

I am. For you. He lights his fingers and puts them out against my lips, meeting my eyes steadily. Getting telepathic confirmation that even though the Devil was here and gone in the night he left my heart, left my soul intact and Lochlan doesn't have to fear a kidnapping or a defection. And confirmation that even though my ghosts shroud me in protection, in the past, the earliest memory of love still shines in the sunlight.

What would you like for your birthday? He says suddenly, a question I don't think he's ever asked me before but somehow I have the answer ready. Easily.

You. 

He doesn't break his gaze, even as his eyes fill up and spill over. 

But I won't let this build up inside of me

Caleb used his good graces last night to pick the lock on my bedroom door, squeezing himself through the opening left by Ben when he went back down to his studio to work, busier than ever thanks to everyone's need to create their magnum opus while in quarantine and then be able to burst out of the gates with a tour the minute they can. He may as well be with them, as with few exceptions Ben rarely shows his face, even as every single time he does come to bed with me or appear suddenly for a meal or a gardening afternoon he promises to spend more time and then promptly forgets. He makes it too easy for me to be angry at him but I can't be. Working keeps him busy and busy Ben is sober Ben and that's more important than anything, ever.

Caleb wedged himself inside the door and then inside the light, blooming just a hint of darkness within reach for me until I could step in and pull it right up over my head. I have demons of my own but instead of being bottled they are skinned in forms I recognize, comforting ones from my childhood, shapes that fit into a wagon you can pull along behind you, click-clack-click down the quiet hallway into the night.

Estamos emocionados!

Caleb made eggs benedict late this morning, with Ben's help and then set the table for four. I wasn't paying attention, as I was banned from the kitchen for the duration, forced to go to the library where I needed lights as it's rainy, damp and dark. I was called to the table a little after ten-thirty, starving, a condition announced loudly as my stomach growled when I sat down, surprised to find Ben and Lochlan at attendance, Caleb not even attempting to do a morning at-home date. He likes the late night ones anyway and I sneak hashbrown chunks, golden-crisp all through his remarks about fresh-starts marked by important days, and how working together will keep us together. Lochlan deflects every last word back onto the devil and surprise, this morning the devil is magnetic, the magician enigmatic, and the princess quiet, just watching them figure out this new endless present in the shadow of a hopeful future. The rock star is also starving and matches my bites, one for one. Trying to make me laugh. Winning the fight.

Maybe this future will be different, as they have been fighting over me since I was nine.

My god, it's been forty years. That's four decades of history now living in this house at last and we are still trying to rewrite the book. We can't change anything but we can control how we go forward from here.

Caleb says my name as I manage to finish the hashbrowns while he's talking.

Would you like some more, since you couldn't wait?

While you're talking the food is getting cold. I kick the leg of my chair, and Lochlan tips his plate towards mine, spooning a third of his hasbrowns onto my plate.

Make them last, he says.

There are five bags of them in the freeze- I start to point out and Caleb laughs.

We're just trying to have a leisurely Sunday brunch, he says. This is nice. 

It is, actually. Especially with a third-more hash browns. The boys eat a lot more than I do so they usually put mountains of starch on their own plates and a traditionally-appropriate amount on mine. Though Lochlan always shared growing up, and looks like that isn't going to change. Hell, if there are more hash browns going forward then yes, I'm all in.

I think the rest of the day will involve teasing Sam about this week's podcast, as he got a little dramatic, and possibly birthday cake. Maybe Mexican food for dinner as I failed to choose a birthday meal but am also craving burritos.

You're still hungry? Lochlan listens to my stomach growl again as I excitedly discuss toppings and size requirements. A burrito must be as heavy as a newborn. Green salsa, not red. No sour cream but cheese, please. Yes, chips on the side, please. Gracias. Te agradecemos mucho.

The story of your life with mine.

No matter where you are tonight a part of you is here with me
Here with me, I don't know where you are, all I know is I need you to be
Here with me, I know it's not to late, to turn around and get it straight
It's not fate to have you here with me

The king of eighties power ballads demolished my broken heart again this morning, beating me to the piano where I had huge plans to bang out a rather difficult Sorabji (Opus Clavicembalisticum, bitches, but not the whole thing because I have things to do but one of my original goals was to be one of the few artists to be permitted to perform it. Oh, the pipe dreams of youth.) and played a very old REO Speedwagon tune that he used to sing to me when I would come and visit with him when Cole was being a monster and Caleb was unreachable.

He would sing it into my hair, a breakup song about missing someone so much but they've left you and it broke my heart then but now as he sings it the meaning has shifted into one of a Lochlan brokenhearted because he's aware that the one he loves is not emotionally present and he knows he can't fix anything but if she just stays it will be the Greatest Love Of All Time.

He tells me this story every day now, though. I'm beginning to suspect it might be true.

Here with me.

Kind of better, still rotten.

Thank you for the very kind early birthday wishes. It isn't until Tuesday proper but since life is weird we sometimes try to celebrate on a weekend instead. Not sure if we're doing it this year. I let go of my early annoyance with life after dinner last evening as I caught up on chores and then on vodka. Then I didn't care anymore. Then I wasn't so annoyed. It's going to be a rainy cozy weekend and I'm looking forward it it. I have a plan and it's grand. Some wine, movies and catching up on Outlander. Catching up on sleep after a week of not much. Preparing to get kind of excited but not excited because things are opening up and I'm really wanting normal life again though every single person I have encountered as I try to get things done that need to be done has been patient and cheerful and encouraging.

I really hope that is the legacy of this Life Event we're all sharing. That people find patience. Though from my ivory tower I can see some people are falling apart and some are lashing out and it's tense, too. I'm not a pollyanna (I swear). I know it's rough. We've looked after many people (entire crews) who otherwise would have lost everything, and we'll continue to do so, as it's going to be a long road back.

We'll get there as one big giant family.

(Except for Mark. He refused the Ha, oops, did I tip you back in the late winter for that tattoo? I forget attempts to fill his bank account and is too fucking proud to pretends it's anything less than what is is so we have instead filled his days with commission work so at least he can say he earned it. We also can still tip fairly huge on those without him getting too annoyed at least.)

And I want the hairdresser to open. Henry has refused all attempts to have Daniel or Ben or anyone cut his hair. He's been going to this lovely Korean lady since he was eight years old and he won't let anyone else cut his hair. They have a bond, it's kind of awesome. I wonder if she misses him too. I'm saving a huge tip for her because it's going to take her two hours to cut his crazy mop at this rate.

But really I just want to go to Trolls for breakfast. I complain about the crowds and the tourists but damn I want their hashbrowns and coffee like you wouldn't believe.

Cake.

Sliding into a muted birthday weekend here, muted, dulled by the shadow of a pandemic blocking out the light, making it hard to make plans, making it hard to be me, unless defined by Lochlan's explanation in which I dance in a circle made by their hands, from a young age til now, in an ever-widening space in which the grass is soft and green and tangled with flowers. I can spin and spin and spin in the rain and I can't get hurt, even if I fall. They won't catch me, as they don't break the perimeter, they won't break the bond, they won't let go but I can get up and keep going, forever, as they watch me, watch over me.

That's beautiful, I tell him as I smack my black rye toast, fucking hideously annoyed and spoiled rotten and anxious to do everything from have breakfast at Trolls to ride the rides inside my brain to not have to spend the day shovelling soil, delivered from a place out of town but in huge quantities for my gardens.

Peanut. That's all he has to say sometimes and I understand I'm being unreasonable. I just want a birthday like the others have been. Magical. Without equal. We can defer-

No! It has to be the right day! I continue to smack my toast, wallowing in my annoyance. It's the only thing I have left to do.

Five kilometres to couch.

And I'll wait for that woman
Until then I will wait alone

The new routine is to crawl out of bed reluctantly, throw on my technical gear for rain, save for shoes. I wear the lightest most breathable running shoes I own since my feet are going to get wet anyway and Caleb and I meet to run to the top of the hill to the playground in Cypress and back home. We average five kilometers or more each morning (which sounds like nothing until you realize the intensity of the incline), a half hour to begin the routine of day from the time we set our watches in the driveway to when we collapse on the front porch and hit End.

My heart rate remains that of a hummingbird. His is an easy measured lope. We'll never match up in workout stats. Bigger, taller people burn more and go harder, small people go further, as I add a third more steps just to keep up with him.

I don't miss running but God do I love that high at the end.

And the focus for the rest of the day as I don't flutter quite so hard all the time. I wear out my body and it's as if my mind gives in.

Caleb on the other hand, uses it as foreplay. He wants the time, wants the visual. He considers exercise a necessary precursor to performing well in bed and I don't know if he's right or not, as PJ has incredible moves and a bit of a beer gut. PJ only runs if you hold a loaded weapon to his head and even then he'll be like come ON, man.

(Whoops. Shhh.)

We don't talk when we run. At all. It's considered 'public' or something (he doesn't talk when he fucks, either as a data point though) and other than seeing a bunny today up on the trail we barely spoke to one another. He is busy watching me, busy planning out the rest of his day, hoping to include me in it, all the way through the end to the next and I am busy yelling BUNNY inside my brain and then looking for the next bunny, hoping it's not a bear because I'm getting tired.

(I carry bear spray when I run. Well, it's tiny so it's actually dog/mugger spray but I could at least surprise a bear enough with it to get away or at least get a headstart.

Caleb could probably just control the bear with a hefty payout. It worked for New Jake, right? Except that he's still a wildcard at the end of the day and I just try to avoid him.)

Lochlan does not want to run. Lochlan wants to sleep and then Lochlan can't understand why I can't stay awake past eight at night. I am tired. I don't know why I get up at so early anymore except that's when you catch the bunnies and the sun and the Devil on a good day, that's for certain.

Win stupid prizes, too, they say.

OOoohhhh. Did I tell you I discovered Apollo Under Fire? I went looking for Submersed, after listening to Flicker from the new City Burials album by Katatonia and wondered briefly if it was a cover. Then I went to make a fire playlist and realized Submersed was missing from iTunes.

(iTunes eats things. Did you know? One day you just wake up and stuff is missing. It SUCKS.)

But then I followed the trail of musical breadcrumbs left by Donald Carpenter and found this band. Apollo Under Fire, and they have one whole self-titled album out but it's solid and beautiful and really freaking GOOD and I love days like this.

Also returned Submersed to my revolving favorites list and can't believe I didn't notice for so long.

But it's fixed.

Also fixed is the shower drain in our ensuite. It's sealed so it's a bit of a pain and I figured between Lochlan, Ben and at the worst, New Jake's ingenuity as a handyman or an actual professional called in, we could fix it. Lochlan said it was my fault. I blamed him, handily. His hair's been longer longer, right?

Then I got to work and fixed it! Alone! Ha!

It was all blonde. I have enough to make a whole extra person here with this hair. Or at least some highly efficient voodoo dolls. Either way, it's fixed and I have one of those confidence-bursts from not freaking out and calling someone, and now I'm off to the bank to finish signing the paperwork for my deal which is all approved and ready for me to deploy.

The Devil watches me from the shadows and smiles, proud of his little contextual prodigy, with dollar signs in her eyes, sleeves rolled up, ready to do all of his dirty work because the cut is too much to turn down.

When Lochlan finds out the amount it will be enough at least to offset his sudden desire to wash me down the drain and into the sea. His eyes will go wide and he'll have that moment of doubt but then resignation as it's not all that different from the way things are now. We just raised the stakes a little in order to raise the reward.

Okay, a lot. We raised them a lot.

If you want to be a big player you have to play the big games, Neamhchiontach.

Vikings.

Just for fun they all ('all' meaning PJ, Duncan, Dalton, Gage, Lochlan and John) let me shave the sides of their heads and put braids in their hair. Just a few here and there with silver rings for decoration.

Just...well, DAMN.

No one is ever allowed to revert back.

Skol.

Netflix is upping it's game and so is Liam (I mean Chris).

We watched Extraction last night. I spent the entire first half thinking it was the Lesser Hemsworth starring in it, since that's what I call him. Poor Liam, always in the shadow of his larger, older brother or so I think. Liam was in The Hunger Games and Chris, the actual Hemsworth, is Thor. 

Then Lochlan ever so kindly leaned over and said in my ear, This is Thor. 

What?

This is Chris Hemsworth. 

Then why does he have his brother's hair? 

I remain suspicious for the remainder of the movie, wondering secretly if Liam decided he needed to up his game, got buff, became ridiculously John Wick-like and then passed his brother in an easy sprint, now becoming The Greatest Hemsworth. 

(I Google nothing, forgive me)

Liam did not, and this IS Chris.

Damn, it was a good movie. So good I mowed right through an entire bag of Swedish Fish and I don't even like Swedish Fish, and now my stomach is a big ball of xantham gum and stress.

Bee balm up to my knees.

Today isn't so pretty even as the sun conducts an endless fight with the heavy rains. The boys conduct endless fights with each other and with me and I finally took off to buy some supplies and found even more toilet paper, hand sanitizer and all sorts of dry goods and came home in a much better frame of mind. It's sunny now but beautifully windy and I just want things to go back to routine.

Not every day will be a good day, Sam says, rubbing my back as I finish my noodles. Lunch is curry noodles with five tall glasses of cold water. We are relentless in our efforts to try our best to do the things we always do, though and so it is a typical Saturday.

I know. I nod in his direction and then go back to my bowl. Really not wanting the encouragement or the platitudes today. I just want my noodles and a little company, if you're not inclined to pick me apart. That's all.

On the upside, we have a whole case of curry noodles now.

Exhibition indeed.

How are you doing today, Bridge?

John's finally back and finally out of quarantine. Idiot was overseas when this all went down and he got stuck for a while and then came home the first week of April and we put him somewhere safe (Batman's guest house) and he's FREEEEEEEEEE at last and wants my cooking.

(Which is funny. I sent him a foil-wrapped meal every freaking night at dinner time for sixteen nights straight. I'd like a medal for that.)

As long as they're still determined to hold the South Shore Exhibition I am doing great. If they cancel it I'm giving up on life.

Oh, you're going this year?

No, we're not traveling for at least eight months. You?

Oh, I'll be home for a long time. He laughs. Love his face. Love his longer hair and road beard. Hope he keeps it, though usually they tend to until I point out how much I love it and then the next day it's either gone or barely stubble anymore so I'll keep my mouth shut please and thank you. You know if things get really bad take Caleb up on that personal Ferris wheel offer or carousel or whatever and we'll stay home forever. 

It was the permit thing. We couldn't do it. 

So what?

You need permission from someone-

No one's checking anything right now, Bridget.

Oh my God, you're right. 

Got the Italian theme right.

This morning when I stepped into my underwear in a hurry after a shower that was way too long and places I was supposed to be, I missed the hole for my left leg and wound up sticking my toes into the lace trim, tearing it off, swearing because this is one of my prettiest pairs and it figures that I don't even have enough grace to get dressed in the morning, like a normal person.

Probably because I'm not a normal person.

I part my hair in the middle, add a berry lip stain and put on all-black. My hair will wave out wild and the clothes say I'm serious in spite of it.

I am driven downtown where I conduct my first big real estate transaction without any assistance. Caleb is there but he says nothing. He wants to see what I come up with.

And I do great. I sign my name on all the papers and I walk out with a better deal than he could have gotten, probably because I'm sweeter and that's deadly sometimes.

Outside he holds his hand so high in the air for a high-five I wonder if he's signaling an air-taxi but but he has forgotten to do it at shoulder-level so I make a pass at it and succeed.

That was a stunning and appreciable event, Neamhchiontach. 

Thanks. I think. Now I have to go home and research whatever it is that I just talked them into. 

You've secured your future, and that of your children. 

Have I, though? This could go south. I'm amazed that any deals still go down in the middle (at the end?) of a pandemic. Plus the future was well-secured years ago.

That's when the best deals happen. When everything is flatlined and everyone is looking the other way. 

This actually doesn't help me. 

Oh, it will in the long run. And that's all that matters. 

He kisses my cheek when we get home, letting me out with my satchel of papers right beside the side door to the kitchen and continues down to his parking place further down the driveway. Lochlan comes out in bare feet, flannel shirt with only three buttons buttoned and I might not make it into the house for my knees have lost their ability to hold up the rest of my body suddenly.

Done with business? How did it go?

The charm still works. 

Ah. Good! Omelets then? To celebrate? And more coffee?

Yes, please. You should have heard my stomach all morning. It was like a Raptor. 

Bird or basketball player?

Dinosaur!

Ah. 

Over the best omelets we've ever had I regaled him with not only the underwear story but then the gatekeeping one where Caleb asked me if I could still name all of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Sure I can..I love the movies. I watched the show because it came on before The Price is Right in the mornings when I was just home from a half-day at university. We only had one channel. It was the only thing on.

And then I realized I could name about three. Maybe.

Uh. Yeah, I can! I posture for effect. Fettuccine, Ravioli, Meatball and Parmesan!

He looks at me for a second and bursts out laughing. Then Lochlan does too, hearing the story.  I'm so pleased I can still entertain them, sitting here in my ripped undies. I don't want for much, truth be told, real estate deals or not. 

Not today's post but I wrote it over the weekend and don't know where to shove it so here.

How's..things? Caleb's standing in the patio door frame, looking surprised that I'm around at all. I don't think he expected to find me bringing in the bin from sorting the recycling, something we do at least twice a day anyway. I'm not sure if I'm above that or if he thought I would be somewhere chewing off pieces of my own face right now. Maybe we should both be more grateful and less surprised.

What, no hug? I drop the bin and hold my arms out. I don't have to ask him twice. He folds me in against his chest, pressing his lips against the top of my skull.

I was worried. I asked that they give you to me, that they not medicate you.

Clean. I hold my hands up in surrender. Since when are you an advocate for pushing through that kind of event? This is the man who gave me drugs right through my twenties to keep me from remembering that he abused me and also lays claim to all the fun we had.

Or something.

Since I realized it's just an endless circle if it goes that way. Ahh. I was so worried. You don't know how relieved I am to see you today.

You can come see me whenever.

Lochlan asked me not to. A power move after I asked him to not pull out the drugs as a solution.

What will he say if I ask him what happened?

He'll say that I asked for you. To look after you and he declined because he needs to man up.

So how does that spin into a power move?

I know him better than you do. I dearly wanted to be the one to hold you through this.

You weren't around.

I'm sorry, Bridget. He looks completely destroyed. I don't think he's slept. I'm doing so good as long as you don't mention names or ghosts or anything. It's either the calm before the storm or it really wasn't bad enough to invoke Joel chasing me down the hall with a needleful of forgetfulness.

It's fine. It seems like the worst has passed. 

I'm so glad. 

Thanks for the offer to take over. 

I'd do anything for you. 

Then I appreciate you letting Lochlan deal with it. He needs to learn-

I know, Neamhchiontach. He didn't run away. It's a first.

Oh, I'm kidding. We actually have a ridiculously cohesive militarized home menu plan.

Down the imaginary hopscotch-blocks on the sidewalk, making up the game as I go along.

Quiet-quiet-LOUD! I shout, two feet on the final rectangle that has a capital L on it.

What are you doing?

Making my brain tired so it will sleep. 

Is it working?

Of course not. Does it ever?

Vodka shots?

Maybe later. I'm winning. 

Winning what?

Maybe a chance to be together-enough to join you all at dinner. 

I think you've done it. 

Have I, though? 

Until you start drawing actual blocks on the kitchen floor, yes. 

Oh. Good to know. That was next. I roll up the sidewalk into my brain, snapping it out so it rolls all the way up in a rush and follow PJ to the butler's pantry to find some stuff for dinner.

I thought I was going to get a technicolor dream sleep through some powerful tranquilizers but instead he planned a camping trip.

The camper at the end of the yard, near the fence but back far enough to still have a view, as it's at the top of a gentle slope so you can see the water over the fence another fifty yards away.

A little campfire, the tiny lights strung up everywhere and the heaviest blankets we own. No wi-fi. Hot dogs over the fire and wine. No condiments. Just like the old days where we had to go to a diner for ketchup except instead of half a can of flat ginger ale for me (too young to drink on the road) I got to have wine too.

What happened to the benzo train?, I ask him finally, in the morning, once he stopped talking until I stopped freaking out and was able to sleep, in his arms, under the blankets. Under the stars, except the stars were outside the camper and we were inside.

I can handle this. You just need a change of direction and a voice to lead you back away from the edge. 

I nod. I need to be morning-drunk like this, is what I need. To remain in this tiny insular uncomplicated world where there are no clocks and there's no wifi. This is glorious. As long as we can make a fire, store and cook enough food for two and the weather holds (but even if it doesn't) this is good. He's right. I listened to him all night. We passed the wine bottle back and forth. He talked until his voice started to catch on memories and then we put the fire out, went inside, locked the door and slept until past noon.

It didn't need to be a show, he said finally and I know this. I'm here for you, he said and I know this.

I love you, he said.

And I know this.

You know when you wake up wondering WHAT WAS HE LISTENING TO WHAT WAS IT SOMEBODY TELL ME THIS IS IMPORTANT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ITS NOT A HARD QUESTION

Don't do it, Peanut. 

I think I have to. I pushed him away and went down to the piano, where I punched out REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight This Feeling at top volume. Hit all the right notes too when I sang. Everyone was up and at 'em by the time I was finished and I feel a lot better for some reason. I need people to help pull me out when the crazy train starts circling the hole of Despair.

(Had a good laugh in Ozark with the REO Speedwagon stuff -no spoilers because I'm not even finished it yet) but damn. REO and Jason Bateman in the same moment and I'm twelve again, I swear. Two of my favorite things in life, no lie. The rest are ectoplasmic, and harder to explain, I'm sorry.)

Pedals and everything. You can play that piano so fucking loud it would wake the dead but they keep telling me that's a euphemism even though I keep trying.

Peanut-

He can read my mind today, that train stopped on the tracks for what seems like hours now. This isn't natural. It's loaded. It's full. So many cars. So flammable. Blocking everything. Maybe this is a terrorist event. Maybe we should all get out of here in case it blows up. He can't see the break in the tracks, he's too far behind me for that this morning.

(Up and at 'em, boys!)

Maybe it's loaded with benzos, Lochlan offers helpfully. Finally.

God, I hope so.

The metaphor is water and the meaning has drowned.

Breaks my heart to see you cry
In the wake of incomplete time

The clouds are weighted today, heavy, obscuring the sun as it tries to burn off the pain of the point. I think it's going to stick around a little longer and keep trying, and the pain will be here forever to fight back.

Caleb's bitterness is sleepy this morning, and I have a new habit for the past several weeks of getting up early and going to crawl in with him, like I did with Lochlan for years and years and then PJ after that.

Time doesn't want to let go, making me crawl over the same lines over and over again, waiting for the end, waiting for a hand up but instead I trigger the mines and they blow me to smithereens, history destroying me only to have the hope of a future build me up again.

I'm not one of your bad dreams, Neamhchiontach. A lazy tender kiss is pressed through the hardest part of my skull, making it's way inside my brain to tenderize it. I'm just a man who has made mistakes. You won't find one who hasn't. The difference is most of them run away and I come back to face the one I hurt, to make it up to her. I pledged my life to you to fix this and for him to dismiss what we have every chance he gets is hurtful.

You all take the moment you're in to build yourself back up. You're doing it now.

There's a perspective I didn't consider. Another kiss, hard against my temple and his arms are tight. He is awake now, savoring the dense light, smoothing his hand over the pain, washing out the ripples and tears just under the surface of the water before another wave undoes all of his hard work. I just don't want him to build himself at my expense.

Diabhal-

You're here, that's all that matters. What would you like to do today?

May we fill the pool?

That's...phrased as asking permission. 

It works better with you.

With...me?

Can we fill it?

Go back. What do you mean?

You don't like my impulsiveness-

I LOVE your impulsiveness, what are you-

Whenever I just blurt out a plan you push it down. 

I'm sorry, Neamhchiontach. The last thing I want is for you to feel you communicate best with me in a formal tone.

Like that?

I'm sorry?

Don't be. I ignore his request for clarification. Does he need it? I doubt it. I slide out of his arms and out of his bed and head back into the hall. He says my name once but doesn't push it. I don't feel settled, I feel like I'm picking a fight if I continue this trajectory. Better to just go back to Lochlan where I don't have to play head games or word games. Back to where the clouds can't push me down on a day when I need to be up.  

"We love the things we love for what they are." ~Robert Frost.

Ben did finally turn into a giant smoking pumpkin, leaving us sometime in the predawn hours when it was dark and quiet, handing me back off again to Lochlan, who pulled me into his arms, buried his face in the crook of my neck where it tickles and fell asleep. But before that he first reaffirmed everything he feels for me, talking the entire time he made love to me about how we're meant to be together for life and it doesn't matter who or what drifts in and out of our lives in the interim, that Jake is a memory and Ben a mirage. Caleb? Just a bad dream, Peanut. It's okay.

I fell asleep underneath him when we finally stopped moving and woke up much the same and he squeezed me tight against him, back in charge, back in possession.

At least four weeks in the studio now, give or take a meal.

Cause I
I cannot start to crumble
So come on and try
Try to shut me and cut me down

I won't be silenced
You can't keep me quiet
Won't tremble when you try it
All I know is I won't go speechless
Speechless

One of my more fun Bridget Can't Do Self-Care routines involves singing all the Disney songs at top volume around the house all day. I warm up with tunes from The Little Mermaid and Moana, then move on to Coco, then Beauty and the Beast, back around with with Aladdin and eventually I'll devolve into Frozen because why not?

I don't really like Disney movies per se but I've seen everything because kids. Kids make you watch it all.

I love musicals though. That much I don't have to say again.

I got a Ben-Day as a bonus today. Ben won't sing along with me and asks me to stop while laughing. Lochlan never asks me to stop, never ever but Ben has had enough half a song in.

Ben is here because he doesn't feel comfortable leaving me to the wolves if half of them are Russian and so he's handed Duncan off to August and Sam (or as I like to call them, The Holy Triad of Hotness) (Shhhhhhhhh) and he's presented himself to me, not needing a deadline to return to work for once.

He smiles at me as he tells me this and I am rapt, crushed by the weight of his easy charm, and how different he is from Lochlan. Ben is my giant frat-boy, my Everything-Will-Be-Okay, he's...

He's what Lochlan used to be before the weight of a different kind crushed everything. It wasn't charm, it was fear. It was regret and damage and defeat.

Ben brings back the weightlessness of Life Before. Lochlan has device-handoff in Ben, who brings us back around to being out from the weight. He's a beautiful departure from everything and God, I love him so, in a way I don't love anyone else.

What do you want for lunch?

That's a silly question.

Is it? He grins salaciously.

It totally is!

Huh. We should go find your husband and bring him with us.

Yes. Wait. Where? Where are we going?

Upstairs. For lunch. Go get him, Bee.

Okay. I run off across the lawn to find Lochlan who is wrenching through his quarantine and likes to do as much as he possibly can before asking for help but most of the time when I go looking for him he's juggling tools and singing. It's kind of ridiculous. We're meant for greater things than entertaining the boys of Point Perdition, I swear.

I run right into him and almost get stabbed by a Robertson. Or maybe it's a Phillips. Maybe it's a Hex, like me. 

Jesus, Peanut. Be careful.  Such a dad. Christ. This makes my brain hurt.

Got a second?

For you, always. Now he sounds like Ben.

Come inside?

Sure.

I have a surprise for you.

Is it a Ben?

Maybe!

Awesome. Oh, my heart. He missed him too.

What am I doing right now, Ben asks?

  

Nothing.

A lot of people are reaching out.

And I'm not a sociable person, truthfully.

I'm ridiculously awkward and have a tendency to throw on an act, be it weird or perfectly normal, I never know what's going to come out. I have eight hundred emails here and I'm trying to reply in order of how much I like you. Corey called me direct and I told him it was my number, and who did he want, I'd give him theirs, or I would let them know he was calling and they could call him back but he said he wanted to talk to me, and I asked why, almost rudely. The only time he wants to talk to me anymore is to talk me into something for his work and I don't make music videos or single covers anymore unless there's a lot of money involved or it's something insane like a pool full of bubbles and fire but no, he just wanted to catch up and see how I was.

Which was nice and he is good, though he hates where he is currently and already broke up with his girlfriend. So clearly he's bored and he called me. I get that. We had a nice chat and when this is over I invited him out for supper.

Then the Russians showed up which was really fun, as we scrambled to figure out how to tell them we aren't accepting visitors and finally Caleb went out to the porch and while misguided, they were concerned that I had been feeling poorly and wanted to see for themselves that I was better. I walked out on the porch and when I got to where Caleb was he stopped me so I could go no further. The driver walked to the bottom of the steps and laid down a huge bouquet of roses for me and Easter chocolate for the children. They reminded us to call if we needed anything and then the two black cars reversed down the driveway, one a Ghost, one a Mercedes.

Jesus Christ.

We came back in and made coffee and breakfast quite robotically after that. I can't believe they didn't trust their own doctors not to lie to them. What the fuck. Caleb is shellshocked. I'm just angry that the doctor is giving updates about my private health issues to a bunch of mob-

Bridget, you know that's how he gets paid. 

I thought you paid him to do house calls. 

I do, but he's on their payroll. They know everything. 

I thought this was finished. 

It is. 

Then why were they just in my driveway demanding proof that I'm fine from a simple ear infection?

I think the old guy is fond of you. 

Yeah, well, I'm scared of him. 

Then Robin called but I let it go to message because I didn't want to vent all over him and he finally called Dylan who relayed all of Robin's concerns by shouting them across the room until I made the throat-slitting motion and he stopped and I'm not supposed to mention Dylan anyway.

Lochlan squeezed my hand and says the only way I can spin it is to be glad there are a lot of people high up looking out for me.

I look at him and nod. What's your name again?

Bridget. There's no use being nervous. 

The mafia didn't just show up looking for proof you were alright. I need to get Caleb out from under them-

He made his bed-

With me in it!

It's fine. They're out for a drive. They want to help. Lochlan, who has spent his entire life around shady folk, folks on the run, folks up to no good and people looking to escape the wrong they've caused is completely at peace with all of it.

If they come back no one open the gates. I'll talk to them on coms. They don't get to be here at my house. 

He nods. I know he's putting on a brave show for me, just like he does every time the doctor shows up and he knows a report will be made.

The doctor is an easy perk. Use who you know. 

Is that riffing on 'Keep your enemies closer'?

Maybe. 

I vow to spend the rest of the day on the beach, my phone upstairs in a drawer. There are two different places I can hide down there and pretend the world isn't real, which was nice for a moment or two as an escape but now it seems like an absolute necessity.