When you don't speak the language but you nod along and smile.

In endless surprises once again Caleb asked for and was granted permission to take me somewhere as long as he didn't let go of my hand. Fridays are his day that we go down to the beach and after our walk today (in which he did not let go, even as I tried to reach down to collect pretty bubbles of tiny beach glass) he kissed the back of my hand, shot a cuff that didn't exist (long sleeve thermal tees and Patagonia jackets make that move difficult and pointless) and said in ten minutes we will have some visitors. 

My heart turns to ice, thread, staples and all. It's the Russians. Coming back when they realized I wasn't joking when I said not to acknowledge Caleb any further. He thought I was being sweet, in deference to their power but I was being honest. Stop. Go away already.

No, I have a colleague from the old days who retired out here as well and it turns out his daughter and her husband sell crystals and they're going to come by so we can do a little personal shopping. 

Really. How?

They have a well stocked van and they do trade shows and online sales and so they're bringing some things to show you that I thought you might like and if you like them they will sell them on the spot. I get a little discount since I'm a friend of the family but they have some really nice pieces. 

You're looking at my wishlists again, aren't you? 

Perhaps, but I also see some pretty pieces on the windowsills and I know this could be a fun way to add to your collections. 

By the time we left our treasures by the door to be washed, cleaned up and put on masks for our company the van was slowly coming down the driveway. Lochlan came out to see what was up and then went away just as quickly as it wasn't anything as alarming as last week. 

And. OH MY GOD. 

SO MANY PRETTY THINGS. 

I know damn well if I had just asked Caleb if they could leave their whole inventory and just bill him he would have said yes without hesitation, but in the end I tried to have restraint and chose only the pieces that called to me, which were a beautiful tower of angelite, a flourite owl, a yooperlite tiny skull that looks like he's on fire when you shine a black light on him, ocean jasper worry stones (2 different oval-shapes because I couldn't choose), a blue goldstone point and a citrine palm stone which is bigger than my palm but Caleb wouldn't leave it alone so I think I might give it to him. I got a bracelet of gorgeous, glossy, highly-polished flame jasper beads for Lochlan and an opalite rabbit carving too. I think the rabbit and the owl will be for Ruth and Henry and the rest I will keep, as no one else is into crystals in the main house and I like to keep it simple, overall. 

They threw in a selenite bowl and a carved agate one too and a wonderful selection of smaller tumbled assorted pieces (I see rutilated quartz, picture jasper, chalcedony and a piece of rose quartz that was positively singing) plus two big points of carnelian and a half-dozen obsidian points for near our egress doors. Oh, Schuyler, eat your heart out (don't worry I will give them some too.) and then as a final gift, they gave me a beautiful carved angel wing of labradorite so flashy I don't remember seeing them leave, I couldn't stop looking at it. 

Merry Christmas, Caleb says. He's very proud of himself. The box weighs a hundred pounds. I'm sure if I didn't make him broke before, I have now. 

Okay, well, that was really fun, I admit. Damn.

I surfaced to shove you under.

It's a rowboat through the season, through the living room full of presents and decorations, past the Christmas trees and into the wet leaves and sodden mashed-down grass of the lawn. If you row hard enough you can fly off the cliff, catch some wind on a cloud and land in the higher tide, the softer one, in my opinion. The low tide is full of surprises, sharp rocks and errant logs jamming themselves against the shores, keeping your tiny boat from beaching yes, but also keeping you from venturing back to dry land after your navigation is complete. 

(And that lifejacket isn't going to save you. It hasn't yet and it's not going to. The only reason you can breathe at all is because he has you by the collar and he's keeping you aloft-)

From now on anyone who wants me for anything has to clear it with Lochlan first. Except for Ruth and Henry. Even Ben. That raised some waves, right there, and the storm took forever to clear. That's why I'm posting so late today. 

(Also because he took my Wifi but I can whore for a hotspot better than ANYONE ALIVE.)

I live to enrage you (part II).

When I returned (safely, to everyone's disappointment), Caleb was on the patio steps. He grabs me by the upper arm, steering me inside. I think he's pissed that I was going to Batman's (even if I didn't stay) and instead he says we have a Christmas visitor and I am to play dumb and stay out of reach. It's a hiss and a serious warning and he isn't fucking around and I am steered all the way down the hall through the house to the front hall. 

In the front hall are three men I recognize, going back years and two I don't recognize at all. Bodyguards. I ask them to wait outside. I won't have guns in my home. They head outside, as apparently it is a quick visit just to leave some gifts, as it's been a long year once again and they are always thinking of our/my wellbeing. There are two cases in the front hall and an envelope on top of one. I am instructed to enjoy the gifts with my friends before the old man asks if I need anything. 

Actually I do. Caleb has stopped trying to talk over me finally and watches. He isn't worried but he's plenty worried, and his body language has him standing a quarter-width in front of me, just in case. 

Anything for you. Name it. 

If Caleb calls you, please don't pick up. 

And he laughs, a loud ringing belly laugh and comes forward to kiss both my cheeks. Caleb doesn't even budge and it's a bit of a shuffle. And with that he is waving goodbye over his shoulder, collecting his sons and rendezvousing with his bodyguards who stood on the porch waiting. 

One case is vodka. The other is vintage art tools and new supplies from Saint Petersburg, things I've been coveting for some time but only knew one way to get and I wasn't going to choose that way. Apparently it chose me. I did send them off with a family Christmas card, because we keep a ready stack just in case, as there are always producers or managers swinging by to drop off a gift or a card and we learned quickly.

Send it all back to the Motherland, Lochlan says when he sees the cases. 

If you're smart that's the last thing you want to do, Caleb reminds him. As long as we only see them once a year and they seem content to spoil Bridget, then we can manage. 

Do you even hear yourself? You've made her the focus. When has that EVER served to be a good idea?

Lochlan, take a breath, please. It's over. Everything is fine. 

Maybe for you. I want no part of this. And she won't be at the next meeting. 

There are no more meetings. 

Gift exchanges. WHATEVER, DIABHAL. NO MORE. 

I live to disappoint you (Part I).

Last night was a doozy, holy. 

I made my way over to Batman's. August's eyes boring a hole in my back as I went. He offered. I'm sure Batman could see right through me to watch this too, as it was the walk of bears and pre-shame, or so they thought, but I refused to have company on the walk as I was busy gathering courage as I went, like fallen leaves. In reality I regretted this decision from the very first step as the path was exceedingly slippery but I wasn't going to give August nor Batman the amusing schadenfreude of seeing me slip because that's going to be metaphorical only today, thank you very much. 

Only none of them know it and that's the part that I'm irritated about. Like, pay attention here. This isn't hard and while I'm sober I'll shine bright enough to scare off the bears and the wolves alike. 

Bridget, Batman says when I arrive, an affectionate kiss ready to plant against my temple (I wrote temper there first. Lord. The MOOD.) I wasn't sure you'd come. 

Here, I resist my sophomoric urge to laugh. (Because I'm never sure. It's likely but you just never know.) He takes the gifts from me. There is wine with a big bow and fresh flowers. He loves flowers. 

I'm not staying. I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea. 

With that my phone goes off. I look at it. It's Caleb. I need you for one quick moment.

JUST A MINUTE. I reply, smashing buttons. Shouldn't have looked it. But if I don't, it's either Ruth with a question or someone will keep texting til I reply. No one has chill. We are feverish instead. 

I see you've received a better offer. 

No. I brought you a nice wine to drink and some pretty flowers for your table and we both know that right now is not a good time and so we're adults and we're reasonably intelligent and so we can be mature about this. 

If I were the one bringing you flowers when you hoped for more?

I would have more respect for you. Not less. I say it quietly and he softens, relaxing his whole body, slumping against the doorframe. 

Well, there's something that can keep me warm, he says. He sticks his face in the flowers and takes a deep breath. Go find your Devil, Bridget. I'll watch from here. 

I hurry away before he says anything else. Down the treacherous path, into the trees. Home.

OMG this fucking RAIN.

Before the storm.

 Up early again. I like to have a couple of hours to just move slowly and have coffee and toast and frozen summer grapes today for my fruit, and read or watch something or write or draw. My ipad is charging. All of my supplies are out in the stables studio. I'm seriously considering turning the whole thing into a potting shed but it's a huge output and I am not as ambitious as I would like to be, perhaps. I'm going to make some mugs and see if I like where it goes and then decide. Or maybe I won't. I don't know. 

I just know unless I am heavily drugged I don't sleep anymore. At all. I hate it. I went to sleep at eleven thirty after Lochlan yelling at me to put my book down (I have a tiny clip-on book light. He hates it. Not much has changed in forty years. I would sleep with the lights on if I could. I would probably just read all night, if I could. To wait out the night.

At two-thirty I got up to pee. That's normal. 

At five I got up to take aspirins, pee again and take off my earrings. 

At seven I gave up, showered, dressed and came downstairs to make coffee. Ben is deeply asleep and doesn't stir. Lochlan is comatose, helpless and exhausted and mutters something about not going outside. 

PJ lurks the halls. Pretty sure Loch texted him in a haze of sleep and effort. I'm not going outside. It's raining again.

Yay but also booo but also yay.

Every final weekend of November starts the same way now. I defied Black Friday (online and in person, mostly) and went to mail the packages heading East and South, and overseas. I like to go before the packages hit the mailstream from people shopping online. My stuff always arrives in lots of time for Christmas this way. 

I was the first in line at the post office (which is at the back of the drugstore) and on the way out I picked up snacks for the upcoming rainy weekend. We gassed up the Jeep (well, thirty litres since we're rationing gas here due to the floods) and that got me a little less than half a tank which is pretty nice. I feel rich.

Home again, listening to music (random Youtube) and drinking hot chocolate so heavily spiked it's almost illegal and I'm singing at the top of my lungs and chugging along in my Christmas machine like a little maniac. I have all of Ruth's gifts wrapped and ready for her home. Everything else (at least forty percent of the wrapping is done) stays here on the point. I have to pull out the ornaments next as we do our trees and figure out which ones belong to her. It's pretty easy-we (...I?) gave the children matching ornaments every year for a long time so if there's two of something, one goes to her. 

It was weird trying to address cards and gift tags and not putting her name as I sign things from the family, proper. Nuclear. Immediate. I don't even know so I didn't. I signed it all from Us. With a heart. Just Us. Everyone knows who is who and who buys the gifts and who wraps them and who makes things and who does the extra touches. 

 It was even weirder slowly stopping to watch the Ghost video from Justin Beiber. I know why they didn't let me see it but well done (even though it's pop superlight and it reminded me of the Charlie Puth song See You Again, oh, wait it's Wiz Khalifa, a LOT), save for the easy-pop top on the urn at the beach. They weld those things shut so you can't just WHOOPS open it up, sprinkle a little beautifully, Diane-Keaton style and then close it up and come home. 

Ask me how I know this. 

Maybe don't. *covers eyes*

Maybe it's different in America. But he's Canadian. I don't even know anymore, but Happy Thanksgiving. My work here is done.

Vampires and empires.

What if God's not real
And everything we are
Is just a moment here
Where we're only growing older
What if God is real
And everything I've done
Pushed me down this path
And it's only growing colder?

Batman is standing in the back hall when I come down this morning. A hulking shadow, an unfamiliar sillhouette in the early morning darkness, an uninvited guest with an open-door invitation clasped in hand, written in my own blood by my own design. 

I've heard enough over the past few days that I thought it was time I paid you a visit. As you haven't been to see me. I thought I would see you after Asher left. And with that his reluctant, almost sour wave of loneliness washes over me and I turn away to go make coffee, throwing an offer of a cup over my shoulder, not watching to see his response and so having no idea if he's going to follow me or not. 

He does follow, so I pull a second mug from the cupboard. He sits at the island, eyes boring holes through my head, like I need more. The opal marbles I collected and stuffed inside spill out, bouncing all over the floor as I turn to chose flavours among the drawer of k-cups, grateful for the mindless domestic distractions, aware that I am now flushed of face and trembling just a little bit as I fit a cup into the holder and pull the handle down. 

He's amused. He's not blind to match my deafness. He's actually hyper aware of my moods and well-versed in my endless, obvious efforts to appear cool even as I lose my shit. 

Bridget, you need to come see me and check in. Or did someone else get my dance card? 

I see not only Lochlan was pissed at the full weekend I spent with Caleb for no reason other than I wanted a yes-man for two fucking days, just for a break from the constant weight to do better, be better, be more, fix everything and somehow hold up the fucking sun and the moon at the same time. 

I was busy. I shrug and hold a mug out to him. Starbies Jesus blend. Perfect for his casual sanctimony, timely in that no one's tried this flavour yet. We stocked up on holiday coffee since it seems to keep us going and so we just bought whatever and it turns out the maple/herbal whateverness is pretty good, though it's not really helping me find the holy spirit of Christmas. And neither is this man. 

Maybe we can watch a Christmas movie together. 

Maybe, I remain doubtful, pressed against the dishwasher, I guess Frigidaire has my back this morning, since none of my army is anywhere to be found. Don't think they don't get bonuses in their accounts to to throw a race or even just steer off to the side for a few minutes, giving him a chance to overtake the leader and try to win. 

He's never won and he's kept my respect all these years with a decided lack of pressure and desperation and so I think when he's ready to go I will turn and add some whiskey to my coffee otherwise I might walk around for the rest of the day with my eyebrows on the roof, getting washed down in this unending deluge of destructive mountain rain and the surprise of these raw emotions. Batman's a washout, he's a natural disaster this morning holding a cup of grocery-store coffee and all of his hopes in the same hand. 

How about Sunday? I say abruptly as he returns the cup to me. He's not a sipper (or a slurper, like me), he drinks coffee like a construction worker with only a two-minute breather and freezing cold hands. 

This Sunday? Are you free? We can do a Hallmark dice roll and make some pizza. 

Yeah. That would be good. Did you decorate?

I had the house decorated, yes. 

Of course. Good. That will help with the spirit. 

Anything else I can do in advance? 

I shake my head, slurping my coffee. Prepare to wage war with my army, the one getting tired of my efforts to destroy myself by become stretched so thin I break and then the veil will be gone and the ghosts of Christmas past will crowd in even closer?

It's not going to happen. Just make sure you're home by midnight, Lochlan thinks inside my head. I turn but he's not there. Maybe it is the self-regulating. Maybe it's wishful-thinking. Maybe it's a hard rule that I'm faster than. We shall see.

You.

PJ brought me up a water bottle with an immunity booster tablet in it and I get to wear my pajamas all day today. I have a dent in the side of my head that is bruised but otherwise I'm fine. A little sore but nothing I can't manage. I have five kinds of coffee and one kind of hot chocolate and I'm making stuffed green peppers with ground beef, tomatoes and rice tonight for dinner because it's finally my turn again, though I bet now they won't even let me help much at all, if I even get to go in the kitchen at all.

In the meantime I'm spending the rest of today wrapping and addressing packages, as our mailings should go out early next week if not the end of this week. It's supposed to rain more. It's supposed to rain a metric ton but I don't think I care too much. 

I just want to sleep. Lochlan woke me up repeatedly last night just to make sure I didn't have any issues and we are hyper-aware of the kind of damage repeated head injuries or knocks can do, and I have had my fair share over the years. 

But I'm fine. I'm just tired now.The young doctor was by today just to be sure. He didn't do any tests Lochlan didn't already do and he thought observation and rest were the best prescription. He also checked George and George is fine too, I'm wearing my brace as long as I'm awake now. Trying to slow down and looking everywhere for the Christmas spirit. I haven't found it yet but I'm sure it's close. 

Thanks for the kind emails. I'm fine.

Glitter scavengers.

We had a bit of a fight last evening and Lochlan didn't come up last night. It might have been about my ear or about a second night with Caleb so he disappeared and Ben took over babysitting duties and I fell asleep curled around Lochlan's pillow, not sleeping at all after an hour or so because the bed was cold and Ben was out-cold and non responsive and I wish I could sleep like he does. I really do. 

I eventually fell asleep after leaving him twenty messages that he read and did not reply to. I don't remember falling asleep, I remember texting at four or maybe it was five in the morning and then when I woke up there was a little wooden box on the bedside table on top of my phone. 

(When I was little Lochlan used to make these all the time for me out of things he would find. Little treasures along the way. He said it was an offering to the magpie in me. The girl who loves soft things and things that shine.)

Inside was a dried tiny rosebud. Some shells. Sea glass. Chips of tiny gemstones. A tiny pinecone and a tiny acorn. A perfectly round white opal marble. A dried starfish baby. A garden quartz point wrapped in a bit of sterling wire. Some bleached bird bones. A pretty pink glass bead and an iron skeleton key. A small bit of green velvet ribbon and a carved wooden heart that he made (he's always making pocket hearts), stained with a turquoise-blue diluted milk paint. Glitter. 

(Always glitter.)

I was so enamored with my tiny fairy treasure haul that I carried it around all morning, marvelling at all of the little things he found and included. I even brought it outside with my coffee to have under the glass pergola in the rain this morning, staring intently at the way the change in light made different pieces glow.

And did not notice the patio heater base sitting directly in front of me and wiped out.

The coffee flew, splatting on the stamped cement floor of the patio, running dry into the design in rivers of wasted caffeine and shattered ceramic. The box flew and smashed against the hard cement too, stones flying everywhere. 

I fell and banged my head really hard. Stars and birds in a rainbow aura flew up immediately and I shook my head, feeling instant throbbing. 

Duncan (great) runs out. Hey! Shit. Sorry. I should have moved that. He is picking me up, pulling me to my feet. I am dizzy and uncentered and really upset about the little box. The coffee mug was bespoke too but I can probably commission a replacement. 

Lochlan comes out, worried and yelling (because that's how you know he's concerned, he becomes almost aggressive, unchecked panic and in charge all at the same time). I am in tears and I tell him the box broke and everything is everywhere. Duncan has the pieces of the cup, and Lochlan tells me just to sit on the floor while he finds the pieces. 

How will you know that you've found everything? 

There were fifty things in the box. It's always fifty. And I can grab another box. I have a crate full of them in the closet in the downstairs hall. I'm just glad you're not hurt. 

I have another concussion. I made sure to fall whole-body and not try to catch myself. I'm so talented it worked and my back and shoulder hurt along with my head. I crashed into the wrong iron bench and table. And the four chairs stacked behind the bench. Ha. Go big or go home, I guess. I should have gone big because I am home.

Lochlan hands me back the two halves of the box, filled with my treasures. George grabs it eagerly. George is so happy I put him first and he laughs with delight that our fairy treasures are intact. I'm just happy he is intact.

Rift.

I didn't want to face the world, the weather, the week or the news and so I stayed where I was, maybe for the first time ever, and for that I was rewarded with a bite mark right through the top of my ear. I don't know if he could help himself, I just know that he did, but I am small and all gristle, no meat, according to Caleb and so eventually I was thrown back and Lochlan was so impressed. SO. Impressed. He decided it didn't need stitches or professional medical care but he cleaned it really well and dipped my whole ear in iodine and then put antibiotic ointment and wrapped it in a big bandaid, folded over and now my balance is off. 

Good, he said. Serves you right.

I didn't bite my own ear, I remind him. 

Oh, I know.

Jesus, George.

I didn't bother recanting my entry from yesterday as this is my diary, not theirs and I won't be doing this one either, because of reasons and instead of editing I ended up saving my night from within the arms of the Devil even as we rolled over into Sunday morning. I saw every hour marked. My anxiety was bad in the night but he kept me pressed hard against him, in his lap, my arms around his neck, knees raw by the bitter end as I need a little leverage as he's...umm..on the big side of life, and no, I'm not going to let loose and let him drive as much as I can hold him back or I'd get my lobotomy all right but they're not supposed to conducted from the neck to the top of the head, like a stick through an apple at the fair. 

Which is truthfully how I feel to him, most times. Like he's Bridget with her violently-executed sweet tooth and I'm that fresh glossy candy apple waiting to be bought for only a dollar (midway staff price) and that's why they were my fruit servings every damn day of the fair. 

Oddly, I don't hate them now. Bring me one and I will drop everything, devouring it on the spot. Sort of like Caleb did to me, but luckily I only have one barest imprint of his unique bite, and he had enough mind to not fuck up his own Christmas plans by sampling the princess, especially when the desperation and insanity makes her extra-sweet, no sir. 

I think he may have moved George though. George doesn't feel so hot right now.

He's still there breathing down your neck, except he has to do it through his nose, because I took his mouth away.

Jacob's standing on the patio, right at the edge by the waist-high wall that now keeps the bottom garden delineated from the patio itself. It used to just end and become grass but Emmett and Ransom helped transform it into some sort of palace gardens and now you have practically walk a labyrinth to get anywhere. 

Or parkour. 

(There's a vision.)

We unintentionally chose matching coffee cups AND black clouds this morning as I woke up with a rager of a headache, crawling down the centre of the bed in order to let Lochlan and Ben sleep in. I need coffee, an aspirin and a super-hot shower. I need a lobotomy. I need to have not woken up today considering how yeah, we're in the fifteenth year of this and I think I have it under control but then I see you and I don't. 

I don't. 

I thought I did but I don't and you don't deserve this. No you don't. You don't deserve to take any more of my life when you wouldn't let me keep yours in return. 

You're selfish, Jake. 

He turns to gaze at me, amused smile behind his cup as he takes a sip. Am I now?

Yes. You won't go and let me get on with my life. 

There's room for me. Just like there's room for Ben. And Caleb. And August. I'll keep going, Pigalet, if you want. 

 I didn't know ghosts could be jealous. 

Then you missed the last dozen-something years of Cole screeching in my ear. Sitting on my back. Making me carry him everywhere in spite. 

Where is he now? 

I have no idea where you hide him, Princess, but I hope I don't end up there too.

(Like pieces into place).

Please when it comes time for someone to steal my life story make their movie (MY movie) make sure you get Taylor Swift to direct. Because Jesus. 

She just destroyed Lochlan in ten minutes flat, though it started after about three minutes in and the glassy-eyed stare, stubborn jaw set and vocalized irritation at being forced to watch Taylor Swift videos at six in the morning because apparently the one we watched the other day, with the fun wedding and Miles Teller (I bet you think about me) wasn't the right one. 

This one is called All Too Well.

By ten minutes in the glass had broken and the tears were starting a slow path and by twelve minutes Lochlan was RUINED. 

And he is the hard ass, usually. It's tough to get him to cry. The bar is high for music (unless it's particularly nostalgic. Anything newer doesn't rock him) and stupidly high for videos but there he goes and he's still shaken and it's been an hour now. I don't know. It's still dark. I have an ulcer I think that might be new and the coffee went bitter from the sombre mood here now as we wait for some life and some light and someone to realize that could have been us but maybe those stars that we watch finally aligned just a little bit and I'm almost regretful that we are older and worn-smooth, eroded in that sort of twenties-passion that looks so beautiful on celluloid and hurts so bad in reality but at the same time I love to watch a story be told and that's the best part here. 

I know, he says. Maybe you should direct your own film.

Some many folks asking: My favourite tiktokkers (? is that the word) are MaiaKnight, Jrizsea, chantyb97, and Yurilamasbella. Oh and Stalgia! And no you can't have my username. Ha.

Oh God, I'm ordering champagne and some assorted necessary supplies for a party here, just before Christmas and maybe all through and after it too, possibly spilling into 2022 because we deserve a clean slate with nothing already written on it, crossed out, hastily erased and covered with scratch marks. 

Glossy, shiny and new. 

We are throwing a joint party this year for Ben's birthday and Andrew and Christian's anniversary. Ben will be fifty-three, Andy and Chris? Married three years. Makes it easy to keep track, if you ask me and no, none of them are having champagne. That's for me because I find it physically painful and somewhat exhausting to plan parties. 

It was Ben's idea, Ben who never liked to be written about and no longer wants to be the centre of attention, having turned from a brash ego-driven bull in a china shop into a humble, exceedingly thoughtful young man who can dial in a room with a word, for it will be so softly spoken. Who might never take the stage again but will send you a recording for your song (and thank you for thinking of him). Who wants to celebrate love all the time and puts no hierarchy on us anymore, even as we try and hold it up for ourselves. 

Who went with me all over town today, while I tackled my big list of errands, things I needed to get but never bothered to tackle but yet another state of emergency has weirded me out so I gassed up the jeeps, got the pets caught up on food supplies and stopped to see Ruth. I did some banking and bought my mother's Christmas gift and some art prints from a local artist here in the neighborhood and then we brought home a surprise lunch for everyone. He helped me check the attic and put out the bird feeders (I got sad looking at the birds in everyone else's yard.) and we sorted recycling and then he painted my nails while I showed him tiktoks. 

And he laughed a pure Ben-laugh every time. 

He let me paint his nails to match and we did our household chores together. 

It was a really good day. I think the party will be pretty low key. My only thought is to fill the hot tub with melted brie and get a breadstick as tall as I am and eat my way through the new year. 

Ben thinks this is a fine idea.

TGWLTG, redux. Forever, maybe.

Hey, Bridgie, stay there okay. I'm coming to you. 

He's unnaturally loud and strict suddenly and I turn very slowly. It's dark. I'm wearing my glasses which are actually shit for distance but I persist. But I know by the sound of his voice what's up.

Where is it?

Between us, coming down along the garage. Look at the door. 

I look at the door. It's white and brick and then it's half gone, the light sucked into the velvet darkness of a black bear's fur. 

He's only a baby. Aw. I exclaim out loud. I'll make no effort to blend in and the bear comes toward me for a breath before veering off toward the upper woods of the front yard. Had he made a left at the studio to go through the orchard I might be dinner. Lochlan is circling it on the outside, trying to shush it along but also making sure it moves to the right and goes up away from me. Honestly he missed his calling as he could have wrangled the big animals at the circus. Sadly by the time we got there the big animals were being phased out.

Bye, bear. I say it softly. He made no noise. I would have walked right into him on my way to the back door, following Lochlan back to the light of the house from where we had ventured up into the legacy gardens where the darkness is already thick to see the stars. It's nice not to have to wait until ten at night to see them but seeing a bear instead means Lochlan will leave the floodlights on around the clock now until at least Christmas, when he forgets the thrill of being so close to nature and returns to the thrill of WANTING to be close to nature..

This is exactly what it looks like. PJ cockblocked Duncan and so he got shut down.

I made a move to get up last night from where I was jammed in the corner of the couch between PJ and Lochlan. Duncan wanted to show me something and PJ actually barred me from getting up.

Tomorrow. PJ tells Duncan. It's late. 

Lochlan keeps reading and didn't say a word. 

I see. Duncan's face twists into a sly smile. Got your ride or die back, eh Bridge?

I'm busy staring at PJ, who has somehow claimed the night with confidence and it takes me a minute to reply. No, he's right. I'm on my way to dreamland in a minute anyway, if it's okay if it waits til tomorrow?

Of course. He leans in, is careful not to jostle Loch, elbows PJ hard in the ribs and kisses my cheek. 

Oh, sorry, Padraig. Didn't see you there. So close. PJ laughs and rubs his side.

I talk quickly. Goodnight Dunk. Love you. I'll come down and wake you in the morning. 

Holding you to that. He backs away, pointing to me. Don't be too late. 

It's Wednesday tomorrow. I'm up before the moon disappears. 

Love you too. He winks and is gone and I turn back.

PJ what was that?

I need some space to find my bearings again. 

You don't have to shut Duncan down. 

Maybe I do. 

Not your job. 

Lochlan looks up, sideways at me, then at PJ. Should I get out of the way so you too can fight to the death?

No, you can be the voice of reason though. 

Lochlan sighs. Padraig. Leave her be. She's got her own mind. 

I know. PJ sighs. It's just been a while since things have been normal. 

Both Lochlan and I burst out laughing. Normal? Us? Here? PJ's face falls and I apologize quickly. We're not laughing at you, just the idea that we have any normalcy here at all. 

You know what I mean. 

Yeah. On that note. Goodnight, Padraig. I kiss his cheek and climb out from behind him on the couch. Tomorrow is an early day. 

Lochlan snorts and kisses PJ's cheek too. She's right. And it's normal for you to go to bed alone. He mock-glares at PJ and PJ puts his hands up. 

I tried. 

You gave it your best. 

Jesus, Bridge. Don't agree with me. It makes it worse. 

Jesus H. Rainclouds.

Blue skies finally and the sun goes down in around an hour. During the warmth at the end of the storm we did the Christmas lights around the front of the house (only the eaves and high lines of the houses have the lights left up all year round. Doors and porches and railing no because they get abused and it's better to clean it all up for the spring/summer/fall. Except today it all went back out and Lochlan didn't even seem that nervous to have me up a ladder (albeit a stepladder not the big one) and attaching lights to the porch rafters. 

Until the wind came up stronger than ever and then suddenly he said he had things to do and we could finish it later on, that all we had left was the door and so that's good until the weekend, we got the bulk of the lights done. This was neat because he usually freaks out and tells me to get down, that the wind is too high, that he knows it was a bad idea, that he isn't okay with me being up high or helping him and he shouldn't have listened to me when I talked him into it. The king of doubts, always, second-guessing as an art-form here. 

The rain is coming back so I will put a fresh towel under the leaky studio door (South-facing, all the exposure, should have fixed it but we didn't get to it this year and now we have to wait for it to dry out) and then go get yelled at by Caleb, who is even less impressed than the rest that I am up a ladder doing lights without a brace on my hand or a net, for that matter and yes, it figures. Leave Lochlan in charge and look what happens. 

So now there'll be a fight, but honestly I'm not letting Lochlan take the blame for this. It's mine. He tries his best.

And everything, it changed overnight.

(No church this morning! Sam called it in due to the Pineapple Express. We can't even see through the rain and no one on earth is going outside today so he published some writings yesterday and has gone viral in the church because at least thirty people have viewed them so far. We are very proud and also happy he didn't make us go outside in this freaking deluge to see Jesus, who probably slept in too. Actually I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Matt, naked, asleep, under the rain pouring against those glorious skylights in the boathouse. If you know, you know and you don't leave until you absolutely MUST.)

I am better this morning. I woke up and went downstairs for coffee, Ben's faded Ucluelet sweatshirt down to my knees, covering my hello kitty pajamas because it's cold in the mornings on the skin and I'm not a robe-person, I'm a boyfriend-sweater-stealer. 

PJ has the kitchen the way I like it this morning. My tiny fairy lights are plugged in, my iTunes Christmas playlist is on low, Matthew Thiessen's voice easily lulling through In Like a Lion (Always Winter) and I can shift gears here, finally. Coffee is ready and waiting, all I have to do is press a button, and PJ himself is in and out. His cup and his phone are on the table. A plate is beside the sink and I hear water running in the bathroom. He comes back down the hall a minute later and grins when he sees me. 

The bird's early again. 

Have to give the cats their meds. 

I can do that. 

No one says you have to get up early. 

I'm programmed. It's going to be decades before I can sleep in naturally again. 

I know the feeling. 

Ali & Theo spool up. My alltime favourite (Where are you Christmas?) and then I remember after that is another Relient K that I love, I Celebrate the Day. The boys are pretty cool with morning Christmas music from the middle of November right through until New Years Day and I love them for it. 

We got nachos for nine last night at the new Mexican place down the road (so. good.) and watched a movie on Netflix (Red Notice. A good ride, though Ryan Reynolds plays himself, the Rock plays himself, and honestly Free Guy was too recent for me to be ready for another. I want Ryan to play a psychopath so badly.)

Oh. Another Ali & Theo. Let it Fall. I can't wait to see if they record another Christmas song for this year. I hope so though every year so far is a gift. Theo Tams is a gift. A much unappreciated gift but his tendency in music is not what I would have expected. I wish he would skew Folk, honestly I do. 

Where was I? 

Does it matter? I am still medicated up to my eyebrows so maybe it doesn't. No credibility here. Thank God I have a team since I can't legally sign for anything right now or enter into any contracts. Maybe it's nice. I'm only responsible for seeing that Henry eats some fruit here and there and I book his haircuts at his favourite barber for him. He gives the best hugs and he also doesn't mind the Christmas music. 

Oh. Eisley's Walking in the Air. It's been on this playlist for a whole decade and I still get goosebumps from it, but thankfully today my tattoos are not raised anymore. That's my sign to zone out, relax, calm down and distract. That's my sign that I have pushed too far.

Did I tell you I finally got into my newest Stephen King book? It's called Billy Summers and it's an incredible mashup between the early beautiful pages of Doctor Sleep and...Joyland, of all things for style (curiously both are from 2013) and I freaking love it. I didn't love the series on Bill Hodges, and I was afraid it would be closer to that but it's not, it's legit. 

(Did I ever talk about A Little Life? No, and my apologies because I promised to, but honestly that was roundly squashed early on, as I sped through it (it's a big, painfully difficult read and it's so so beautiful) and the boys watched me while they bit their nails. Caleb threatened actual, permanent violence if I did a deep dive review so I did not so whatever I've said so far will have to stand. He knows I discuss my childhood here, my teenage years, my early-adult years and everything up to Henry's birth and then Caleb's eventual return. He does not want to see a dissected list of his crimes transgressions, as there's no statute and he still has wiggle room for a defence? Explanations? Proof that since he's still here with us so how bad could it have been? 

I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore. It's Christmas.

You know when you wake up and the outlines on all of your tattoos are raised and you can't breathe and you have a headache and your nerves are shot, anxiety is through the roof and you clench your teeth so hard you fear they'll break earlier than later? 

And Lochlan (well, not for you probably) takes your head in both his hands, keeps you tight against him and whispers in your ear to take deep breaths and talks about taking a walk on the fairgrounds late at night as the cleanup is finished but before they turn off the coloured lights in favour of the security flood lights? Once everyone leaves and it's quiet. Once the day is finished and the time is our own again, the long walk back to the lot where our camper is, and we can have a late dinner and a long sleep. 

And I won't wake up feeling like this.

Flight tracker open and watching.

Unpinning poppies as I find them this morning, coats hung on hangers and hooks and draped over benches in various stages of organization. We've been up for hours and hours to see Asher off on his travels. Batman came too and Asher has promised to visit in the late spring. He's taking a vacation before Christmas and then will go back and spend time with his family and has a bit of a breather before he needs to figure out his next step but it will probably be one taken as an executive assistant for some famous, as Batman has reached out to some of his people and good EAs (make that trustworthy EAs) are always sought-after. 

I am fine. It seems like there is a hole here but at the same time I feel like you do when you have a long-term houseguest leave. Like everything can get back to normal now. The boys are watchful for any stress I might exhibit once his absence truly sinks in as to me he was a bit of an echo-chamber and a...a...manservant, if you will and so it seems fitting that the cast is gone and now I have less of a need for a dedicated minder. 

The weekend is supposed to be insanely rainy (as always) but again I will take that over a heat dome any moment. We've got a good supply of junk food and movies to watch and Christmas decorating to do and I feel like I can breathe. Everything feels normal right this second and for that I am so grateful.

Like a brother.

I know it's early but I am busy negotiating the largest Christmas bonus of my young life (you don't even want to GUESS).

No, not for me. For Asher. Who leaves tomorrow. He isn't coming back. Well, I mean he might come and visit us as he visits Batman every couple of years, but I suppose that depends on if he actually gets out of here unscathed. The night is still young and the upheaval is like a roiling sea. Just when you think it's going to grow calm the tide comes in and it just ends up deeper still, and I want to make sure this seafarer finds his next port with his pockets already lined with gold. 

It was a good six months and Asher did an incredible, thoughtful and intuitive job. He gets glowing references and a fistful of networking leads and he always and forever has Batman as his doting Godfather so honestly he won't twist in the wind for too long, unless he wants to.

But PJ wanted the job. Here we thought we were doing PJ a favour, giving him a break from the heavy lifting after twenty-odd years of being the closest thing to a mother Ruth and Henry had after me. He was Dad, maybe. Backup but in-charge. On it. He worked his ass off looking after them and with Ruth moved out and on her own now and Henry with a few months of university left we really thought he would like living on his own terms. 

Lo and behold, he did not. In fact, he hated it but Padraig has always been a giant nurturer, a huge teddy bear, a solid gold (t)hug. The original Hunkle. He needs to look after people. He needs to be needed. And he's been resentful and angry ever since the rest of them steamrolled him with this new (not new, he's been around for a decade) purpose-driven man when PJ could handle it (me) all along. 

PJ found unlikely allies in Caleb and Duncan who both moved in and became a living, breathing, bearded bulldozer to gently push Asher out. We had a family meeting and after I was for some reason congratulated for not losing too much of my shit this year (drinking) and bouncing back so fast (drugs) everyone graciously agreed that after a good trial period Asher can be freed up for greener, less incestuous pastures and PJ can breathe a sigh of relief and take back control of the house. 

***

What's interesting here is that we were all so concerned with PJ's swallowed feelings that no one thought to ask me what I wanted, as I actually tend to defer to the boys on damn near everything so it's not like we forgot, it's just something we don't do when it comes to their strong opinions.

And I suddenly had the realization that I just gave up some of the control I got back when Asher arrived, even if it was only on paper and not even true. A little false-independence gets reeled back in. The world gets a little more smaller and a lot more regimented and I had a moment where I was almost mildly disappointed, if I can even call it that.  

I'm not explaining it properly.

I don't think that I can call it disappointment. I love PJ to absolute bits but I still feel like it's a step backwards for me. He gets his role, his command, his status back. His ego. His satisfaction. His occasional night back. His place as that fucking pain in the ass but he makes her happy so leave it designation. His rules. His plans and his routine. His rule.

He has a third of my guardianship so it makes sense and it's also a huge conflict of interest but then again everything around here is. That's part and parcel of who we are. 

We already had an argument. It remains unresolved.

This is actually great. He's very lucky I love him so much or I think I'd send him out to sea.

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.)