Ways of acceptance.

I went over to collect Ben, or at least visit him. He was there for a few days, a sort of sleepover in the end. He and Daniel do it a few times a year where they binge on take-out and several film or television series and doze and talk and just spend some time together alone, as brothers should.

I think that's great except by about three days in I start to worry that he might fall for Schuyler again and never come home. 

Which is really paranoid on my part. And that's what everyone worries about when it comes to me. Let's just say if anyone spends a good amount of time with Schuyler he is prone to pull them right in and it's frightening how easy it is for everyone to crush on him, and hard. Not just the fleeting appreciation of good looks like we do with Duncan or the earnest love everyone has for Sam or the dutiful adoring subordination Lochlan commands with a flick of a red curl. 

No, this is like a quicksand-molasses kind of hole and it's warm and nice and it's true, you never want to leave. 

I don't have that problem. Caleb laughs bitterly. He does nothing for me. 

You're the only straight man here. 

That's not true. 

I just stare at him until he concedes, in his head. If you two agreed on things more often you would totally get sucked in. 

Maybe. But I do see how Ben was confident you had navigated things and was free to relax. I wish the same for Lochlan now and would love to have you join me this weekend. 

Are we having a movie marathon?

We can do whatever your heart desires. 

Let's have a seance and we can formally introduce George to Cole and Jake. So he's in the loop-

Jesus Christ, Neamhchiontach.

I mean, if he wants to come. You can ask.

Shut up.

He refills my champagne, but only a quarter of the way this time. 

It's early, he explains, with a shy smile for him. Shy is not the way you would describe Caleb, but he is always trying on new and different personalities to try to appeal to my heart. My heart will never respond in the way he hopes. It might have early on but he made sure to take on the villain/monster role the moment my crush on him went through puberty. 

And that was that. Goldilocks in the woods. The wolf. The shadowy bad man you're warned about if you go out at night. The monster you know. Always a friend. Always a near-relative or someone close. Always with his eyes on me. Always trying to wedge himself in. 

And I still let him. The crush is long gone but the payback lives forever. 

And I still love him, too, but I can't explain that at all. I will forever appreciate his efforts, violent as they were, his work ethic and the fact that he has never changed his story, not even once and has never tried to deflect blame or minimize our tragedy. I appreciate his presence and his familiarity. 

I appreciate his whispers as he makes it so I can still hear him in spite of his efforts to be quiet thanks to Lochlan still sleeping (but probably not sleeping) on my other side. 

(Ben is at Daniel's having a movie marathon. We had a free moment and Caleb asked if we wanted the bottle to celebrate getting my cast off (ha) so we took the bottle and the offerer, too.)

Update on George.

(You'll be pleased to know I pay for the two-tier medical system in order not to take up space for those who need it more considering ninety percent of our medical issues are self- or other- inflicted. We also have a doctor-team on retainer that we only need to give two days notice and they come to the house for anything we need. It's exceedingly expensive but if you've been reading here for a while you'll know that Caleb pays for everything and so I don't care what it costs.)

(which also means he gets to go to these visits so there's that.)

George was very happy to be set free on Saturday. My cast came off in the water because it was in rags anyway and I didn't look after it. I'll admit that. I swam back with one hand (no I didn't, I just let Henry pull me to shore) and PJ went out with the jetski to retrieve the cast that was floating around and I didn't want to leave it because litter. 

So I called the office and pointed out my cast has...uh...fallen off and they asked me on the phone if I cut it off and I was offended and said of course not, it came off when we were cliff-jumping and I was expecting to be fired as a patient but instead they were incredibly apologetic because it was supposed to come off THREE WEEKS AGO and the office is behind because Covid so no one followed up as of yet. 

(This is comforting. Isn't it?)

So they fit me in this morning. Was again irradiated and will proceed to glow in the dark through Remembrance Day, and George is doing great (fucker) and I was upgraded to a splint that I need to wear overnight, when cliff-jumping or when doing anything sus that might fuck up my wrist again. 

I looked at George, he looked at me and we both laughed inappropriately because you all know it's going in a drawer and it's never-

Except Lochlan exists (to foil my wonderful plans of comfort and freedom) and he over-laughed my laugh and said that I'd be wearing it more than not. I scowled at him and he winked and the doctor looked from me to him and back again and I finally conceded that I will wear it but only for a month. Then I get another round of Pictures of Bridget's Tiny Bones and then I start trying to use my stupid hand, but gently. Great. 

Then the doctor looked at my semi-black eyes and probably-broken nose and asked if he should take a look. 

So the good news is my nose is not badly broken and they don't need to do anything to it. The bad news is Caleb has a probably-fractured cheekbone but they're not going to do anything about it either as it isn't moving and his eye seems fine with all sensation and no numbness. It's bloodshot as fuck from when I put my arms up at the last minute to try and deflect and I think I nailed him in the face with the cast that then bounced right into my own nose as we went down. 

 If you ask me I think that secretly George doesn't even LIKE Caleb. I told Lochlan that on the way home and he laughed that desperate, frightened laugh that he does and said nothing. Caleb just looked at me in the rearview mirror and swore.

One breath apart.

I woke up with a start in the still-dark hours, time granting me one more hour of my own misery within which to drown, hands stretched out to help me pushed away by the sheer weight of the memories pressing in like waves, their cold tendrils of thoughts unfinished washing over my skin. 

Lochlan is standing in the doorway with a single cupcake, lit with a lone birthday candle. 

Wish the fucker a happy birthday and let's get on with our goddamned lives. 

He brings me the cake and I blow the candle out, carefully. Then he takes the candle out and we divide the cupcake in half, eating it for breakfast, leaving crumbs in our bed. He kisses me before I am finished and I laugh but it ends in a sob and suddenly I can't speak. 

Here's to the fifty-one you didn't get, Preacherman, Lochlan says spitefully, stretching out on his back to look at the ceiling while I finish my half. I nod to myself in the dark. Jacob's fifties would have been incredible as he finally got the respect he wanted so badly in his thirties but between his good lucks and unconventional ministering style it was hard for people to take him seriously, though once you knew him it was exceeding easy to balance him on a pedestal so high you could no longer see him for the reach, and then for the sun. 

I figured out why you're stuck, Peanut. I am finished my cake now, licking my fingers and thinking about ghosts who take up so much space in my life even filling it the way I have still leaves these wide open spaces and they're all holes, today. 

Why is that? My hands are beginning to shake. 

Because. Lochlan leans toward me, leaning on one elbow. He is the only man who ever fucked up your life and never came back to try and fix it.

I am surprised. He's not wrong. Lochlan came back, making sure he always had a hand in my life, that I've never been too far out of reach, Caleb came back to try and atone for his sins, and Ben changed every single face of his entire existence in order to be who I needed him to be.  

But Jacob just left. It's the biggest betrayal of all and I don't know what to do with it. 

Jacob leans in and whispers in my ear. He just wants to look good and make me look bad by default. 

And I laugh and choke on icing and tears as a shiver runs down my back. 

He's not wrong either. 

Too bad he doesn't get a say anymore.

My grief is a teenager now (Part I).

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

I was picking out notes and trying to sing. I think I'm so brave but then I can't finish it. I can't hear it anymore. I can't believe it's been fourteen years and even though I've promised everyone including Jacob that I won't mark it as an anniversary anymore my blood is electric in my veins. My head is pounding in time with my heart and I will go to my own grave in absolute awe that Jacob chose nothing over everything. That leaving his life unlived would be better than living it with us. That his decision was the best he could make for everyone involved and that I wasn't worth it. I know damn well Henry would have been worth it but we had such big doubts and it seemed so unlikely and-

I know. I promised. 

So did he though and look where I am now. 

I look around. The note has long since ended and I'm still holding the key down. I let go and turn to look at Ben, dozing in a chair, head in hand. Coffee cup forgotten on the table in front of him. I abruptly jump up and run. Through the living room, down the steps, out the patio doors and across the lawn. 

I hear shouts and I try and speed up. Ben is no longer faster than me but the rest still are. The grass starts to dip now into the slight incline and I am twenty feet from the edge, ready for the rush of flying without dying and then I hear a new note in the din of voices. 

MOM! 

And I stop in my tracks and turn around just in time to see Henry running for me and just in time for Caleb (in the lead) to crash into me so hard we both go down in the grass. 

Fuck. You stopped so fast, Bridget. Oh my God. 

My teeth feel loose. My nose is bleeding and he's got me in a sudden vice grip as he pulls us both back up and Henry is there and suddenly I have to answer to this beautiful child who deserves more than he ever got from both of his parents. 

Mom. You can't do this. 

Swim with me. I need to. I just need the cold. I need to touch the clouds.

It's five degrees. 

Just come with me. Just once. Please.

He stares at me, Jacob's expressions in his face. The same annoyed surprise. The same impatience. The same kind and generous understanding. 

Only once, Mom. 

That's all I need, Henry Jacob. I wipe the back of my good hand across my nose, leaving a streak of red.

On three, then, and he took my hand, wiping off the blood, then gripping it tight and counting.

(I was an impossible case.)

And you make me talk
And you make me feel
And you make me show
What I'm trying to conceal
If I trust in you, would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know

The name of the game

 

I am fielding a lot of early questions about the track listing on the new ABBA album. I don't know if I know any producers who usually strongarm an idea or a theme, do I? I do and I'm not naming names but HEY, did you know there's ALSO a new Slipknot song out today? Right! There is and it's a barnburner of a song so there you go. SO MUCH NEW MUSIC. Don't ask me any more questions. It doesn't matter who I know or who you know, the point is, we're all in this together. 

(My favorite ABBA song is not actually Gimme Gimme Gimme (A man after midnight). Sorry. It's the The Name of the Game. It's the closest kin to any Fleetwood Mac that I was literally weaned on. Angeleyes. Knowing me knowing you (God, That one HURTTTTTS so good.))

But yeah. Thanks for the comments. You're all great.Who doesn't love ABBA and want to bend over backwards to help bring them full circle here? 

***

Fun fact: Jacob's favourite ABBA song was She's My Kind of Girl. It's so Beatles. No one ever was surprised by that. Hardly anyone knows that song though.

***

Also I don't know but these drugs are just perfectly balanced and Bridget's on a cloud. A good cloud, not a black one. Not under it, on it. Not too cold, not too soft. Not too high. Goldie, Loch's. Ha. Okay, that one's debatable, but let's just say the hole is all the way across the room and I haven't fallen in it. Maybe they just needed to give Lochlan a little more credit and a little more time to prepare. By them I mean me, of course.

Over (size).

We are snuggled in the great room this morning in front of a roaring fire. I can't get warm, it seems, though we have the heavy blanket around us and hot tea. Coffee was over hours ago. It usually flows seamlessly into Lochlan's tea time though so don't worry.

We're reading gift idea lists for the people in your life. They are everywhere on the internet. Just everywhere. And they are so, so bad. It's like they were written by an AI that was tasked with learning about humans via adventure books from the early twentieth century.

For example, suggestions that appear near-constantly on every list for men between the ages of birth and oh, a hundred and fifty years are whiskey stones, an axe, a cheap pocket knife in a case with a handy belt loop and field notes, with a space pen. Sometimes drones, woolen scarves and a plasma lighter appear. A moka pot. A backgammon game, but for travel.

It seems the robots think men are huntsmen. Highly literate ones, at that.

It's okay though. Every list for women in her....ah...middle ages includes a watering can and an electric milk frother. A shimmery scarf with butterflies and an icing-decorating set, but in timeless stainless steel.

It's all so.. tone deaf. And I can't tell you exactly how many whiskey stones we own, for a house that's fully half in recovery, but apparently also filled with generic huntsmen, but there are a lot. Like mountains of them.

***

(Want to know what men really want for Christmas?? 

No, Jesus H. Not that. I mean for gifts. That they can open. In mixed comp- FINE, in front of their grandparents. 

A blanket. The next year a snugglie. Then an Oodie the year after that. Something large, warm and very soft and comfortable. Something they can burrito in. 

These are what they love. I promise. And they must have several different kinds of warm and cozy for different activities so that's why this will serve you for years.)

In Lumine Luce.

Right across my throat, a beautiful necklace with tiny glowing golden letters set in enamel? Ceramic. Gold chain. An early, singular Christmas present, and I struggle with my latin. 

Shine with knowing? 

Shine in the light, Peanut. 

I knew I heard the phrase before. A kiss on the nose after he said it and I was in the spotlight, high up in the centre of the big top, as I swung across to my platform to wait for him to come to me and we would perform our aerial routine for eleven very long minutes (for us) and in a blink (for the audience). 

I smile. I remember the gut feeling just before and then when he said that suddenly the light made that feeling go away, and all I could feel was his warmth. And then for real as he grabbed my arms as I abandoned my trapeze and I never heard the gasps, never saw the wonder and disbelief even as we did the pretend miss and he would go to one hand. He would have held on to my bone, leaving marks in the smooth whiteness. I never once thought I was in danger. Now I see that I was naive. Now I know I can never perform again. It feels like my hand will never be strong again and that's a new sort of grief, even as I made my peace with my age, responsibilities, centre of gravity and life choices. I knew I could still do the routine, however, and suddenly I'm aware that I can't. 

I love it. I breathe. I can have this memory forever. It's not going to fade. It's not going to be forced from my brain for my own good. It's not going to be twisted or ruined by time. 

I love you, he says in return with the same urgency. Forever and ever, Peanut.

A movie of convenience.

Right this minute things are okay.

I finished my wine last night. PJ made it into a sangria for me since it no longer tasted good and was room temperature when I like my drinks icy-cold. I watched Hustlers, and am a little stunned by it today. How simulated sex and a few pasties got an R-rating. Maybe it was the drugs? Maybe the swearing? I don't know. I didn't think it deserved an R unless you're a kneejerk conservative but then why would you be watching a movie about strippers, drugs and crime? 

I was impressed by Jennifer Lopez though. She was FIERCE. I was gobsmacked by all the girls insistence on not relying on anyone else only to be ruined the minute the industry dried up as they had used their independence seemingly only to buy big apartments, canvas Gucci bags and Louboutins. 

Which had the sugar baby in me screaming at the screen, Jesus Christ. 

(I have those things. Louboutins are overrated and uncomfortable. Coated-canvas bags are crap and I know they're one-season bags and aren't supposed to last years but for the prices they fucking should. Big-city apartments aren't worth it, trust me and goddamn, women, if you want to be independent, invest.)

It was miserable. They also seemed to have people on tap to look after their children twenty-four-seven. Also, men aren't that stupid and bartenders aren't that blind. So the montage of drugging the drinks of the guys wouldn't have even been a thing, considering they went to the same bar over and over. 

Maybe they took liberties in the name of entertainment but honestly I guess I liked the slow-motion shots of J-Lo entering every room and not a lot else. I find it hard to believe that it's a true story because the only thing truthful about it was that men will pay a lot for company, in the end. For example right now, I am writing this and Caleb thinks I am writing him an email, with links, for my Christmas list. 

(Okay, maybe men are a little naive but not to the extent they were in that movie and before you say Bridget you wouldn't know, trust me. I danced. It was brief but I fucking know. Being a sugar baby is much preferred, though actually not a whole lot different in the end. You're still purchased company, but at least the faces are always the same.)

Liars and leaves.

There's around four hours left of sunshine in our universe until probably June and SAD has hit me in the face, knocking me to the ground, yelling stay down as I try and struggle back to my feet. I have finished Christmas shopping (BE JEALOUS) and put away all of the Halloween decorations. I won't get the Christmas decorations out until December first because otherwise I resent them long before the year turns over into a new one so I no longer plan it out for the minute Remembrance Day has been observed and tucked away. 

We finished the garden cleanups just after lunch, a task that would have been so much faster if not for Lochlan and Caleb attempting to gang up on PJ who was letting me do stuff too. I was digging out leaves from around the plants and cleaning up beds and pulling out dead canes and weeds as I went. He said it saved his back. It didn't save mine, and I was glad to stand up and stretch and he would move in with the rake. The big garden now has a fresh cover of leaves for winter and the rest is fine. We wrapped the delicate lime and olive trees. We don't worry about anything else. 

When they started shouting PJ waited until they were finished and then pointed out She sleeps better when she's been outside DOING THINGS and they didn't know what to say to that. 

My cast is rigid. I can do stuff. It's like having a flat shovel on one side with my fingers poking out the top and my thumb in it's resting bitch place in a separate hole. Kind of stupid if you ask me but the design mimics a hand at rest. 

(It'll be EIGHT WEEKS TOMORROW PLEASE SOMEONE COME TAKE THIS OFF)

So he, of many broken bones in the past, knows exactly what I can and what I can't do and when he figured I was completely worn out, jacket off, sweaty t-shirt, red-faced and filthy he declared we were finished. We even did the front up by the gate and everything. There's only a few leaves left to come down and we'll let them and I came in, stripped by the back door and went upstairs for fresh clothes, choosing a fleece one-piece number with bear-ears that I somewhat live in now that it's cold. Ben said it made my ass look cute. Lochlan laughed and said what ass? but then tried to make up for it as he is right, I have nothing back there, and I remarked that he needed a matching one and then I could tease him as they aren't supposed to be flattering. It's literally a bear costume. 

And then Netflix sent me an email and asked me if I wanted to see a movie I searched for a couple of months ago. Hustlers with Jennifer Lopez. I do, actually, thanks Netflix. That can be my rainy afternoon rest. I earned it! I earned the martini that's going to go with it! THREE OLIVES THIS TIME, PADRAIG.

Pacific Ghost Trail.

We did indeed drive out into the valley to our super-secret stargazing location, discovered by accident on a drive a few Christmases ago. We were at kp4 heading to a lovely 5 or 6 number and all signs seemed good but then by the time we got there everything shifted away back towards the East, dropped to a solid, unyielding 3 and we knew the night was a dud. 

But was it? I danced down a dirt road in the starlight. We stopped for late-night burgers and fries on the way home and we had a good time, out after dark, which seems like such a rare occasion these days. 

Everyone is still asleep this morning even though it's Halloween-day. 

There are leaves to rake. But instead I took the dog for a long way and then warmed up a muffin and had another cup of coffee under the watchful eyes of PJ who is fulfilling his initials this morning, still in pajama pants and his favourite Opeth t-shirt and he swears he's only on watch until Lochlan wakes up and then he's going back to bed.

Niche Bees.

 I slept last night despite the vague stomach ache from half a jar of smoked olives. Or maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was Lochlan's incredibly dark and beautiful acoustic rendition of Kryptonite on the front porch long after dark. 

You called me strong, you called me weak
But still your secrets, I will keep
You took for granted all the times, I never let you down
You stumbled in and bumped your head
If not for me then you'd be dead
I picked you up and put you back on solid ground

 

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well, will you be there and holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might
Kryptonite

 

Today we're going to harvest the seeds from the pumpkins we haven't given away and we're going to drive way out into the valley tonight where it's dark to see if we can see the Aurora. It's been so long since I've seen them with my own eyes. I need a miracle and they seem like a good choice.

Okay. That's it. Last round of doctors and surgeries and bullshit and we're down to a week or two of meds and a few days of healing. PJ and I walked in with relief and the weight of a thousand hearts on us seemingly all at once and we had a shot of vodka each and then he made a chart for pills and I had a very fast cry and then pulled my shit together, onwards and upwards. 

I didn't even sleep for five minutes last night so I'm glad this is behind us now and we can heal our patient and get rolling again on life. This weekend is Halloween. The Aurora Borealis are going to be visible and it's supposed to be clear skies besides! Jacob's birthday is coming up but I don't feel stressed about that at all, maybe the distraction was good even though I would wish it on no one, not even Caleb and this is a strange life indeed. 

PJ's put a plate of smoked olives, cheese and crackers in front of me since I wouldn't eat breakfast and then I'm going to go out and rake some more leaves. I got some really great blister bandages and have good vodka so it's a celebration of sorts, I guess, maybe, as we are that pathetic and that grateful, today.

Fished out of the water, annoying as heck. Yes, that seems about right.

You look like Paimon. 

I complained about my hair. The cute french bob had grown into a boring, blunt lob and I hated it so Daniel cut some layers into it and that was Schuyler's observation after the fact, now that it has some life. It's like a messy/wavy shaggy bob now and my bangs persevere to the end of my nose, as always.

I laugh, delighted. Paimon is my favourite character in Genshin Impact. Henry and I play it on our phones religiously. He is obviously better at it. He's a true gamer. This is one of maybe five games I have played in my life and I keep getting sidetracked and start exploring randomly. Paimon keeps me on track as my traveler is usually confused. But the boys all like to come and peer over our shoulders as we play and they know more about it than I do, it seems.

Daniel and Schuyler have co-opted me for a spa-day in which they get to cut my hair, paint my nails and try different outfits on me all afternoon while we drink cheap red wine and watch shallow television. We already had a long sauna, then a leisurely swim and a really good lunch that was vegan burritos with sprouts and fried potatoes inside instead of rice because why the hell not? We did a little online shopping and I helped them plan a spring getaway for a few months from now, if the world goes well.

I slept last night too and it shows, heavily drugged by Lochlan, timed perfectly to not have any trouble falling asleep but also able to move and think when I woke up this morning, piggybacked against Ben, who was also having a really good sleep or maybe he was just faking so I would snooze even longer than usual. Either way I'm not complaining. 

My hair will be good now until sometime in February when I can actually tie it back and I'll probably curse the layers then but for the winter it's perfect. 

I wonder what the ghosts think but I'm sure I'll have their feedback before the day is out. 

Not if I can help it. Lochlan just arrived to regain custody but Daniel has offered to paint his nails so we get to stay in the paradise of their room just a little longer.

It's because they're deep too.

I did not get Chipotle. I had like three Pringles from the can before someone stole it and then realized how hungry I was by dinner time and decimated a huge plate of pork fried rice with onions and peppers and carrots. There's still a little bit left so today maybe I'll get lunch. 

Instead PJ and the boys were dealing with a midnight-black bear the size of my jeep who climbed over the really high fence beside the upper flower gardens and seemed incredibly content to walk around sniffing things and it wasn't until I told them to clap really hard that they figured out the noise part. I guess bears are habituated to their voices since he wasn't even responding to their shouts.

Finally after a few rounds of applause the bear got what he wanted and left. And now the chaperones come out of the woodwork since it's been a minute since we've seen one on the property. I never did refill the bird feeders and there's no garbage and we don't leave the garage doors open so he can't peruse the big deep freezer so he really picked the wrong house save for giving me some quiet lumbering beauty to gaze upon while I watched him from the porch. 

I have another hurt hand today anyway as I was outside raking leaves between storms and the rake is a heavyish metal number and I had a glove on and was using my left hand to kind of cajole the piles of leaves into order and used my broken casted hand to press the rake down and now I have a blister that is worn through to *bone* on my left thumb and it fucking HURRRTTTTTTS until Lochlan put antibiotic cream and a big bandage on it. 

Now it feels fine as long as nothing touches it. 

I wanted to pet the bear but Lochlan had me by my hood because he knows. I'm fast and exceedingly foolish and absolutely in love with the bears here and how they come down off the mountain and show up for dinner and find nothing and wander off again. 

I like to think he (or she) was checking up on me. 

I know what day it is.

But I'm not doing it. 

I even got a pass, for according to Tik Tok it's a No Bones Day, and that's sorely needed right this second. 

Bad anniversaries are just that and you don't have to acknowledge them aside from seeing how far you've come, if you've made any headway at all and maybe I'm ashamed that I haven't. Maybe I'm angry that I let him continue to leave me mired in grief and doubt and self-sabotage. Maybe I'm supposed to be ashamed of the way I live my life. 

But I'm not. I'm not any of those things.

PJ's promised me Chipotle for lunch and Lochlan and I are going to watch shitty horror movies. Perfect.

A little grace this morning, as we didn't hear from Sam, urging us to attend church. He only sent a message for me to text him and he'd be here in seconds if I need/want him. Everyone's doing that weird thing where their ideas for sanity and safety dry up and their words disappear on the wind and become muddied in the rain and there's nothing left to say and all we can do ride out the storm. All I can do is cover my ears against the voice in my brain, against the memories as they fly out of the cabinets, singed and sooted from years of fighting destruction at the hands of my beloved boys. 

You've missed him longer than you knew him, at this point, Lochlan says and I begin to hear a high-pitched noise behind everything else. He covers my ears with his hands and pulls me in close. I don't have to get up today. I don't have to talk. I don't have to do anything except tick off the minutes as they go by.

Hell is like Vegas, actually. Seems larger than life until you get there and then you just want to leave.

Got up at nine-thirty this morning, only because one of the cats got locked in our room last night and walked across my head to wake me up so she could get out. Lochlan is awake, and runs a sleepy hot bath for us. He washes my hair and his own and conditions it and then the tub is almost overflowing as he adds more hot water and then we are clean and dry and wrapped up in towels. 

He combs my hair, parting it in the middle. He tells me to sit on the couch and then he goes into our room and is back in a few minutes. He has my clothes. Chosen by him. Warm black leggings (hard to put on with one hand so he does it. Like putting a mannequin in tights, if you ever worked retail) and an oversize sweatshirt, also black, with a sprig of flowers and a sign emblazoned that says 'Hell was boring'. It's a dig on the previous night, I know but it's also warm and comfortable. 

We head downstairs quietly, cat in arms, as Ben sleeps in a little longer on the weekends again and the whole house is quiet, save for PJ putting his dishes in the dishwasher and Duncan is looking for his keys. 

They're on your hook in the front hall. 

Did I put them there? 

No they were in your jacket. It was on the floor so I washed it but I checked the pockets first and your keys were there. 

Oh. Thank you. Want anything while I'm out? I'll be back in a couple of hours. He's heading to a meeting. 

Can you get some banana bread? 

Slice or a whole loaf?

Whichever is easiest. 

Will do. 

He is off with a kiss on both our cheeks. PJ smiles at his back and then frowns when the door is closed. 

Where's my fucking kiss?

Lochlan heads over and gives him a full french and I am dead. 

Maybe if you're lucky you can have some of the banana bread too. 

PJ laughs. Who needs sustenance?  I think I can live on love now. He bats his eyelashes at Loch. It's like old times and I adore it. 

Also banana bread to look forward to. Damn.It's going to be another good day. 

Is it? Jacob's voice crowds into my brain. Is it really though? It's like he's trying to hurt me, now.

I shake my head to clear it. I hope so. 

What? Lochlan says, suddenly alarmed. 

Oh, I said I hope so, as in I hope PJ can live on our love. That's why we're here, right?

Gaslight flames.

A hot cup of coffee and a blanket wrapped around me this morning from the wind and the rain, while I'm tracing tiny planets and little wobbly umbrellas all over the inside of the lightly fogged window overlooking the water in Caleb's bedroom. There's one light on this morning but it's so dark from the storm. He's checking stocks and reading emails and I'm listening to the new Starset album Horizons which came out overnight and it's exceeding my expectations by far. Another masterpiece of cinematic space alternative rock but better. I don't even know how to describe it but I know I love it. 

Especially the last minute and eleven seconds of Devolution, but I'm only halfway through and there's so much more to come, so I'm glad to be sober and present for this beautiful deviation.

He keeps coming over and surprising me with a kiss on my shoulder or the top of my head. Pulls off the headphones every now and then to my great annoyance, asking me if there are any ghosts and I shake my head to change the subject. I don't think he's going to get Lochlan's privilege of total honesty and even if he did I'm not talking about this with him. Not this morning, even after he was so sweet last night, and he kept me present and he was controlled and kind and when I said I was going to leave he said he wished I wouldn't but he understand so then I was touched and I stayed where I was, and he has a little time left and then I turn into a pumpkin again. A big goopy, rotten, carved-long-ago forgotten pumpkin on a porch step somewhere unsafe. 

Or so I imagine it. It's always on the metal pull-down steps of the fortune-teller's wagon, as that's the unsafest place I can think of next to the camper Lochlan burned but he couldn't burn the wagon because it didn't belong to him, but oh, how he wanted to. Instead I take one of the ripped-off doors from the room where I keep my memories and hold it in front of me with both hands, using it to push back against the thoughts that threaten to ruin another good day. An imaginary wooden shield and I am an imaginary knight-girl with my armor of tears.

Time to go, Caleb says and I turn, shaking off the thoughts now starting to run faster inside my head. He's holding out my things in one hand, an offering to the alpha gods he is ruled by, a volunteer in this army just so he can have a place at all. I take my clothes and let the blanket fall, but he grabs it, and rolls it up in his arms before putting it on the bed. He turns back and I am dressing quickly, or as quickly as I can with one hand. He steps in to help, hesitantly until I give my approval and I let him finish everything right down to pulling my hair all the way through the neck of Ben's big hoodie that I stole again. 

I hope this was a respite for you, he says, suddenly doubtful again, sad almost, from the ghosts and the living alike. I pretend I didn't hear him but he's used to it.

Truth. No I don't want to shop. I have to pee. Hey, there's a ghost over there.

We're going to have a good day. 

I got up, showered and dressed. Trailed Ben to the truck and then into the grocery store while he bought way too much food. We're operating three months ahead of schedule and bought Christmas groceries today. Turkeys, stuffing. Cranberry sauce in cans. Gravy packets to round out deglazing the pans and minty ice cream and chocolate wafers for dessert. Baking supplies. All of it will keep in the freezer or pantry and so why not? We also bulked up on pasta and canned things for whatever coming apocalypse is next. There's always one. Things just work better this way. 

Home and he and PJ and Lochlan put everything away while I tried hard to focus. Finally I woke up Henry for his school work and made some coffee. PJ dumped a good amount of Baileys in both my cup and his while Lochlan frowned at him. 

What? It takes the edge off. 

The edge of what, exactly?

The day. PJ looks at Lochlan until Lochlan looks away first. Pickled is better than fried, Locket. He says Locket in a baby-voice and I know he's trying to imitate me and instead of a punch Lochlan threw him a little mercy.

I know, he says to PJ and to PJ's credit he adds a second shot to each. 

What? It's only like fifteen percent. You add vodka to her lemonade that's forty right off. 

They don't say anymore but it's still going to be a good day. I take my coffee to the fire where Lochlan has built one of his all-day fires in the woodstove and I curl up in my corner, looping one ankle into the gap between the cushion and the arm. 

It anchors me so if I fall asleep I don't fall off the couch. 

But I won't anyway because Lochlan is finally gifted a doctored coffee too and he comes and sits next to me. Spreading out. Phone. Ipad. sketchbook. Elastic that he pulled off his wrist because they're too small for his bones but perfect for a loose bun. His sweater that I snatch up the second he lets go, pulling it over myself like a blanket. 

Don't fall asleep with that cup in your hand. He pulls a table over, taking the cup. I don't know why he said it if he's going to take it anyway. 

But it's going to be a good day. 

I look up and Jacob's standing right on the other side of the patio door watching us. I frown at his face and Lochlan follows my gaze. Close your eyes, Bridge. Just listen to my voice. It's your mind trying to fill in the gaps, that's all. 

Is it? 

Yes. 

Is he gone, Locket?

You know I don't see him, but give it a few minutes anyway.

I settle back, eyes still closed, warm sweater under my fists. Waiting out the ghosts. Because it's going to be a good day and Jake isn't allowed to wreck it. 

Update: music barely working. Wide awake though.

And I'm not seized in desperation
No steel reproaches on the table from before
But I still can feel those splinters of ice
I look through the eyes of a stranger
For rumours in the wake of such a lonely crowd
Trading in my shelter for danger
I'm changing my name just as the sun goes down
In the eyes of a stranger

I was eleven when this song came out. It's my favourite Duran Duran song, only edging out Lonely in Your Nightmare by a note or two, in all honesty, and I always looked forward to becoming an adult so that I would understand the words. Or what they mean. 

I still don't. 

Maybe the I'm still chasing after rainbows part. I get that. I don't know if that's what they meant but I get it. 

Hopefully right now I am between episodes of 'emotional torment'. Maybe that's a kind way to put it. Lot of people have been to talk to me. They're worried it's worse than they think. The boys are even more worried that I go from joking about Duran Duran songs on the internet to crying so hard I can't breathe. 

Oh, well, welcome. It veered a little too far into the psychotic lane this week though and that was scary because I didn't even recognize my own brain at that point and I usually can predict what the little fucker is going to do. All I know is one minute I was lying on the swinging bed in August's loft, enjoying the perfect quiet, perfect temperature, perfect lighting, perfect foreplay while he kissed along the inside of my knees and then I looked at him and he wasn't August anymore. 

And I couldn't get him to switch back. Usually it stops in a minute, or at least when August says something or I blink but this time it wouldn't stop and so I told Jake I needed something at home and I'd be right back and I came home and hid under the covers and told them I was tired and no one believed me and August was here twice ratting me out and pointing out the strange behaviour but when he walked in and I looked at him Jake was still there instead only it actually was Jake and I lost it again and he's standing there just like Jake talking about me and my behaviour and I am hyperventilating and none of them are noticing and then I fell asleep (drugged) shaking like a leaf and then I woke up and I couldn't figure anything out. 

Then more drugs. As always. Drugs will fix it. Drugs will make her act less scary. Drugs will make her too slow to run and too mute to scream and too weak to fight us off and fuck the fucking ghosts anyway, right?

I am blessed with a high metabolism for drugs though and my body fights those too, just into a dull background river of absolute pink noise and mild irritation at not being able to concentrate. Words are harder to find. To arrange. Ghosts get hard to see again. No one buys my explanations (all lies anyway) and all of them wonder at what point we need to switch to professionals at all hours. 

Never, he says, and I watch his curls fix in defiance. If you had all left her alone in the beginning none of this would have happened. 

We can't go back. Even the devil has regrets. He'll never get alone time now. Not with this level of medication where I can't feel pain but I can feel my heartbeat in my own fingerprint whorls. 

I laugh and they look at me, alarmed and then look back to each other. 

He should be gone. We got rid of him. 

She keeps him here. 

Where?

All around. 

We need to fix this. This gets harder every year. 

She can't move forward. She doesn't have the capacity. There's no emotional maturity to draw from. 

(I wonder why, Caleb? Why is she ten years old? Because that's where time stopped for her and all of this is just a book she reads over and over.)

 It's not going to get better. You all know this. This is the deal. This is where we're at, thanks to you and to Jake. This is it. Find a way to live with it that doesn't involve drugging her out of her fucking mind twice, since you know I've already done it, just to navigate a holiday. 

I can't listen to her scream. 

Me neither. 

I laugh again, pointing out if I had screamed the first time I was told not too, this probably wouldn't be happening right now and Caleb gets up and slams out the front door.

I woke up breathless, in panic. I can't breathe, can't get enough air, can't quiet my racing heart with both hands pressed against my chest as hard as I can until the ache begins in my right hand and I have to rest it down. 

In my dream it was so hot and I was feverish and in ruin. Jacob was sitting beside the bed, trying to smooth my bangs back and failing and he would chuckle gently every so often and sometimes he would pray, brimstone and flames all around and sometimes he just sat back with his eyes closed and I could study his face for as long as I wanted with no one there to check me in my guilt. Sometimes I slept and then I felt slightly better, fever breaking along with the dawn. 

Lochlan asks what I need and I try to shove him away with my bad hand, hearing the bones crack and slide like they're not supposed to but it's the least of my problems right now.

Ben is on his feet. Lights are on suddenly and they are pulling on shirts and jeans. I can hear steps coming up the stairs and down the hall and then the door is open and there's more lights and then flashing ones and I don't know who to listen to first and then there is a mask over my face and air blowing into my nose and I try and focus on that and a pinch in my arm and then they let go, pulling the band off, letting the fake euphoria flow into my veins to chase away everything else. Reason, sadness and dread grab their shit and run out the fucking door and I turn over on my cloud, curling up into a ball to sleep. A sleep that would last, unbroken, for the remains of the day.

The tone of his voice (something I can never hear but forever feel).

And though I know all about those men
Still I don't remember
'Cause it was us, baby, way before them
And we're still together

 

And I meant every word I said
When I said that I love you
I meant that I love you forever

 

I didn't stay at Dalton's. We watched There's Someone Inside Your House which was a pure rip of I Know What You Did Last Summer and ate our breakfast leisurely and then I was returned topside without preamble. God, Dalton has so much self-control. Had he not I would still be there, if only for the escape. Duncan wasn't home so I couldn't wreak any havoc at all and Lochlan was readily at the door when we came up, expression checked, pointing out I could come out with him while he fixes the patio heater, if I like. 

So cool he drips content, relief and punctuality all at the same time. I love him so much and I hate his guts too.

The stereo is on outside piped through the awning speakers stationed all around the house and he has his tool roll already out. REO Speedwagon. He is nothing if not the biggest romantic alive.

All of the patio things are packed away save for what's under the glass-topped pergola and he has rolled the heater over to the very edge of the dry square underneath. I step fifteen feet away as instructed a million years ago. Away from the danger.

In case it explodes? Or? 

No, I just need room to disassemble.

(Same.) Ah. 

That's funny though. 

His mollification is all over, coating us in a fine mist, or maybe that's the sudden heavier rain to keep our conversation private and our time out here alone together. 

If it does explode, I love you, Peanut. 

If it explodes and takes you, I'm going with you, Locket. 

He drops his screwdriver and gets up, crossing to me, taking me in his arms and kissing my forehead hard. I make a half-hearted twist with my hips, pretending to slow dance when I hear the music again and he pulls me out from under the cover into the rain, taking one hand in his, sliding his other arm around my waist. I rest my head against his chest, letting out a grateful sigh, one he matches as he puts his head against the top of mine. 

And as if by design the heavens open and it starts not raining hard, but freaking pouring. I feel his face turn up into a smile but he says nothing, making no moves to stop even as I can no longer hear the music for the deluge. He can, and so he can keep time for us, though we last far longer than the song could have.Every time I think I'm fucking up my life worse it turns out better than I could have ever hoped, honestly. I smile at the ghost behind the gazebo and he disappears, there all along.

Go away, I say out loud. 

But you just got here, Lochlan says, and he holds me even tighter.

Out (HALA HALA).

I should be getting ready for church but instead I got high with Dalton and we're watching Ateez videos and discussing Korean boy band fashion and fandoms. He had the good cinnamon rolls in his kitchen and the warm blankets on his bed. I'll be here for the rest of my life if anyone needs me. He has the patience of a saint and a mind more open than the rest of the boys combined sometimes.

Terror management theory (Neuroticism or Eroticism. You can pick).

Schuyler and I are trading lines from To The Moon & Back as it blasts through the house. The only people still sleeping are Henry and PJ and both have sound-proof wings, or so we discovered over the years as we make attempts to wake up various people with various songs they don't enjoy. 

Only it didn't work for either of them. Lucky.

Daniel is laughing, watching Schuyler be goofy. It's rare but so wonderful. They came over to make us a breakfast casserole recipe they found that they said was too good not to share, and we are spending time waiting for things to cook. Gage is all but howling at his brother and Ben is too or maybe that's my stomach growling. I can't really tell the difference with my ears. Daniel and Schuy are wearing matching tiger-eye stones on black cords around their necks. Protection. Courage. Interesting. 

I point to it. Why? 

Worth a shot. 

Worried about someone specific?

Schuyler stops dancing and singing. No? It could be from landslides. Or peat fires. He looks pointedly at me. Maybe you should get one. 

Do they work? 

Landslide didn't bring me down yet. 

Ooh. Put on Fleetwood Mac. 

Oh. Yes!

(This is why I always start with Truly, Madly, Deeply. They play it every year, as they also danced to it at their wedding ten years ago this month. Otherwise we won't get to it at all and it's the one that's most fun to sing with him.)

'Music therapy can improve functioning and reduce symptoms in patients with trauma exposure and PTSD'. Well, DUH.

The rain has softened the edges and I stepped too far, straining to catch a glimpse of my favourite ghost when I began to slide. I thought I would stop but I didn't, picking up speed, taking on passengers as I went until Lochlan came charging out of the dark, pulling me up to a safe ledge, putting headphones on me so I couldn't hear all the horrible screams coming from somewhere where she hides, away from the pain that reaches out to catch a glimpse of her whenever it can, and the music swelled and the screams were gone.

I guess they were coming from me but I didn't know until I had turned myself inside out just to hold on to the edge. Now I'm tethered by a fifty-foot coiled cord that connects me to the only thing that ever actually worked. From lying in the cold packed-up camper on an unmade cot as the leaves turned colour outside the tiny gravel-pocked window at sixteen years old listening to Blue Rodeo on Lochlan's (who's now twenty-one) black edition Sony Walkman, churning through batteries like oxygen to walking around the whole house with this stupid cord keeping me in proximity of the big stereo because I can hear every breath with a headset that costs the same as a small car and my little airpods pale to the point of translucency against.

Like a ghost. 

Almost see-through but you know he's there. You can feel it like your own heartbeat. A little out of rhythm but part of the landscape. A little cold and then warm. A little good and then so, so bad. 

How is he? 

Pretty good actually. Just one more white-knuckle round and then we are done. 

The hard part? 

Supposedly not but the labs have to come back and that's the part that's scaring me. Another month of waiting.

He's fine, Princess. I can see it from here. 

Now you're a fortune teller? 

No,there's an arrival board and he isn't on it. 

Am I? 

And that makes him angry and he's gone as quickly as he materialized and maybe he wasn't there and I hit my head when I fell in the hole. Like Ben. Who's time isn't up yet either and he didn't die last year but almost and almost is too much and I can't do this for anyone else. I can't. I can't.

If I reach up and slide a name that I don't know out the other end of the letter-track I can use those pieces and a few more, rearranging them to spell my own name. Like an airport but instead of digital it's all analog. Like me. Tactile. Present. Visible. Obvious.

It doesn't work that way! Christ, Piglet.

He's back. The warmth comes in but with it, betrayal. Anger. Hopelessness and a distinct, painful awareness that I would trade everything for him to take a breath and be whole. 

But would I? Only in those first moments when he makes himself known. The rest of the time the Bridget-rage marches on. It's 'complicated grief'. I laugh but they keep saying that. Oh, boy, is it ever. 

I tuck my hands under my arms and rock forward. The pain is real, unlike the man. Just remember, idiot, you never had a chance at a normal life. What made you think you did? I laugh to myself, a pell sound, a beautiful laugh that used to be charming before now, before I was older and afraid. Two things messed me up and I can never fix either of them and yet the two men who caused them won't even leave because now I won't. let. them. 

What are you doing?

Trying to make it hurt less. 

Does it work?

Music works. 

Then go listen to music. 

I WAS WHEN YOU GOT HERE. I rip off the headphones and I throw them at him and the screaming starts up again and briefly I wonder if he's the one screaming but then Lochlan comes rushing back in, picks up the headphones and crosses the room to me, pulling me in under his chin, kissing the top of my head, rocking me gently in place. 

Find a song we should have scrubbed? 

Yeah, I lie, pushing my face into his shirt until I can't breathe anymore.

Fragile Miss Bitch.

Your hair is so long. I didn't realize. Forgive me, let me take this off.

My hair is just past my chin and his Breitling got caught in it. It's been a long time since that's happened. He put his hand around the back of my head to pull me up for a kiss and I squealed when he went to let go and he took a good sized wisp of my hair with him. 

It'll grow back. Fuck it. That's not the important part here. 

The important part is that he behaved, and I didn't leave and I slept with my hands curled in to my heart, my arms between us, head tucked down, his arms around me holding me close and so I didn't hear him when he actually told me to leave and so today, well, today the villain is Bridget, not Caleb. 

It's fine. I earned it. It'll blow over. Between the hearing impairment and broken wing Lochlan doesn't stand up to me. He hates it but it will never be my fault until they hold him down and make him understand that it is, and even then he'll doubt them all the while giving me that benefit and is it fair? No. Is it inevitable? Of course. He said I could have a boyfriend and I picked the worst one I could find, as a test. Well, Lochlan's still here and it's been forever. 

(Maybe I can trust him now?

No. Too soon.)

He laughs, incredulous. Do I need to look for bitemarks? 

There aren't any. He was kind. 

It sucks that I'm reduced to being grateful for that. Why the fuck didn't you stay put? 

But curiosity kills Bridget and I wanted to see for myself what kind of mood Caleb was in, and so I followed him down the hall, brandy in hand and learned the truth about him for the day. Today might be different because he was up and gone early, driving to the area of town where he parks and goes for a long run before getting coffee and returning to the point. He says if he doesn't get out of the house at least four times a week he gets the crazies. 

Which explains everything about me. Except I also left the house this morning, after a long hot shower to soothe the razor burn all over my skin and the remove the aftershave smell. Then Ben scowled at me, having slept alone with Lochlan, and we went grocery shopping. I bought a thousand mini Halloween chocolate chocolate bars for a hundred and sixty bucks. They'll be gone by Friday in this house. 

Sweetness is my absolution, courage my ever-elusive muse.

 Oh, great. George aches when it's cold and rainy.

Ruby Woo wasn't blue enough, even for me.

I should have gotten the Russian Red instead when I bought my last (Mac, we like em dry) lipstick and I walked past a Sephora on the weekend but we were going to get Lochlan a new ipad and so we kept walking and then today I remembered. 

Lochlan put the Ruby Woo on my lips for me- 

 (A small aside here: This gave me a bizarre jolt of PTSD from when he put makeup on me to make me look older so we wouldn't be questioned on the road, when I was eleven years old. He has already passed the lipstick task off to Ben saying that he figures Ben can do a better job and we didn't speak of it but I know he felt it too and that was weird and it's one of the reasons I don't wear makeup now. Well, I love lipstick and mascara but I won't wear the rest of it and a seventeen-year-old boy was doing a full face on me as best he could because that's how to blend in.  

That's what we do to stay out of trouble. You have a disguise. Okay, Bridgie? 

Yes, Locket.)

-since my left handedness is not all that capable and then I shrugged into a warm knit dress and we went and had a wonderful dinner next door. Came home late, drunk and full and fell into bed and had I known the Aurora Borealis would be visible here last night I might have struggled to stay awake but we didn't know and didn't stay awake and I'm just happy I've seen them before and I also found an app that will send forecasts to my phone from now on. 

We are also, thanks to the weekend, halfway through Squid Game. 

It's very good. It doesn't have the slick strangeness of Alice in Borderland but I liked this one from the first frame, whereas it took me forever to get into AIB.

 But now the long weekend is over and Halloween is coming on its freight train and I have my days cleared completely in order to not-actually-lipstick-shop and to actually sew a hole I can crawl into and then pull up over my head. It was fun while it lasted. We have so many leftovers that the boys next door gave us we'll be having hot turkey sandwiches tonight. We have plans for the future that don't include slowing to a miserable crawl every time the weather turns so cold but oh look, here we are.

On with it, already.

 

If only (getting those lyrics NAILED, guys. Poor Lochlan).

But you were history with the slamming of the door
And I made myself so strong again somehow
And I never wasted any of my time on you since then

I got the out from Christian this morning. Loch got up early and left to go hang out with August. Caleb was sent away by PJ early last evening and Ben just stared at me most of the rest of the night while Lochlan got much-needed sleep. 

Christian came over, sat on the edge of the bed, and told me they were hosting Thanksgiving today. That turkey and stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes and maybe even a pumpkin pie or five will be at their house at four this afternoon and that if I would like to make an appearance there will be a chair with my name on it, and that if I'm not there by ten after, my chair will be removed and Schuyler will most likely eat everything. 

Or Ben. I laugh but it comes out weird. 

You gotta live, B. Don't let him continue to take this from you. 

I nod. It's a pointless conversation and I've had it a hundred thousand times. It doesn't matter. I don't know what's wrong with me but he said I was enough and then suddenly I wasn't. Suddenly I was so lacking that it was better to fly to Heaven then to struggle, like this. I forgave him. I understand and then when it's cold or I'm tired or I think too hard I don't understand at all. 

Christian leans down until he is holding me in his arms, head pressed against mine. But PUMPKIN PIE, he implores and I finally laugh for real, shaking both of us gently. He pulls back and smiles. 

Promise me you'll come. We're going to light the good candles and everything. Everyone's going to be there. Table is set for eighteen. 

Wow, that's a feat. 

You do it. 

I'm used to it. 

We'll get used to it. 

Actually?

Both tables. And the island. 

Okay, there's a use for open concept. 

Exactly. Let us treat you. Come and sit and mix your pills with alcohol. And eat something, for once. You're just bones. 

It's Halloween. Just trying to blend in.  

Stop trying, Bridget. It will never happen. Not with you. 

I know myself.

Okay, I can still play piano. I finally spoke this morning (not sure I did yesterday) and it's ratchety-whiskey and guttural so of course that means I can sing Total Eclipse of the Heart and I figured I would have forgotten all the notes but I did not. 

Not like I'm going to forget lyrics, though that song was followed by It's All Coming Back to me Now, a song that I don't know all but half the lyrics to, and I was fighting my way through that one, because Lochlan will listen to me sing the Bonnie Tyler songs now like he's in a trance and then if I start something really painful he'll stop me and I have no idea what the words are to half the Celine songs, her very light french accent messes up what little hearing I have. Besides. Have you seen the video? Between the ghosts and the ghosts due to motorcycles that one's off limits. All of her stuff is off limits. That's why I started it. 

Who wants to go to church when you can stay home and fight over an eighties Youtube ballad playlist instead?

Besides, the heat would need to be on in the church to go and sit for that long and I know for a fact it isn't and so I made my excuses last night. At this point Sam would excuse me for murder. Lochlan certainly won't and wants everything to be easy. 

Just like the Merovingian does. Same exact thing, Locket. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA oh, Jesus fuck this isn't funny but that's funny. 

During our rewatch of the Matrix several weeks ago we decided in secret that Caleb is the Merovingian. He's very smooth with a slight accent and tons of money and power for no reason and doesn't seem to have an actual purpose but here he is. 

Truth.

Who does that make you, then? Trinity?

Of course not. 

Niobe?

No, I wish. She kicked ass. I'm the ORACLE. 

Geez, I guess you are. 

Then can I keep playing please?

No. (The next song up was It Must have Been Love. Then She's like the Wind. Ouch. I hear dead people. But then REO SPEEDWAGON. Still alive, I think AND HE STILL SAID NO.)

And I can't fight this feeling anymore. I'm singing again.

Bridget, fuck off. 

Leave the room, Pyro.

Ah. There he is. Caleb's voice over my shoulder. He doesn't stand for that.Funny how verbal abuse ticks him off so bad but none of the other kinds do.

Through the gray.

I still fall for you like suns do for skies
Cerulean pouring in from your eyes
Just a hollow moon that you colourize
So powerful, I feel so small but so alive
Like watching the earth rise 

These drugs are so bad. I burst into tears listening to the new Starset song, when I ran out of red licorice, when I saw Christmas shit in the pile of flyers on the counter from the newspaper (WHY in 2021 are we still getting a newspaper, Cale?) and every time I come. 

Which, well, that part isn't bad and God do they ever love it. 

So I listened to Earthrise four thousand times, so loud my whole head still rings. They used the word Cerulean, a favourite. Dumb things that I appreciate since the world has been dulled to virtually everything else but I'm in that sweet spot right now between pills where it almost wears off and I have a half hour to organize everything and then I fall into the void again. I don't know if that's a complaint or a grateful turn, ask me in a month. 

Makes the coffee bitter but the love so much sweeter. I wonder when in my life my liver is going to call mutiny and take my kidneys with it. They can run away into the sunset and I will be left with no filter at all. I never had one on my mouth anyway and I told Lochlan yesterday that he gets off on disaster porn and he handed me off to Caleb and went for a long drive in the cold sun on New Jake's motorcycle and Ben went with him on PJ's and then I told Caleb he gets off on it too and he laughed and said of course. Otherwise no one would be here. 

Then I stood with my nose pressed to the upstairs staircase window until they came back and I finally could let out my breath. 

Did you capture the ghosts and take them so far away they won't be able to find their way back here?

Yeah, Lochlan shoots a look at Ben. Yeah, we did. Everything's fixed now, Peanut.

Good. I shove my headphones back up over my ears and go back to my favourite void. The musical one. Where I can listen to someone else's pain and I don't have to think about my own.

 I'm here. Don't worry.

And here I thought my hand was going to be the thorn in our sides this fall.

Bah, today is a massive setback 9for my surgery patient) but I think we can get back on track. I don't know how I went from all-capable to a little blubbering mess the minute things get scary but apparently it's PTSD. We'll just add it to the big list and maybe eventually someday I can take a big long breath without going right back to holding it forever. If you're a praying sort I could use a little for someone here but at the same time we have a houseful, no, a pointful going up. When it rains it pours, I guess.

See tree-pee. Oh. (LOLLLLL)

 Oh God. We've reached the t-shirt with flannel shirt or just a waffle knit shirt time of year for the boys, one of the upsides to fall, along with scented candles, long-burning fires and flavoured hot chocolate. Also I like sweaters and the leaves changing colour and the endless rain and cool stillness at last. The trucks are always clean thanks to the rain and the leaves have lit up the neighbourhood, a muted palette of rich warm tones that oddly make me feel like I'm getting somewhere. 

Also weirdly, people who were born and raised here seem to be allergic to rain and so I never see a soul who isn't part of the Collective. Gone are the days of heading down to the beach only to find boaters picnicking and using the driftwood house to change, or nodding to people as we go for slow strolls with the elderly dog up to the mailbox. Even our early grocery runs are deliciously absent other people, which is the whole point of going before sunrise. 

But the rain seems to magnify that. It's kind of weird. 

Also Schuyler in a pale-blue thermal long-sleeved t-shirt with a matching pale blue cotton mask is more than enough of a treat for the day. He was outside with the arborist who has come to see about a few of the trees in the orchard. Schuyler likes to learn this stuff so he went out there with Lochlan, and they both laughed out loud when I pointed out the trees were also changing colour..to black. 

They might be worse than dead. I have a feeling we're going to lose a bunch of trees out there but all good things come to an end, or so Dalton said as an idiom without thinking this morning and then I watched as he visibly cringed. 

No, they don't. I said softly. 

Bridge, I'm sorry-

It's fine. Please don't worry about watching your words. It's been too long. I try to remind them but they also cringe when I do it, as I repeatedly would tell them I was going out to deadhead flowers or kill some time. We're all stuck. It's like a group black hole sometimes. 

Dalton's babysitting this morning. At least while the trees are dealt with. I don't know if they're going to cut them down today but we'll know more shortly. I hate losing trees but I do like watching Schuyler. Hahahah. Which is funny because he absolutely PALES next to Lochlan, who is all smoldering-sunset-orange, freckles and pure fire this morning against a backdrop of red and gold. 

***

ALSO: I got a hydrojug! Not a sponsored post or anything. I saw one in the background on a tiktok of all things and the creator let me know what it was and I ordered a bunch for everyone here and wow. It's a water bottle that holds 73 ounces. It has a big handle. You can use it with a straw or not, and the top seals shut if you have to take it somewhere. You can also get sleeves for them that have crossbody straps and they come in a million colours and designs. I never ever drink enough water and this is the first day and I'm already a third of the way done and it's not lunchtime yet. Love this thing. 

The only downside is it does weigh five pounds when it's full so that's a lot but just think, you get to lift weights all day too. The website is Thehydrojug.com. I don't know if the ones on Amazon are legit but I ordered ours off the actual website. I didn't make it clickable because whenever I do that people accuse me of trying to farm out my blog for profit, something I've never ever done, not even once. Even when I was well and poor and people wanted me to post amazon wish lists or whatever. Just no. Don't even worry about that. But if I find something neat, I like to share it and then everyone can also tell me they already knew. So there's that. 

If you need me I'll be peeing.

I AM a requiem Pokemon.

 More surgery for the end of the month for my patient and then hopefully that's it. We're seeing the light at the end of the tunnel though, that will be for one tiny thing but otherwise the mend is on. I can play nursemaid to my heart's content, though I also bit off too much and had a micro-meltdown this morning, which Ben talked me out of and then we went grocery shopping, really fast so we could be home by eight. 

Right, eight this morning. We were there, waiting outside, before seven. 

There's no people this way. 

(Fun fact, there's also very little in the bakery section! This was why we don't go on Mondays.)

Ben carried everything from the truck to the kitchen in one go. 

He did not use the hand rails at all. Sometimes I wonder about this man, who trashed his body living a life of excess and then some who becomes a walking miracle a little over a year after having his brain injured beyond what they thought a man could endure and still come back from.

Also? I realized this morning that I hate mango. Absolutely hate it with a passion. 

In other news, the rain returns tomorrow, and along with it, the ghosts.

Jesus, childproofed.

It's Sunday, October 3 and the boys have turned on the electric fence, upgraded all the semi-awful lighting on the property to bright white LEDs so now when you drive down to the gate after dark it appears you are approaching a prison compound but when I complained about things such as ambience or aesthetic I was informed it was not up for discussion. 

So many bears, PJ barks. This is safer.

(But for over a decade it's been generally fine, though we did add a lot when we bought the point.)

Then I realized other things have happened as well. I suddenly don't know any of the exterior door codes. The knives are gone. My favourite sewing scissors are gone. They've added motion sensors in areas of the house that didn't have them before. 

Ah. I get it. It is a prison now. At least until closer to Christmas, right?

Also not up for discussion. 

Lochlan looks so grim. But he also looks mildly relieved that he's organized all of this up front instead of playing catch-up every year, and I'm suddenly happy for him if he feels a little bit of comfort from that thought. 

Did you move all of the meds? Also there are scissors in the bathrooms upstairs. 

Got them. 

Did you move the alcohol? 

No, PJ finished what there was. 

Oh. That explains his mood. 

He hates this time of year, Bridget. So do I. 

I bite my tongue not to say it and he watches me make it bleed.

Having trouble delegating (and also I can still juggle with my cast. Hurray!).

Autumn is a minefield and I keep stepping on them all, blowing myself to kingdom come and then when I hit the ground I yell I'm fine, barely getting the words out before I step on another one. 

Last night for the very first time in a long time Lochlan poured a drink for me and put it at my place at the table as I came in with take out. Don't worry, PJ drove/babysat. I feel like I am the bandage and if I don't hold everything together we're going to bleed out. At the same time people are tapping me on the shoulder going By the way, here's another challenge/difficulty/problem. Good luck and I have to juggle or I can't hold on to everything. 

Everyone always says Just drop it. We'll pick it up. Don't worry. Nothing's going to go wrong. Let someone else do it. But I always feel if I do that then everything ends or everyone will leave or if I don't have control over this one thing I won't have control over anything, you know? 

You need to talk to someone, Sam says. I can help but I'm too close. We're all too close. 

No strangers, I snap as I grab for a falling sweater. Someone left it on the porch so now I have to wash it. It might have been me. I don't remember, I'm too tired. I just need some rest.

How do you organize an outer space party? You planet.

This was a request in-house. I don't know why. 

My complaints, I present to you:

1. When a very-long dead person is wished a happy 459th birthday on social media. Firstly, they don't have social media so they'll never see it and also, they never would have made it to that number anyway so what is that even all about?

2. Artists talking about their upbringing/qualifications. It's always "Daddy encouraged me to paint in the gardens and then I spent my post secondary travelling around the world taking random art programs that no one can actually afford before he gave a large donation to the gallery that now bears my name where I freelance paint. Anyone can do it! Thanks Daddy." These revelations are almost always given in pleasant, quiet voices in a room that costs more than my life.

3. Makeup tutorials that have a catfish headline like I'll teach you how to apply a winged eyeliner that won't budge! and then the video is ninety minutes of spackling their face with eight different liquid skin uh thingies followed by at least forty-five minutes of painting in a wing in stages, with tape and baking (?) and primers and architects and mentors, with a steady hand and uncreased lids, followed by a smug It's easy! Like and subscribe! OH MY GOSH. I'm going to die without this skill. Apparently the mudding and taping is part of why it works so I guess I'll sit this life out. I really am a boy.  Though Ben can do eyeliner perfectly.

4. Packaging. My pocky sticks are in a box that's sealed in plastic and then inside the box every ten sticks are wrapped in yet another round of plastic packaging. I don't know what the answer is but I think it begins with a plan for feeding the pocky sticks individually through a big straw from the pocky factory straight into my face. For the environment.

5. The one tik-tok with the "husband hack" (BARF>) that shows a man drive up to Starbucks and hold his phone out where his wife? Presumably? on speakerphone yells "I want a *insert eighteen-step complicated not-a-coffee-anymore order* and then he smiles smugly at the camera. Okay. FIRST. If your coffee order is that complicated that your spouse can't remember it that's...food for thought. And B) If you start a request with "I want a-" like a toddler with no fucking manners and you don't say please, thank you or sorry (at the very least, for an order like that) then FUCK YOU and BE NICER to servers/baristas/everyone. DON'T BE SUCH A DICK. Arghhh. Pet peave. I never met so many rude people as I did at the coffee shop where I worked.

That's it. PJ wanted me to write a complaint thread. Here you go, buddy. He thought I would be mad about the bad joke theme-week he started but I love it. The title is my contribution, today.

*~*Bonus edit: Sam's joke: Atheism is a non-prophet organisation. He'll get a re-do since that's a pun and not a joke,e xactly.

From no time to breathing space just. like. that.

Today is slightly better in the way of very good news and we're back on track. Sometimes I am surprised by how helpful and hands-on people are. By how being nice and thanking people and asking for help they will deliver and it touches me. Maybe people think I am fragile or difficult or need to be coddled. I don't know but I appreciate it as I advocate on someone else's behalf. Either way, SHIT GETS FIXED ON FRIDAY. Thanks to life, which is full of surprises. Like surprise surgery! But not for me. Anyway. Fairly minor. Easily repairable but things that also couldn't wait, even a week and so thank you for the crossed-fingers and the prayers. It helped. A lot, I think. 

***

Wearing my Jesus Loves You yellow ringer tee and a big long cardigan with pockets that I made years ago. Flared jeans from the early two-thousands. All my rings. Socks and my around-the-house clogs that I can wear outside but that also don't leave marks on the wood floor. I run into the devil and he does a double-take.

Cute shirt. 

You've seen it. 

I know. I like you in yellow. 

I don't know if I do but I like the shirt because it's soft. 

You haven't changed, you know. 

Oh, I have. I am old and jaded and hard. 

That's what you think.

Jesus knows. 

He does. And I think he would agree with me. 

Jesus Bro? 

Jesus Bro.

Shakey mother (fucker).

Long day. Bad day. Don't really want to talk about it but you know when something is tough for someone you love and you try to support them and you think it will go smoothly and then it doesn't at all?

That was today. I kind of understand how they feel now. They will never understand how I feel, though.

Bruce Springsteen peaked in high school (I am leaving but the fighter still remains).

(Also I figured out the random extra spaces that show up when I'm reading for clarity are from the part of the cast around my thumb hitting the space bar so that's why they're there, sorry. I know it's distracting and I try to grab the ones I notice.)

I am just a poor girl
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

Lochlan was playing the guitar and it sounded a little bit familiar. I thought it was The Boxer and I was really looking forward to the Lie-la-lie part and the diction of the final verse but he stopped when I got to the end of the first verse with its changed pronouns, eyes wide. 

Wow, that changes everything, when you do that. 

I can make anything sinister. I can make it all wrong and no one can fix it. That's my superpower, I guess. Just fucking things up. 

This morning is Monday and we're due a thunderstorm after lunch so we are organizing outside chores really quickly and sorting out the space between now and Thanksgiving, which apparently is a couple of weeks before Halloween and I always forget due to the sheer number of former Americans in this house. 

(And the sheer fact that Halloween is a literal and figurative nightmare now.)

I am paying bills and we're delegating the months chores on the big chart and Ben's place was divided up by all of them but now that he's back (he's back he's back he's back) it's only mine that have to be covered and I still persist in doing a ton of things so very few things need to be switched up. We have the menu set and we're starting to pull together anniversary plans for Daniel and Schuyler. Lochlan and I didn't actually celebrate this year. You know, five whole years married. It still seems disingenuous somehow. Like we're cheapening decades of being together so we've decided to just mark the day quietly and not make a huge fuss. But with Daniel and Schuyler we're coming up on ten years for them and this is a very big deal. And so we have three big dinners and two holidays and Christmas is only a dozen weeks from now and...

JESUS CHRIST.

 I need this cast off so I can get things done, so I can hold on to the edge of that hole with both hands as long as I can before letting go, so I can fight off ghosts, memory fires and strange bedfellows with both hands. So I can hold my laptop up in front of my face and fend off the shame of new readers who just show up and think they're going to read the whore show and then get angry when I go in deep.

Sorry, not sorry? There is no genre here, just Bridget. Maybe Bridget IS a genre. A type. A thing. Whatever. Superpowers. Music. Hurt. Fuck off.

***

What song were you actually playing this morning? 

Streets of Philadelphia. 

Oh. Crazy. 

The crazy part is that you gave a very sophisticated guess.

Wonder who gets credit for that?

Put your hands up and run.

Sam yanks the pillow out from underneath my face. I was so enjoying drifting in and out of dreamland underneath the rain pouring all over the skylight, enjoying the crisp warmth of a Matt/Samwich. They both smell like jasmine and sandalwood. They smell like freshly laundered velvet and rain. I don't even know but I forgot to ask what the soap was they use because it's so addicting. 

Coffee's ready, sleepyhead. 

Just leave me here. 

Church in two hours. 

I don't care. 

God cares. 

We've had this argument. He does not. 

Okay, well you're not staying here so if you're not coming with me then you have to go home. 

Ah, the sting of being dismissed. How I hate it. 

Matt sits up and pulls me up with him, kissing my cheek. Bye, sunshine. 

Wow, you guys really know how to shut off a party.

I only came over to see if they were watching scary movies, as Sam had mentioned they might be on Friday. Caleb and Lochlan were holed up in the library 'talking' with the door closed, because apparently the jarring nature of seeing Lochlan's breakup speech in print hammered home some residual guilt. Lochlan, I think, was pretty sure that as an unreliable fourteen year old girl, I would also quickly forget what he said to be mean and move on. 

(Me? Do I move on? Ha. Never.)

It's Sunday. 

Right. Do you actually mind if I just stay and sleep though? 

You don't get to be alone. We'll take you back over in a few. We're heading out for breakfast before worship so if you don't want to join us then you have to turn back into a pumpkin now, I'm afraid.

Gotcha. I get up and let the sheets fall just so they know that I am way more of a fun Sunday than church.

God help us. 

I told you, good luck with that. 

Sam walks over and slides my dress over my head. Get. Ready. I have to go. 

Boo, I say as my head pops through the hole. 

Scary Bridge! He says and laughs. I get a kiss on the other cheek from him and I am turned and marched out the door. 

Finally larger than life.

Far across the emptiness I walk the night
And search the silence in the dark you left behind
I seek the stars above the world to be the guides
But they all pale against the light in your eyes

In your eyes

 

And I won't suppose to know why you walked away
But I can feel you pushing through beyond the space
To send your energy to me and I'll push through
Send your signal home and bring me back to you

 

Ben got up early to go to a meeting with Duncan and Aug so I was wide awake from the second the door closed, first as the coolness became warmth, then through his quiet movements in the dark after I heard the shower shut off. I am in and out of sleep, in dreams trying to use a washing machine that looks like a spaceship and I don't understand why it must be so complicated before I am awake again, swimming up through the bubbles, through the shirts and socks that seemingly float in space and gasp for air at the surface. My eyes burn, my lips are dry and he has left a kiss behind on the top of my head that I never acknowledged, too buys with the dream-task at hand.

My eyes survey the room. The sun is up now but the curtains are closed. I can hear the birds through the open windows though. We have a tiny brown wren and a large colourful flicker making a nest in the eavestrough right outside the window closest to the bed. I got out on the roof yesterday afternoon, planning to move it, but I was still a foot too short so I had to play dumb and not tell them I went out and I pointed out the fact that I think there is a nest there. Lochlan won't touch it. He thinks maybe it's necessary and we'll worry about it in the spring if the birds are still there. 

He stirs briefly and then is awake all at once and I forget about the birds as he pulls me in underneath him, crushing my lips against his, a breathless kiss from just at the surface. His hands fight down to my legs, and he pulls my knee up around his hip and then he pulls away, up in order to give me a proper kiss, to let me breathe just for a split second, a nod against my head to make sure everything is good and then he is moving against me, slow and gentle just until we match our movements and then he turns harsh and desperate, passionate, fire eating us both alive. 

His hair is in my face, his arms clutch me up against his heart, his hand presses my head against his chest, holding me in the air, and then he pulls us both up so he is on his knees in the centre of the bed, quilts falling away from his sinewy arms and muscled legs, his back slick with a sheen of sweat from the sudden temperature spike. He readjusts his hands under my legs, going so hard I can't breathe anymore at all and then suddenly we are at a crawl again. He pushes forward and I am lying on my back again as he holds himself up with one arm and pulls me close with the other, driving against me, sounds coming from his throat as he tries not to moan out loud. Failing as I make the smallest sound when he hits the perfect mark and just stays there, holding out until I can come with him, wherever he goes as always and that sound he makes finishes me off.  

He smiles and kisses the end of my nose and then the space between my eyes but he doesn't let go. He stays locked against me and I stretch involuntarily, shuddering out my limbs before folding them back in like a cat.

And he laughs and lets go at last. You haven't done that for years. 

You let go sooner these days. 

The laugh leaves his eyes but I'm right. We use to remain in our embrace for the night, not moving for hours before finally, reluctantly releasing each other as if it would physically wound us and it did, ever so slightly. 

I won't tonight.Or ever again.

It's fine. It's not practical-

I don't care if it's practical, Circus Peanut. 

Sure you do. Everything is practical. Everything always has to make sense. 

You never made any sense to me. You never followed the rules of the universe. You still don't. That's why I always tried so hard to make it logical.

Does it make sense now? At last?

No. 

I'm so happy to hear that.

Don't cry, Bridget. Please don't cry. I'll make it right.

You already did. You came back. You're the only who came back. 

So let the others go. 

I want them to see what they missed. 

They don't deserve it. And they already know what they missed. But they never had this. You were mine from the first moment. The only mistake wasn't made by us, it was made by those who couldn't see the truth. 

I nod again. He's right. We're in a late-fall cloying heatwave, sitting in the camper in the near-dark of the earliest morning. We just let go of each other to breathe. I have had my big stretch. He has had his coffee. 

When I grow up I'm going to get your name tattooed on me so that they see. 

Do you think anyone will read it and understand how big this love is? 

No, of course not. 

He smiles again, wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs and shakes his head. I don't even understand how this happened. All I know is that it's more valuable than anything and everyone is going to try to take it from us and we won't let them. 

I nod. I'll believe anything he says. Never stopped, even when he said so many other horrible things a few years later in order to make it easier for us to be apart, for me to hate him and move on, in order to save my life. 

You're too small. Too tenuous. Too naive. You're only good for one thing and it's not enough to be worthwhile even. Everyone is afraid you're going to break. Or cry. Or disappear on the wind. Everyone falls in love with you and it's hard to fight them while you just let them do it. And you aren't even smart enough to understand what that means, Bridget. That's the worst part. Trying to protect you while you're constantly running away from me. 

I didn't-

You wanted him to touch you and now you're lying about it-

No, I DIDN'T! 

You're only saying that now because you're scared. Because I'm not going to fight your battles for you anymore. You can have him. See if he does a better job-

Locket, don't. 

I already did. Because Cole isn't any stronger. He can look after you. The brothers Grimm can have you and you can see how your fairy tale turns out without me. 

DON'T LEAVE. 

I told you, I'm already gone. I don't love you anymore. Get over it. You're not even big enough to be a memory.

Those words make up some of the biggest scars to this day. Words spoken in desperation so that I would hate him and move on. So I would be safe. And all of it was lies but it still hurts. He really went above and beyond, showman that he is. Making it count. Making it worthwhile and making sure it had the desired effect. The ensuing years when I believed I was worthless and worked my way through all of them, letting them do what they wanted, letting me believe all the wrong things. Wreaking permanent damage and it's never going to be fixed and this is the legacy of one redheaded teenage ringmaster in over his head against the lions but putting on a show nonetheless.

What if we take some of this magic and turn back time?

I stare at him in the dark waiting. 

Close your eyes. 

I close them, trying to relax every muscle in my body. He kisses me. Softly. Slowly. Just once. 

Good morning, Peanut. Open your eyes. I open them and all I see is him. Did it work?

No. 

GODDAMMIT, he yells but he laughs afterward. It's a jaded laugh, bitter and worn down by the years, it's frustration and history and it's ours so we'll own it all, the good and the no good at all.

Last one and I'm shutting that door again.

No, Henry isn't angry at Caleb. And Caleb isn't upset about Henry's mood yesterday. Henry sometimes feels possessive when he is spending time one on one with anyone, including mom, because as I have talked about before there are a lot of people here in the Collective and there can be very little privacy. So if you're hanging out in the kitchen at least eight people will be by at various times to see what's up, try and join in out of boredom or (most grievous of all) not realize you are actually occupied and invite you to do something else. Henry is always a popular person. He's adventurous, enthusiastic and welcoming. Affectionate. He holds his own, as I talked about yesterday. 

So he and Caleb went out for breakfast, spend a long time talking and hashing out feelings, expectations and boundaries. Caleb was frank and honest with him, and Henry appreciated that, and Caleb appreciates where Henry was coming from, with regard to spending time with me without interruption and how sometimes it appears that Caleb thinks his original Collective blueprint gives him some sort of veto power over me. 

It does not. 

Henry didn't believe me, but he believes Caleb when Caleb says all he can do is ask, and that he does get lonely and he probably does pressure me and he's going to do a little soul-search to find his patience and his memory again, that it's easy for him to get off track. He loves me so much. 

Apparently Henry told him it's not a competition and that he can see that I love each one for different reasons or sometimes Venn-diagramesque, overlapping reasons. Why can't Caleb see this?

Caleb admits his weaknesses, his failings, his mistakes. That's why we're all here. To do better, together. 

I think Henry would have liked that but then the story goes that Henry laughed, finished his tea and pointed out this breakfast wasn't a job interview and the buzz-phrases and false assurances were exactly what he is talking about. 

I would say the same thing to your mother, Caleb reminds him. We're all here to make it right and to stay together as friends.

My mother's lost her mind, he said and Caleb's heart apparently fell out and rolled across the table. We always think we can blindfold our kids in order to gloss over the hard parts only to find out they could see all along. 

Henry Jacob. Caleb says it softly. She's doing the best she can and that's why there is a Collective at all. 

That was the beginning and I can't share the middle or the end, but lets just say no one was seated near out of discretion by the host, and by the time they returned to the house it was almost noon and I was fretting but they apparently kept talking until it didn't hurt anymore and then went for a long walk before returning home. They brought flowers for me. They brought reassurances. Henry isn't planning to start lashing out but he does want to see a lot more help and a lot less of me being left to my own devices even as I am known for going off alone and it isn't anyone's fault. And he doesn't want Caleb to ever argue with me again or Caleb will have to answer to Henry for it.

It's almost as if I knew I would never be equal to them all in strength so I just went off and made someone who is.