My sea of dreams.

This world has turned to dust
All we've got left is love
Might as well start with us
Singing a new song
Something to build on

He brought me back down slowly, carefully, shaking ever so slightly, his hands wrapped around my upper arms. I am bathed in sweat and firelight and he smiles. I can see the fire reflected in his brown eyes. He drops his arms to my waist and pulls me in close. He lets out a long breath and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

I love my goodnight kisses. They always start as a kiss and end as a personal hazmat situation. I was explored over every inch, inside and out. Ben is easy to rile up and tough to calm back down. Sleep? What's that? Except that he was tired and when he fell asleep finally it was flat on his back, hands on his chest and I was relegated to sleeping in the fire.

I don't mind, though the fire made a little disgruntle or two about sleeping dirty, as he calls it. I didn't care, I couldn't keep my eyes open either. It was two in the morning. Lochlan wrapped his hands around my back and fell asleep on his side, his mouth against my forehead, nose in my hair, arms locked tight against my shoulderblades. He will sleep until five and then wake up as he always has in a long-developed habit to start work before the gates open, except that there are no gates and he doesn't have to leave and so he will crawl onto me and my breath will evaporate with the darkness, his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me up against him, whispering things in other languages, cutting into my eyes with his curls and my skin with his nails until he drops back beside me and falls asleep again until a more reasonable hour, never once letting me get more than an inch away from him.

Ben's hand reaches out to hold mine as I drift off again, my arm flung out behind me to bring him along.

The fire dies down as the sun came up but we don't notice. We don't care.

I'll be your fire when the lights go out.

Maybe it was all too much
Too much for a man to take
Everything's bound to break
Sooner or later, sooner or later

You're all that I can trust
Facing the darkest days
Everyone ran away
But we're gonna stay here, we're gonna stay here

I swear to God Ghosttown is the first single from Madonna that I have truly loved in twenty years. Not since Take A Bow have I been so happy to sit and press repeat. My inner twelve-year-old who wore out her copy of Madonna's very first self-titled album is so incredibly happy to hear this, you don't even know.

But you want to know about my evening.

That's why I started with the song. PJ kept me in Fireball and eggnog, just barely level until Lochlan got home and then he handed me off and went out to dinner with the rest.

Lochlan started to lay into me about eating something and getting straight and I finally told him to stuff it. That I'm not a child. That if I miss a meal what's the worst that will happen? Ooo. For fucks sakes.

He stood there trying not to laugh at me because I'm being very serious while I waver all over the damn place. Then he smiled and said he had something to show me. He dialed through his phone music and turned on the speakers in the living room. Then he turned off the lights, put on this song (he knows how to bring out Twelve, she hides until he does certain things, you know) and we had a slow dance. Just us. Me and him. Like the bad old days only it felt like home. It felt like it used to when things were easy.

I thanked him for being the king of easy listening and he corrected me and said pop, and I said No, you can't be the king of pop. That's Michael Jackson and he's dead too. 

After that we just shut up and kept hitting repeat until Matt got home and broke the spell. By then I was straight. Straight and hungry.

Lochlan said I told you and made me a peanut butter sandwich. Also like in the bad old days. I hate peanut butter. HATE it.

I ate it anyway.

Oh, I know my adversary, she says with unsteady convcition

Because she's DRUNK! And we haven't even had dinner yet.It's the Devils night withmy childnre.

I love PJ. Did Imention that?

i do

a lot.

I had the unfortunate honor of standing in a long lineup at a store today behind someone talking loudly to their friend about how disgusting and sick cremation is, that you should never disrespect a human life by burning it down to ashes and putting it in a jar like a trophy, that it's for control freaks and people who want to hide evidence.

They started laughing and making jokes and I couldn't tune them out and so I turned to PJ who was with me and he put my head against his coat and covered my free ear while he talked nonsense to try and just drown them out. Finally he let go when they left but somehow it just got right under my skin and I wanted to track them down and say it isn't disgusting and it isn't human life. It's human death and to me it's far more respectful to properly reduce someone to a size that enables you to hold all of them with your two hands than it is to buy a big fancy wooden box to dump their bones into to be buried underground.

So fuck you, I'm done with today.

My get out of jail free card.

I'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
I will grow wings and fly everywhere

Sam was supposed to be my wingman today but he and Matt had a bit of a bickering session over breakfast this morning and so Sam stood me up in favor of make-up brunch and a stroll on the seawall downtown with Matt before they both spend second shift working.

(The fight was nerves, that's all. Their very first wedding anniversary is this Sunday. I don't mind being stood up in that case. They need more time together.)

So the only one left, since PJ is out and about and Loch is working and refused to leave me here alone is Poet. Duncan who pawned me off on Joel long enough to go to a meeting and then he stopped at the store on the way home and brought me pixi stix because he feels bad. Pretty soon I'll be making excuses to sidle past New-Jake once or twice a day for a hit off his insulin pump but in the meantime I said thank you and offered to share them. I was taught to be a good girl. I was also taught that the way to a girl's heart (through her clothes) is with candy. Ask Loch about that too, if you want.

But I don't think Duncan is leaning that way today. He wants to bicker too, it seems but I'm not biting. I'm sure by now he's noticed I'm agreeing with things I wouldn't agree with if I were on fire and you were holding the hose until I caved but I'm doing it to keep the peace and wow, is he ever annoyed.

I'm annoyed too. He ruined a perfectly good rainy Thursday with a heaping dose of Joel. When I was waiting for Joel to tie his shoe in the garage I wondered if I could just hit him on the head with a shovel, drag his body over behind the other jeep and forget he ever happened to me but then I remembered that I have no poker face and if asked point-blank I always tell the truth.

(And so I had to spend the rest of the morning inside out to keep that peace intact.)

Yes, Detective, it's true. I killed my former psychoanalyst but in my defense he had it coming. I've just been biding my time until it was right and I could get away with it. But the jig is up. Lock me up and throw away the key, I'm not fit to walk amongst the innocents, not anymore. 

*Later, during medical evaluations*

What does this tattoo say across your back, Mrs. Reilly? 

It says Innocent in Gaelic. Neamhchiontach. 

Oh, well, then, you're free to go. Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice day. 

Wh-what do you mean? 

Obviously the owner of your soul is someone who can see the future so this was put into your skin as protection against an adversary you didn't know yet. It means you're safe. You don't have to go to jail for life after all.

Really? 

Yes. 

I collect my small pile of clothes and my belongings. Thank you and good day. 

Good day, Mrs. Reilly. See you again. 

Gosh, I hope not. I do believe I'm running out of men. Those who are left are precious. 

Take care of them, then.

I will. 

There's no such thing as small talk. Not here. Not ever.

You... He points at me with his chopsticks, are possibly the worst wife in the world. 

No. If I was I would have spent all your money gambling or been poisoning your food. 

He looks into the container of rice and makes this ridiculous expression of horror before becoming serious again. So repeatedly breaking my heart doesn't count?

You started it. 

I was twenty years old. I made a mistake. 

Well, that's what I'm doing. Making mistakes, Lochlan.

You're diluting your affections to protect yourself.

Yes, that too.

I'm not going to die, Bridget. 

Bullshit. Everyone dies. We start the march the minute we're born. You've almost bit it a few times now. 

I'm still here. 

I can't go through that again.

What so..just...love everybody? What happens when Caleb dies?

You do your happy dance. 

Ben?

Shut up. 

That's my point. 

You know what I'm most scared of? Not that someone's going to die, but that someone's going to die and I'll go to someone I love and he'll flatly refuse to help me when I need him most. 

That's me. The lightweight. The one who can't help you. 

You could have but you wouldn't. 

I was reeling. I couldn't function. 

Poor baby. 

Bridget, don't. 

Not like Jake was your friend. You hated his guts.

No, he hated mine. I tried. I tried to give him what he wanted, what you wanted. I kept my distance. 

Mostly. 

Yeah. Mostly. (He stares at me. Right into me. I can't even breathe when he does that.) Maybe I'm there when you need me after all. 

What if you're not?

What if I am? 

Then my dreams will have come true. 

I hope so, because that's what I've been aiming for all my life, Peanut. 

Children. All of us.

Caleb's standing in the kitchen. We've all trying to be civilized though I never make it easy. He's talking about something I did when he switches the subject and tells Lochlan that he couldn't help it. That she's just...so...soft. 

Lochlan, who has had enough, says I heard her say the same thing about you. 

It was fucking glorious. Ben and I tried so hard not to laugh but if you want to be burned, Lochlan is the man to see.

Swimming in the frozen sky (not religious, just superstitious).

We're holding very tight
I'm riding in the midnight blue
I'm finding I can fly so high above with you

Ben is singing Walking In the Air this year at the end of Sam's service. He's practicing. It's a difficult song to sing but not as much as O Holy Night so he's not having trouble. I tried to sing it but I just need to hear it ten or twelve more times first because I rush. Ben's version is haunting.

Okay, that pretty much describes everything he puts his spin on, from baking cookies to showering.

Did you have a good shower, Ben?

Yeah, it was haunting.

I'm KIDDING. He usually says something crass about taking care of business when he's in the shower and actually...you don't want to know. It's Christmas.

Or maybe you're thinking, Come on! It's Christmas! Tell us everything.

Okay, here:

Ben is mad too. Everyone's mad, because I called their bluffs and they failed to follow through when I told every minder/keeper/husband and subsidiary man that I was going to the boathouse and that I'd be back late. Later? I can't remember what I said but barely anyone reacted. Lochlan's eyebrow went up. Maybe they thought I was posturing or phishing or testing them.

So how did I fail? I was honest, they fucking failed. They didn't bother to clarify anything and it was early the next morning before they bothered to put the pieces together.

No harm, no foul, Lochlan always used to say. Ben says I'm playing with fire and when I remind him I'm a professional at that he freaks right out and says he told me not to go by myself. And I misinterpreted that as him missing out on the show, not being protective.

Whoops.

No harm though. No harm. 

This time, Ben says. What happens next time?

You'll be there, I tell him. I'm a good girl. In the daylight.

He nods. You still need to sort this out with Loch. He's never going to like this, Bee.

He never has. You would think the exposure would wear him down eventually. 

He can barely tolerate me, what makes you think he'll ever be okay with this?

I'm not okay with this. This isn't supposed to be some big dinner-table debate issue, this was supposed to be something rare. Something quiet and suspected but never confirmed.

Lochlan walks in and manages to pick up the conversation so easily it's like I threw it at him. Well, if you were the type of person anyone could take their eyes off, then maybe that would be the case but since you continue to be raised in the spotlight, Bridget, don't bet on it. 

I think you're done raising me, Lochlan. Jesus Christ. 

I think I've just begun. You still won't listen worth shit. 

This isn't your job. 

I'm not going to stand here and let the wolves tear you apart. I'm not going to let the Devil catch you, or keep you, Peanut. That's not in our cards and you know this. Do you remember or were you too young?

I remember. 

Remember what? Ben said.

We were told we share a soul. I've never doubted that for a second, and she's ashamed that she sold the whole thing, without my permission, to the Devil. 

Are you guys for real?

Sometimes I wonder. 

But no one can take your soul, Bridget. Except the actual Dev-

Exactly. 

They called it a revelation and then they called it a sin.

Both Sam and Joel fought for my morning today, because clearly I've gone off the deep end again. I can be very reckless. I can hold grudges and I can pretend I'm punishing Lochlan all I want but he tells me with the meanest, most incredulous laugh this morning that the only person I'm hurting is myself. That he's done taking the blame for being high-scorer in the broken heart game, that maybe if I could think of someone besides myself for even half a second I would realize that I passed him and got a trophy in that game years ago, and that he's got hardly enough left to form a whole beat inside his chest. He got louder and louder and his accent got thicker and more incomprehensible until I couldn't separate the words any more, but I could see everything on his face.

Everything. Right there. Spelled out so easily in his eyes, in the set of his teeth. In his shoulders drawn tight and his fists clenched up.

Sam said my name but I couldn't take my eyes away from Loch's.

I'm sorry. 

But you're not sorry, Bridget. 

I don't do it to punish you. I do it so I don't get so attached. 

I'm not the dumb kid I was when I was twenty, don't you see that?

Nineteen and three-quarters. 

Semantics, Peanut. I'm not even the dumb kid that I was at thirty. Or forty. Why can't I make you see this?

It isn't you. 

Then what is it? Please, God, tell me what it is and we'll fix it. 

I don't trust anybody, including you, and I'm sorry but that's never going to change. 

I can fix this, Peanut. I can fix it with time. You'll see. 

I'm not worth the effort. 

I'll be the judge of that.

Tearing through the firmament.

I went to fetch some ice cream in the middle of the night and was struck by the view. I stood there until I got cold and then he appeared behind me, telling me the view of me in my tank top and underwear was better than that of the entire Pacific. I could agree with that. I like visiting the Pacific but she's stingy with her treasures and brings more turmoil than charm. She's no Atlantic, that's for sure.

We take our bowls of chocolate ice cream back to bed and he asks very seriously if I want to go home as he traces his ice-cold spoon down my knee. I nod. I'm busy giving myself the world's biggest, dumbest brain freeze and I don't really want to talk about very serious things. I came here to have fun, with caveats that if it isn't fun I won't come back because he has managed to mess up or completely destroy just about every encounter we've had this year. He marvels that he likes to test me, that he enjoys letting go a little now that there are no secrets.

I tell him there are still secrets, that there will always be secrets. That life is short and difficult and delicious, as I finish the last spoonful in my bowl and hand the empty bowl to him. He takes both bowls and puts them on the bedside table before stretching out flat on his back and letting out a long sigh. I curl up beside him and he pulls the blanket up around me, wrapping his arm around me until I am flush with his chin. He kisses the top of my head and asks what would happen if we just fell asleep like this, would it be so bad if I extended my visit and made my plans to include sharing dreams? Just for tonight?

I tell him we don't break the rules. That bad things happen if we do. He said we can change that and I shake my head. He asks how anything happens, that it is through planning and solid intent, determination and drive, muscle and tears. That's how things happen. I shake my head again and he asks what then. What makes things happen in our lives?

Fate.

So is it fate that you're here? He asks me as he pulls my tank top over my head and pulls me underneath him once again, kissing all along my throat, bearing his weight with his arms as he works to get me out of my underpants too.

No, it's stupidity and bad judgement and I'm gone in one more hour so make it count, Diabhal.

And he laughs, because that's what the Devil loves to hear.

On building a better mouse trap.

This morning I was standing in the driveway talking to Lochlan, who is still restoring project campers when time permits so a day off sees him working more. He doesn't actually stop, never has. I don't know if the profit matches the hours. I know it surpasses the materials he buys but by how much he won't tell me. I know he's saving for the future but I wish I knew the cost of that too. He was telling me something about Boxing day when his expression grew more and more pained and finally his eyes flickered up over my head and I turned my head to look just as Caleb's car touched the backs of my knees.

Lochlan climbed down off the roof and charged so fast I only saw a blur of flames and then sparks rising up in the morning fog. Caleb opened the door and got out instead of locking it. He left the car resting against me. I don't think I moved for so many precious seconds it as like the world drifted to a crawl just for me.

The shove sent Caleb against the window glass. Not hard enough to break but he dropped his coffee, not his laptop bag.

Priorities. A one-handed shove back and Lochlan staggers back three steps before I say his name.

He won't listen so I text PJ but there he is coming out the side door in his bare feet, hair sticking up all over. He was looking out the window when he saw the car get too close. He was going to do some shoving of his own.

My own personal bouncer.

But Loch won't let him get a crack at Caleb because Loch would prefer there to be nothing left when he's through.

Caleb laughs. I wasn't going to run her over. I was reminding her of what happens when she won't wear her hearing aids. 

You let her worry about that and fuck off with the stupid stunts. You could have killed her! 

I could do that any minute of any d-

Whoops, there's another shove.

And now, a crowd. Finally he holds his hands up in surrender and turns to me, telling me he's sorry. That he didn't mean to scare me or anyone else, he was illustrating the dangers of running around without all my senses functioning but he used poor judgement and it was a bad idea.

He asks for a minute of privacy. Pointing out that I am safe. That he's sorry. Everything is okay. Stand down, motherfuckers. 

He waits until they all leave, Lochlan so begrudgingly you can see the daggers from a hundred yards and then he asks if he can make it up to me with a nice early dinner for two. The kids are off at a birthday party and a hockey game respectively and Saturday nights see everyone left to their own devices for meals so I say yes before I realize he tricked me into it. That the whole thing wasn't a safety bulletin but a well-executed ploy and I fell right into it, eyes wide open.

Like the army but with baking soda and no weapons save for an oven mitt and an overcooked pie.

Oh well, uh. New Jake told a fib to Sam (of all people) and said I had recruited him to help with baking all next week. Sam wanted him to help with some construction projects at the church. Instead of calling Jake out on his lie I confirmed it in spades and 'reminded' Jake we start at six in the morning each day because then we can be mostly cleaned up by three when the kids get home so it's easier for everyone to make lunches and then to get dinner started if we aren't still washing things and letting things cool. He shook his head and pushed his luck a little further, saying that I must have forgot that we agreed he would come over whenever he got up.

There's always a place where covering for someone stops, though as I pointed out yes, he did say that but then remember, I told you that wouldn't work after all so you agreed to six? PJ nods and confirms that yes, Jake said he would be here every day at six.

Then I went and called Dylan and Ben (who was on his way home anyway) to find out if maybe they could help Sam. We don't actually need baking helpers, so New Jake is going to get a five-day-long lecture on helping out where it's needed most, rather than where he prefers.

Hot Damn.

Someone asked what my favorite song was. It sometimes changes by the hour and sometimes it sticks for weeks or years even, but right now?

It's this. 

(I would imbed the video but I'm a Luddite and mobile readers just see a blank white space. I don't know how to fix that so click through and watch. It's worth it!)

Growing up, love was contagious.

My dance card is super-full today and I love it.

 Nothing like everyone noticing I was starting to fall behind. Christmas is stressful. There's extra traffic/calories/projects/chores/errands/shopping/ and of course, bills.

I pay bills, thanks. In blood, sweat and tears, no less.

There's extra stress when you get bad news or when you can't just gather up every single person you love in one room. There are teenagers with broken hearts and men hanging on to a wagon with all their might. There are assumptions and expectations and there is ruinous greed. There is pure selflessness. There is heart. Magic. There is something.

There is something.

I always try to figure it out. It used to hit mid-Elementary school concert like a wallop from a fluffy snowball but now there are no more concerts because high schoolers. Picky, funny high schoolers who will hopefully love their presents and while I wanted to give them everything they've ever wanted, I didn't. Because you can't. You shouldn't, anyway.

And then there are the boys who have given up so much but yet take so much at the same time. No more motorbikes, loads more affection. No leaving at the end of the day/meal/activity traded for the glaringly obvious privacy issues. All the juggling and balancing I could ever want for in practice watching over a house full of different personalities even as they sometimes are not all that different, right down to having the same clothes, as I discovered when I went to put away laundry yesterday and found three of the same flannel shirts. I thought someone had lent his out. I thought they were playing tricks on me. I didn't realize maybe they are that much alike sometimes.

Makes them easier to love. I know what I'm up against.

They all kind of stop and wait at once, reaching back with encouragement and smiles and hands held out. Waiting for little Bridget to catch up, tripping on roots and scrambling over rocks as fast as her short little legs will carry her, face and knees filthy, shirt ruined, shoes and braids caked in mud.

It was one of those times where I just came to a skidding halt in the half-light, standing fifty feet back underneath and slightly behind the trees. Frustrated. Incompetent. Not as capable. Scared. And I would wait because I knew he would come back and then I would get a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the ball field and that would be easier than trying to keep up.

Late last night I finally had a chance to go and check on the Devil, who is settling back in and loved the special touches I took in preparing for his return. He kissed my cheek and told me my arrival called for something special and he opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses. He brought one to me and suggested we take them outside to look at the lights.

Outside it was cool so he put his suitjacket around my shoulders, telling me to close my eyes.

Then he disappeared.

I waited forever, starting to shiver. Now it's raining in my champagne and yeah. I told him I could only wait another moment and I started to count. I heard him come back before I got to twenty-five and he said Open your eyes, Neamhchiontach.

When I did, the whole cove was lit up. The boat was lined with lights, the dock, the roof, the path (from what I could see) and then along the beach right around to the end of the point. Tiny white fairy lights, like the ones from Sam and Matt's wedding but on a much grander scale.

Wow.

Caleb held up his glass and said To being with family for the holidays, as if we are related. I clinked my glass to his and drank it all, even though I knew it would give me a blistering headache in the space of five minutes.

He watched my face until he couldn't bear to watch me struggle with my expressions any longer, and then he walked me back to the side door of my house, took his jacket back, kissed my cheek and shoved me inside.

He was always the one who came back for me. The one with endless patience and kindness and generosity where the others would be caring but anxious, always in a rush. always fed up with having to wait or go slow or keep checking. Caleb took it upon himself to carry me. He was the biggest, the oldest, the nicest.

Until the day Lochlan decided it was his job, and that's when everything changed. Now they struggle with who is allowed to care. Who is allowed to help or play the jester or who is allowed to occupy my time, what lines are drawn in front of which shoes and who is bad touch and who is not. Adult problems and childlike solutions. Nothing ever changes here.

Factory reject.

I'm not very good to myself.

I ration things for myself like coffee, warm baths, painkillers, alcohol, sleep, sweet dreams and breaks like a drill sergeant and then I wait until I'm hanging by a thread, til the nightmares catch up with me, til I'm not sleeping through the night more often than I am, until my nerves are riddled with holes, until I realize I walk around holding my breath and the headaches have reached critical mass and then I implode slowly, from the inside out, a distant scream sounding faintly in my ears that just grows louder and louder until I can't hear anyone anymore, can't do anything right and can't pull myself up over the edge of the hole I fell into because I'll suddenly weigh tons instead of ounces and it's too much for me to deal with by myself.

I wish sometimes that the screaming would just start on the outside and drive them crazy instead of me. They would hear it long before I do, before I even know what's happening.

That would be so nice.

But my brain doesn't work like that. Sometimes I think it doesn't work at all. Sometimes I think it was a practice brain with a wiring diagram posted beside it but no one checked to see that it was done right and hoo, boy, will they be surprised someday, when it's cracked open like a coconut and they will peer into its depths and nod somberly.

Yes, this explains everything. 

I donated my body to science after I die but at this rate I'm going to give it to them early, just rip off my skull and hand it to them and say here, it's a present. Just tell me I was right. Tell me you'll never let a practice brain go off the assembly line without being inspected ever again, because it really wasn't fair to me or to the people I love. 

But they're not real so they'll just stand there unfeeling, still nodding robotically like mass-produced bobble-heads. Like me. The test subject. The practice girl. The not-quite-ready-for-the-real-world girl after all.

With no off switch, no filters, hearing messed up completely and the weird uncanny ability to conjure up imaginary holes that she then falls into for real, breaking all her limbs and all of her resolve too.

Why would you fight over that? 

Hooks and loops.

I didn't realize how much I was missed until Caleb came home last night and then proceeded to show up bright and early for breakfast today and after helping to clean up he has proceeded to follow me around for half the day.

My reaction to this? Horrifically, brutally flattered.

I'm that awesome? DAMN RIGHT I AM.

Ben actually told him to skedaddle at one point. I wonder if anyone even uses that word anymore. Oh wait, BEN does. Ben was as impressed as Lochlan was with Caleb's attempts to 'catch up' and 'get ahead of all the news here at home' and various sundry bits of information about how much Henry grew in the few weeks Caleb was away and what the kids got for marks and how Duncan is doing with being home from camp.

(They call it 'camp'. Ben does. Caleb does. Pretty much everyone does as if you can drink your face off, go on a nice cushy woodsy vacation and then come home and be coddled forever. It makes me want to cry. You should have seen the dirty looks when I corrected them by saying re-hab-il-it-ta-tion really slowly like a little asshole.)

Duncan is doing great. As long as *I* don't talk to him he does great. If I talk to him he gets all shaky and weird and 911s someone else to take him to a meeting.

Because camp. Maybe he should have stayed longer. Unless this is going to be one of those things where we spend the money three times over before it takes. I think they throw a wrench in the works just before they send everyone home the first few times just to keep the money train rolling.

But like I said, I'm a little asshole.

Especially when I'm trying to catch the Devil up on news about his son and everyone keeps redirecting me, or telling him to leave. Let me get this done and then I'll send him home. All it did is drag it out for the whole morning and then finally I ran out of news and told Caleb that any further information could be had from Joel who did his due diligence in Caleb's absence and probably has a host of interesting 'notes' about me.

But Caleb looked so sad when I said it and there, I should just wear a sign that says 'Little Asshole. Enquire within'.

I'll make it when he leaves, which at this rate will be never. I missed him a lot too but YEESH. He's doing that thing where he's super-perfect and he's smiling and that's how we know he's up to something. Couldn't even make it a whole day before that happened.

Well. Wow. Here's a longtime wish coming true.

U2 tickets-CHECK.

The Devil is in the details.

Ben calls it Loched. 

The way I wake up barricaded in Lochlan's arms. Stuck against him. Overheated. Completely limber, fluid. Hot. He doesn't let go, not anymore and I sleep wrapped up in his arms with his hand cradling the back of my head, my cheek against his collarbone, my eyes heavy and seeing in dreams.

My toes stick out the bottom of the quilt in the middle, though. I wouldn't be able to do it otherwise. I would self-immolate. I would perish.

In spite of Ben's cutesy term for it, I still don't think he appreciates it at all even as he says he doesn't mind, because he can't sleep any way but flat on his back like a vampire. I don't think that's exactly true because I remember things differently and he often revises small bits of history just to keep the peace.

And it was peaceful but now the Devil is on his way home, having been picked up at the airport by Joel, eager to report, no doubt, trying and failing to straddle the line between trusted and turncoat.

This exasperates me and at the same time I had a great weekend and am looking forward to seeing Caleb because it's been several weeks and I've had more than a few moments where I felt very cold and open, sick to my stomach thanks to his absence only because I can't stand to have anyone missing.

He will take it personally.

I'll let him.

He is on his way (any minute now) and I'm beating double-time from the inside out, fairly thrumming with anticipation. He says he bought all our Christmas gifts overseas and that he can't wait to give them to us. He says he can read and that we didn't have to have his house cleaned and stocked in his absence, that he's decided to extend his time off until the beginning of the new year because enough is enough and his exhaustion was barely touched by a week of rest. That maybe he will let go of some things.

I wonder if he means me.

The boys here are not as anxious to see him, stuck between loyalty to the one who pays the lions' share of this life altogether (me) and the need for autonomy within. Torn by their strong desire to protect me while at the same time respecting history and my own desires to flout the past and find a future in this, somehow.

Maybe.

We shall see.

I have a proposal of my own to present. And while absolutely no one is going to like it, I think it's perfect.

How I spent my day.

Naughty or...yeah, you know how this goes.

Shhhh. 

While the team of people are cleaning all three houses (because Merry Christmas, guys) I had New Jake help me cart all of the boys and kids presents into the library (cleaned first) and I'm wrapping and labeling today, up to my neck in ribbon, having gone through four rolls of tape already.

The doors are locked, the music is loud (I'm playing Pallbearer's version of Gloomy Sunday on a loop) and I still have half a thermos full of coffee. Yay! 

He's a hunter.

I feel like the universe is trying to tell me something today. My lipstick is called 'Underage Red'. My nailpolish? 'Black Out". 

***

Christian was over bright and early to scope out the kitchen before going to work. I'm not sure how his, Daniel's and John's first turn to cook involved wrecking MY kitchen when they have a larger one next door, technically speaking. Ours is more of a great room with a whole open seating thing plus a den with a fireplace so you can actually hang out there all day and be perfectly content. I have normal sized appliances. There is never enough fridge or oven space and we'll fix that in the future but not until something breaks because I'm not one of those people who just magically decides they hate what they have and replaces it all.

It has to be necessary.

But next door they have a butler's pantry and a separate station for baking and a cold storage section in the cupboards and a giant double fridge and a gas stove. Marble-topped everything. It's a cooks dream.

I never go in there.

Christian tells me dinner is pork tenderloin, grilled. Rice and maybe turnip. Fresh tomato slices and cake for dessert.

I did stick around for the meal last night and it didn't disappoint. I wasn't sure Keith had any kitchen skills past opening beers. I filed that away for future reference because when I ask for help usually he is magically busy or 'not so good with that stuff' as he told me point blank once.

The big LIAR. It was perfect.

I actually think they're easily intimidated by two things. Firstly, the sheer number of people sitting down to a meal here. In two shifts no less so not only do you cook for a dozen or two but you have to figure out how to keep enough and make sure it's still hot for round two without drying out.

Secondly, Caleb and Ben over the years have taken me to some pretty exciting places where I have proven myself to be both adventurous and discerning when it comes to dinner so there are standards to keep.

?

This is at odds with my incredible love of breakfast sandwiches and deep-fried anything and Kraft Dinner, I know.

I can have both, can't I?

And PJ wasn't watching porn when I went down to see how he was enjoying his break.

He was watching Pitch Perfect. Which just about made my day. That's where the title of my post came from. Worth it just for that one line.

Rises and sets. Rises and sets.

Here I am
Playing with those memories again

A final set of x-rays this morning and Lochlan has gotten his all-clear. No permanent damage that we know of. No lasting effects from inhaling fuel at Ruth's birthday party during his fire-breathing show and most important of all, no well-meaning lectures about considering putting his torches away for good. It won't happen. This man is made of flames.

The relief? Palpable. Tangible. Heavy. I was crushed underneath it just walking out of the hospital and then was pulled out by my hand just as my last breath began to leak my life away.

Told you I was fine, he says. There's no room for gratitude here, he has already moved on. I run to catch up.

There's no harm in feeling grateful that you weren't hurt worse. 

What purpose does it serve? I'll take responsibility for what I do to myself. 

I trip on his words and fall behind but I don't think he's even noticed. He's done with this. Done with doctors and hospitals and machines and instead of thanking his lucky stars that he's in a time and place where he can get help if he needs it he just laments the wasting of the time that he could have used in a better way. When he drops me off in the driveway at home before heading in to Schuyler's office he tells me I worry too fucking much and he doesn't know where I get that from. I turn around ready to tell him exactly where it came from but then he drives off before I even get an I love you or a See you soon out of my mouth, if I would have picked something nice to say instead.

When I go inside Keith and Gage are...making dinner.

And not just any dinner. They are making coleslaw from scratch, eggplant parmesan and actual bread. It's rising on the windowsill with my favorite Irish linen tea towel over it. Duncan is slicing cabbage at the sideboard and Dalton is filling ice cube trays. I am speechless. Gage smiles and elbows Duncan who starts talking as if he is a little kid reading from a cue card, words all mashed together and robot-like. It's adorable.

We decided as a group that since you do so much for us and work so hard that we're going to take turns cooking dinner each night in order to give you the break that you deserve. We love you, Bridget.

Ben appears from the side door. He has some jars of spices stolen from Caleb's house. He doesn't know where I keep mine. I'll need to fix that.

Where is PJ? 

We sent him to a spa. 

No, seriously. What have you done with him?

I don't know, Bridge! He's probably downstairs watching porn. 

Why would you think that?

Wouldn't you be doing that if you didn't have to cook dinner right now?

Yes. That's exactly what I'd be doing. Watching porn.

Ben shoos me out of the kitchen. Then get at it. We have work to do. 

I look at the single casserole dish that Keith is layering food into and ask How many for dinner? 

Huh? He asks.

What's the headcount for tonight?

 Twelve. Give or take John and Loch if they make it home in time. 

You're going to need two more of those pans then. 

Seriously?

Dude. This is like a prison kitchen.

Told ya, Ben says. (So proud, this one.)

I have a headache, I tell him. I think I'll skip the porn and quite possibly the meal if that's okay. 

Five sets of eyes tell me the disappointment they show won't be worth the break I get.

Okay, maybe I'll stay for a little. 

Five sets happy.

Loch is better, I point out. Eyes shoot all over the place.

Just in time for the Devil to come back, Duncan says.

Yeah, I know.

Don't pinch me, he's perfect.

Actually pinch him, because his birthday is today.

Ben is forty-six and hasn't matured past midteenage levels, at best but I wouldn't have him any other way. He can be incredibly detail-oriented, deep-feeling and thoughtful when the mood strikes and when it doesn't he's like a force of nature. Who ever said There's a storm coming probably saw him at the end of the road.

He still thinks it's possible to live on chocolate and fast food and that anything healthy is fair game to be thrown, overhand if need be, at someone else. He has learned to curb that over the years, but only by a little. He's the only member of our family who could put the Christmas lights around the edges of the front roof without needing a ladder or a helper and he's insistent that he's going to go to another meeting even if he's been to ten already this week because he promised himself he would be forever straight. He refuses to get his cholesteral checked because Yolo and double Big Macs, Little Bee. 

And then he grins and he stops looking like Frankenstein's monster and instead looks like the handsomest man in the history of all time and it's hard not to hand him whatever he wants.

I'm pretty sure that's why Lochlan is with us and that it has less to do with me than you think.

I'm sure of a lot of things with Ben.

But I still treat him with kid gloves even as he shoos me away to go find Loch or Sam or whoever (just not Duncan right now, not these days until I tell you it's okay, Bridge) and he'll frown because he says he doesn't need to be coddled but I know he likes it in the same way he tells me he's far too manly and big for 'lady' bubble baths until I lead him right into one and he settles back with his arms out wide amongst the candles and he puts his head back, closing his eyes before asking if I have any of the lilac soap I love so much and could I wash his shoulders for him and so I swim around to one side and scrub him down and he smells so good and is so relaxed at the end he's usually asleep in seconds and then I tell myself I'm never running a bath for us ever again because it saps his energy.

When he awakens the next morning smelling like lilacs and sunshine he makes up for it without fail.

Who am I kidding? He's a night and a morning guy but only for me. Half the time when they think he's able to somehow sleep for twelve or fifteen hours at a stretch I don't have the heart to point out he hasn't/didn't/can't and we were up all night positively fucking each other into oblivion. I can't say that. Pretty sure it's obvious though and that's fine too.

(Snort.)

Tonight is the big huge dinner with both houses here, and yes, I'm making corn dogs. PJ is making lamb (whole legs and all I can picture are fluffy sheep blobs dotting a mountain field) and I am well-prepared for any food fight that may ensue. For the first time in the history of anything I let PJ talk me into having the same company that is coming to clean the boathouse while Caleb is still away do the main house too. It only upped the bill by like a thousand dollars.

Jesus Christ.

Happy birthday Benjamin. I love you so much it's gross. Just like us.

BRB, carving an x in my head.

This begins with food and ends with conviction and bullheaded stubbornness. I don't care what anyone says. This subject isn't up for debate.

Yesterday is nothing
I have half a life to rewrite

So far so good for a Monday. Caleb called to thank me for having flowers and cheese toast delivered to his suite shortly after he checked into the resort. He forwarded a few pictures of his view and I may have proceeded to spend the next half-hour snapping and frustrating my way around the house until Joel appeared out of nowhere and asked me if I still make butternauts.

Of course, I snapped at him, too.

But then I nodded kind of slowly because I do, I make them every chance I get.

He took me to a place where nothing is under two digits  (even a half-glass of juice) and we had a big fancy psychotherapy breakfast but I don't know if I felt better at the end, just full and tired and then we came home and he asked if I would hang out with him for a bit and help him nail down Christmas present ideas for his family. That maybe we could make some more coffee or some popcorn and watch a movie or something. If I wanted. If I was free.

I did and I was but I said no anyway and asked if he wanted to come hang out with PJ and I for a bit, that he was welcome to. He said no but he kissed my cheek and thanked me for the company over breakfast. I hesitated before asking but then just steamrolled ahead. Was this for a report? What does Caleb need now? I blurted it out before I could pretend I was oblivious when I know all along.

Joel looked surprised. That was breakfast. If you think I only speak with you when Caleb is concerned about you then you're mistaken. I care about you, Bridget and I want to help. So if I can still listen or guide you a little bit so you stay in a good place then it's the least I can do and you're a generous soul for allowing me the honor.

I don't have a soul but if you're telling the truth then maybe we can make this work, but only if he remains honest.

Only if you do, you mean.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Bridget, you've left a big black hole in your discussions with me. At first I thought it was a time constraint issue. Then I wondered if it was a conscious effort and now I see that you are willfully redirecting every conversation I start with you about Lochlan. Why is that?

He's not up for discussion.

He's fundamentally responsible for your upbringing and possibly for some of your issues now. If you don't see through some of your illusions about him then he'll continue to hold power over you-

Joel, you could have just come right and said you were still sniffing around on Caleb's behalf. Not sure how I wind up trusting you so easily but I'll be sure not to make that mistake again. Have a good day. 

I walked to the main house and PJ opened the side door just as I reached it. Everything okay?

Sure. They think Lochlan is Charles Manson now and that I'm under a spell. It's just a typical, average day. Call me a disciple. Feed me a line and keep me in another.

But did you make butternauts? (PJ is just thrilled I can extrapolate Joel's deceptions so easily)

Of course. I made whole armies of them.

Then nevermind the rest. Come in and we'll make some more coffee.

If you don't mind I need to make a few calls.

Okay, I'll start without you.

I kiss PJ's cheek because he has the perfect blend of ironclad guidance and generously-granted privacy for me. Then I go to the library and close the doors to call Lochlan.

I relay the conversation with Joel to him and he asks me what I think. I tell him the truth, as he has always instructed me to do. That Joel is probably right and this isn't a commune, it's a cult, only it doesn't revolve around me, it revolves around Loch (which is what I always say anyway), who calls the shots and somehow managed to get someone who hates him to bankroll enough space to have all of us live together as a family and everyone defers to him and it's pretty weird, isn't it? Let's not even begin with the fact that at a young age I was separated from my family and friends in order for him to have one hundred percent control of me. I was taught to steal, taught to listen to him and no one else. I've worshiped him ever since.

He didn't say much. I could sense him smiling though. He'll let me believe whatever the hell I want until I move on to the next idea. If he never confirms Joel's fears then he doesn't have to answer to them and then he can forever feign ignorance even though never once has a single human that we've met ever thought of any of this as normal.

Why would they? It isn't.

And then I realized exactly what Joel was trying to do all morning, most likely as per the Devil's instructions. In Caleb's continued absence? Drive a wedge.

Sorry, Diabhal. It won't work. The sun rises and sets by the redhead and that ain't ever going to change.

SMS (Sunday Morning Shenanigans).

Time to get up. 90 min til service.

It's -10, Sammy.

God will keep you warm. 

But the wind!

But you're becoming a little heathen.

Loch will keep me warm. 

Loch is already a heathen.

Ben will keep me warm?

Ben could bring you to church. He could use it.

Tell him that.

Naw. Too scared.

So how can I make it up to you if I don't go?

Bible school. Every day. Five hours. With yelling. And thumping. 

That sounds like fun. I'm in! 

You now have an hour. 

Not going to happen. I'll wait for your thumps. This bed is too warm. Everyone is still asleep. 

God is awake. 

And such a killjoy.

Does this mean you're coming?

Can I get a ride with you?

Then you have fifteen minutes or so.

Make me coffee?

We'll pick some up on the way. 

Can we get some hashbrowns too?

Are you only coming with me for the food?

Shhhhh. :)

The white stuff.

I hate snow. Have I mentioned it? Still not finding the novelty in it one bit. And I won't apologize for that, though the Christmas lights look very pretty after dark so yes, I will admit that much but nothing more.

I started reading Mr. Mercedes last night. It's glorious. I'm excited.

Caleb called from just outside the grounds of the Taj Mahal last night too, completely overcome with emotion as I have heard happens when you see it for the first time. I never ever will. He misses me. He is beyond exhausted and pushing himself every step. Not sure this is a good idea anymore but he's at the bitter end here, flying to Spain Monday for what he calls a hard reset (total flamboyant, unintentional nerdage), because he needs it so badly. Retirement has been busier than ever and he says he'll slow down but then doesn't.

Lochlan started reading Revival, because he is further along in the Stephen King release schedule than I am, because he's able to focus on things while I flit around like a moth to a flame.

(Surprise.)

I tell him it's because he's older.

Most nights when I have time to read in bed I wind up playing games on my phone instead. PJ and I have a contest going with Henry to see who can get the highest score in Stick Hero. I'm the furthest behind. Henry is so far ahead of us now it's become funny.  We did it with Flappy Bird too until I deleted the game in a fit of frustration. My high score? 5 in both games. I send PJ screenshots every time I add another point and he ignores the messages and then after days will return a screenshot to me that's in the double digits. I give up. I think I'll read instead.

Finally when I can sleep Ben will start to snore and then insist upon waking that he didn't sleep even a minute. He is worn out too but in a different way. He wants to keep me up to fill the time but I really need sleep at some point and can't stay up all night indulging him. And boy does he like to be indulged. He's the perfect enabler to my sex addict tendencies, refusing to deny me a thing. Then Loch will be done reading (he reads downstairs) and come up looking to indulge himself and how the heck am I supposed to resist his teenage grin and those curls?

Right. It can't be done. But then Ben gets all jacked up again and I'm pretty sure the reason I hate snow is because when I'm this tired I pretty much hate absolutely everything.

Except sex.

Because DAMN.

READY (aka I eat like crap).

I am so in love.

Big Bad Wolf (new today!) and even better, Sick like Me.

Not often you see really good videos these days. These are miniature works of art.

Like me.

***

Loch, Daniel, Andrew and I spent all day shopping today. Ben's birthday is on Tuesday. He'll be forty-six. He doesn't look that old but hey, every second month it seems we are reminded that numbers grow less and less important each year. I have some special surprises planned for him for that day. Plus we needed to get moving on getting things together because here I am trying to get ready for Christmas all in around, up and over everything and everyone and though we had planned on celebrating US Thanksgiving we never actually bothered. We ordered Chinese food instead.

So best laid plans and all that. I don't want that same fate to befall his big day.

Everything is wrapped and loaded and I'll bake a big cake on Monday and make lamb chops (or rather PJ will. Ben really loves lamb and I can't stand the smell or taste of it so I'll make corn dogs too. Then it's really a party. Freaking corn dogs!

Sigh.

You just can't take the carnival out of the girl. Sometimes I wonder if Ben had any earthly idea what he was getting himself into with us. I suppose he does. When I asked him for a birthday list he said he has the two things he wants most. Me and Loch.

Oh, well then. I'll just take back all these presents then?

Delhi tonight.

I think Dubai was a whirlwind for Caleb. It was supposed to be the second longest leg of his trip but instead he booked a half day trip to Agra to see the Taj and so sliced a day off the Emirates besides. He will not cut into his week in the Canaries no matter what. He's going to need it. He sounded appreciative but exhausted when I told him just before our conference call began that under the desk I only had underwear and thigh-high rumpled socks on (credit to Lords of Salem. I have a dozen pairs and hadn't worn them much lately but I am now) because I didn't have time to find pants in the dark but sorry if we're going to do this shit in the middle of the night thanks to his time difference then I wasn't going to be at a hundred percent. I was wearing a nice shirt (Lochlan's plain blue flannel button-down from yesterday) and I managed to flatten my pixie enough to be presentable and I asked again why I needed to be present for a strategy update and he laughed and said because I was in underwear and socks, that's why and he loves the fact that I'm committed to making sure he misses me so much he aches.

Which brought a halt to everything as I killed the call and called him privately for a health update. If he says something 'aches' then something is wrong and I knew I should have gone. I wish he hadn't gone at all and I wish he would give in already and let technology take the place of shaking people's hands.

He assured me he is tired but fine and he's going to sleep on a beach for the entire first week of December.

(Did I say I should have gone? Yeah. I should have gone. That sounds nice.)

He reestablished the call and our parties were there waiting. I had to pinch my legs to keep from falling asleep and only contributed two questions to the whole thing but they were smart questions and Caleb looked proud and then finally it was finished and I could go back across the driveway (I need to have it loud so I took the call at the Boathouse) and book upstairs to crawl up the center of my bed, passing out cold (no, literally) on top of the quilts.

This morning Ben proclaimed that my outfit was to be considered pajamas from here on out and I am to come to bed like that forever because wow.

Lords of Salem, I reminded him.

I know. Oh, how I know. he said. 

Lochlan, ever suspicious and rightly so, asked me where my pants were. He's been difficult the past two days. Beyond difficult. (Level 12 difficulty, actually. I function at an 8 or so, if rested. Which I'm not.)

So I told him I didn't wear any and he asked how I got across the driveway half-dressed, in the dark, in the rain. So I told him.

The same way I always do. Quickly.

It was over chowder at lunch time before he actually spoke to me again. It's fine. I lasted until afternoon coffee before I replied back.

I break 'em, they fix 'em (return of the Poet).

You don't want to look at me
For you will turn to stone

(Repeat after me: I can love him all I want, that still doesn't make him mine and that's okay.)

Everyone's favorite beat poet has returned to the point and we couldn't be happier. Gone is the untouchable Lizard King and in his place stands a man who isn't wearing sunglasses or smiling that stupid sexy grin. He isn't dangling an unlit cigarette out of the corner of his mouth and he isn't holding a drink.

He was sitting on the side of the bed when I opened my eyes though and I hadn't expected him until tonight. They surprised me. I got to have breakfast with Duncan (and Loch before he had to go to work!) and then he was whisked off to a meeting with Sam and Ben. It wasn't weird or uncomfortable though I felt keenly watched by all.

And that's not exactly new, so the only person making things weird is me, as usual.

They returned Duncan much the same way Ben came back. Twenty-five pounds heavier and completely unshaven. He carries it well at least and will lose it fast. Unlike his program my kitchen doesn't feature an award-winning chef or even regular meals, since it's only me and PJ who cook much of anything at all.

I didn't know how much I missed his hugs until I was in one again for the first time in five weeks. I had a hard time letting go but Sam was eager to keep Duncan on track even though the only thing he has to do is continue to get better. He says he can do it here. That we're fine. That he's ashamed he let things get so bad and sorry he got everyone riled up. He was careful to keep blame out of the picture since they are educated to take full responsibility for their own thoughts, actions and consequences.

...

He and Dalton have gone out to grab some lunch and shop for some bigger clothes. As expected, I was not invited. SURPRISE.

The world doesn't revolve around me. Right. Whatever.

Twosday (something neat).

Because I hardly ever follow up on a damn thing and I wrote about this almost a year ago, here is my view when I'm flat on my back in the big bed.

Lochlan put the whole galaxy on the ceiling for me. The tiny fairy lights trace the path from Mercury to Pluto and back (yes, Pluto) and underneath the planets the ceiling is covered in glow in the dark stars. When we turn off all the lights, it's positively breathtaking because the fairy lights have given an extra boost to the path that the planets are one so the stars glow slightly stronger along it than the rest of the ceiling. It also reflects in the patio doors so it looks like it goes on forever.

Yes, the stars make the shapes of their constellations. Not all of them, only my favorites. He's a perfectionist.

Pictures don't do this justice. This is only Earth, Mars and Venus besides because they are right over the bed. It's a pretty big room and the galaxy goes from corner to corner, side to side. A huge lazy oval. It's fucking amazing. I fall asleep in outer space and I couldn't be happier.

Christmas crow.

Let me clarify, because everyone is clearly literate but gets a fail in reading comprehension or maybe I was too ambiguous for my own damned good. (Not sure when I've ever been on my own good side, but if I need to spell it out then I shall and then we'll move the fuck on, because he comes home tomorrow and I don't want anyone thinking I'm not fit to greet the guy.)

Here's the thing. During his time away, over the phone with all the courage of a faceless audience, Duncan said more than once that he wasn't sure if he wanted to return to the Collective. I'm not sure if he was feeling me out, testing me or just voicing early doubts. He never clarified it for me so I took it at face value.

To that end, I don't want him to come home if I'm just going to be sated, comfortable having everything as it should be and everyone home only to have him wake up weeks or days or months from now only to decide he's going to leave.

(I unreasonably ask for forever-promises on a regular basis. I'm aware it's not realistic or healthy. I can't help it. My brain needs instant relief or it goes missing.)

So don't come home and break my heart, is all.

Around here that isn't a lot to ask for. Maybe it is. I'm sorry. I understand living here within this intentional family is intense and dangerous, more difficult than easy but these boys are my family and you don't just check out so if he's going to come home only to leave then I hope he tells me up front.

That's what I meant by a test. I want him to tell me to my face that he's going to be okay here again. Like before he decided he should fall apart. He wasn't supposed to be one of those ones. He was supposed to be strong and silent and now there are doubts cast over everyone left as they seem to fall one by one. I want them to be happy, above all. If they aren't then I'll take the broken heart but please try to make it hurt as little as you can.

So PJ making me cry, forcing me to promise him I'm not going to go after anyone else was unnecessarily harsh and completely unnecessary. I should have just written what I meant instead of trying to protect myself from real life issues that I don't want to face. I know how Duncan feels. Courage is so easy when you're not being stared down. I just want to be excited and not afraid.

Can't take me anywhere and sorry but I'm not sorry.

My punishment for missing church yesterday was to spend most of this rainy Monday helping Sam around the office.

I'm only here so he can pick my brain, test my resolve and shore up my heart for the next incoming storm. The one named Duncan. I don't know why Sam worries and I don't know why he bothers standing up to Joel/Loch/Ben/Caleb when it comes to me when he could just let go a little but at the same time watching Baby Preacher jockey for senority warms my heart and I know it's wrong but if I didn't love Sam he wouldn't be in my life.

I keep trying to compare all this to Joel. Sam and Joel are the same from a qualifications standpoint now (casual counselors) though Sam has all the credibility in the world where Joel has none left but Joel isn't a part of my family. Just a part of my team.

Kind of like Corey isn't family. There's no love lost there. But Corey doesn't live on the other side of the driveway.

(If he did I might move because he scares me something awful. He's cutting. He's a bully.)

Sam has already established that I am looking forward to Duncan coming back so that everybody is home safe for the holidays and we'll be supportive and loving to him because he wants to be here and he wants to be well without being beholden to alcohol and maybe get back on track to being the coolest guy in the world.

Bad Bridget who is never going to show her ugly face in this church can't wait to have Duncan back so she can test him and see if he can handle her.

(Because he promised once that he could indeed and she still believes him.)

LED-lined.

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

This morning is made up of giant Christmas trees up and lit, Sheri Moon Zombie's amazing ass, Lords of Salem hangovers and early preparations for Duncan's return.

!!!! Finally.

Also Count Chocula. I had my first bowl. I didn't like it. Ben was marginally sad at my reaction, even helpfully pointing out that the milk was turning chocolate, just like it's supposed to but that didn't help. Yuck.

Oh and church hooky because I sleepily told Sam that we would be along and then Lochlan came down and pulled me back to bed by the front of my pajamas and then he didn't have anything to hold on to in seconds and I fell back asleep afterward and they didn't bother waking me up so I missed church and then lunch too and oh, it's not even morning anymore so there is that to point out.

Oops.

It didn't help that Lochlan just lay there smiling at me. Threatening that if I set one foot on the floor I was going to get it and then I got up anyway and he pretended to get up and I ran but once I got to the door I realized I still needed to shower and change. He laughed and ambushed me in between the shampoo and the soap. Again.

So yeah. That took forever.

But I'm up now and I'm starving. Literally starving.

Caleb called from London. I missed the call and he didn't leave a message. He sent a picture of some goodies he is sending back, including Lochlan's favorite snacks that you can't buy here. Nothing like Count Chocula but too sweet all the same.

Oh yeah and Duran Duran. Because I'm amazed that I can still retain perfect recall of song lyrics I learned at ten and eleven years old but  I've been grocery shopping three times in a row and still can't remember to put lettuce on. the. fucking. list.

But damn.

(Also I can't find my pajamas now. Loch laughs and says he burned them right off me and I must have not been paying attention. Huh.)

One millionaire short.

(I'm your slave)
This is what I crave
I'm lost, I'm saved

Caleb called last night during dinner.  We had everybody on deck including Joel, New Jake and Batman, for chrissakes and I had to bail halfway through.

He couldn't sleep. It was his last night in Dublin. He was all packed up and down to the casual outfit he had on and his laptop, ready to head to London first thing (not to the Hyatt Regency, thank heavens) for the busiest part of the trip. He again offered to send for me and be there to meet me at the airport on arrival. I didn't answer him and he changed the subject, asking me if I could send him the notes from a strategy meeting for one of the tiny little firms I talked him into funding here at home with nothing to go on other than a gut feeling. It's a test. So far so good. He admitted he needed more to do, that he doesn't have enough to keep his mind occupied and that's why he's wide awake at such a late hour. That he needed to hear my voice to calm himself down. To soothe his scarred heart.

He then tore me to shreds for not being there with him. For making him go alone. I sat there with my finger on the button to end the call and finally Ben came out and did it for me.

He'll figure it out, Bridge. Come in and finish your food. 

Warmed me on a blustery damp Friday. (I wasn't going to post it but then I couldn't not.)

Burn me alive
Set me on fire
And watch me die
Burn me alive
Watch me resurrect
Right before your eyes

He took a huge gulp of what they thought was whiskey but it was fuel. He didn't swallow it, instead turning to me, kissing me hard. As he pulled back he sprayed the fuel all over me and then touched me on the shoulder with the torch. The audience gasped as I went up in flames before he swooped back in quickly with a wrap and made a romantic show of pulling me in close, effectively putting me out. Then he would try and soften it with another kiss and then fake-sneeze a flame. He would shake his head, kiss me again, and sneeze out another flame. By now the audience has forgotten the horror of his favorite trick and is laughing along. He finally takes another drink before kissing me long and hard. Forever until the catcalls begin and then when he lets me go I pretend to be dizzy for a moment before sneezing really hard, lighting all of his torches, held out like a bouquet.

It was very popular.

The poster said WITNESS YOUNG BURNING LOVE! It had a cheesy drawing of Elvis in a top hat, instead of Lochlan. We weren't there very long.

***

There’s no reason to cry now
There’s nothing to forgive
This suffering’s my blessing
The death of sin is how I live

This morning Sam confronted Lochlan in the front hall and asked if he actually tells me lies about Cole and Jacob being alive.

Loch stood his ground and said he did, that he does whatever it takes to get me to sleep. (He was surprised though.)

Sam told him I needed to learn to do it on my own, that it sets me back, giving my brain conflicting ideas and refusing to help me acknowledge death as I should. As I have.

Loch said he doesn't care, that sleep comes first and I'm smart enough to see when I awaken who's alive and who isn't. That if I don't sleep all bets are off and then we have a lot more to deal with. PJ wandered in, toast in hand, because both Sam and Loch have been known to engage in surprise fist-throwing and we don't want to send Sam to church with a black eye. Not now. Advent is starting soon and besides, they're fighting on the same team, they just forget sometimes.

Sam said if I need help he is here to talk to and Loch gave him a shove before PJ put his hand up in front of Loch and blocked him from doing any more damage. I went in and said it was an old comfort from years ago that has less to do with ghosts and more to do with a blanket quiet for a severely overactive mind and he's doing no harm by it. Sam seemed to accept that but still shot Lochlan a look that would have cut glass. I gave Sam a quick kiss to see him off and Loch just glared him right out the door.

I took him back for a little comfort of his own. Back to the show.

Norms don't get it, Locket. Doesn't mean it's not okay for us.

I know, Peanut. I just don't know what gives him the right.

He cares, that's all.

He should mind his own.

We are his own.

I felt his hands relax finally. Just a reminder that yeah, family. This is it. We're here. We're not always going to agree and yet Lochlan shouldered my safety and sanity for so long without knowing how to help me that he devised ways that were neither right nor even remotely acceptable but he did the best he could for a teenage boy in charge and it doesn't do any one of us any favors to question that at this late stage in the game.

Sam figured it out before he got to his car and came back, barging back in through the door and PJ swore and tried to head him off but he smashed right into Lochlan, throwing his arms around him, holding him close.

Sorry, my brother. Trying to protect you both.

Loch nodded and put his arms up around Sam too. I know you are. Thank you for that. It means a lot.  He nodded as they let go and Sam left again, with a nod to me to have a good day.

Sometimes the surprises are from the audience. Sometimes it's the performers' turn to gasp out loud and then relax when it all turns out okay.

(At least we get in for free.)

If I lie on my side pressed against him I can count his freckles. One by one as they fade into winter to hide until the warm weather returns. His hair already seems longer, darker, the curls bigger still. The circles underneath his eyes holding his freckles captive are deep and dark and tell a story you might hardly not believe if it weren't for his eidetic memories, organized by season and year. By Bridget. Bridget at eight. Bridget at fourteen. Bridget at twenty-six. Bridget at thirty-three. Bridget now. Bridget at ten. Either mislabeled or he removed it to wax it nostalgic and now that it shines bright he's forgotten where it belongs.

Most of those stories I have too but mine are arranged haphazardly, clumsily, remembered in a completely different way, having taken away a different slice of life for being younger and far more naive before becoming vaguely, reluctantly hard, jaded into a concrete green for the things I have witnessed with my own eyes when people are free to be themselves. I only ever slept at night because he would take the most unpleasant of stories and explain in the way that only he could, telling me that the man that shot the other man out back was merely practicing a trick or the boy crying with the black eye walked into a light standard and was going to have his pictures taken for school the next day, or that if we didn't eat tonight, we would have the most fantastical breakfast in the morning, right after we've slept well.

Sometimes when he feels patient and generous he tells me Cole is off seeing the world and that Jake is downstairs. Sometimes he tells me the Devil is only in my nightmares because funnel cakes do funny things to my brain. Sometimes he tells me the feeling of falling is the same for falling in love, that agonizing lurch when your heart hits your breastbone and your blood begins to float and that it's not supposed to be scary.

He has two hundred and sixteen freckles left and that means winter is almost here.

Well, YEAH, if you walk in and I'm busy yelling the lyrics to Sex Metal Barbie while I test Christmas lights on the floor behind the dining room table well then you can't LAUGH, MOTHERFUCKER!

So who did save your soul?

(Hold still for more first world problems because I swear storage capacity is worth more on the black market than bullets and gasoline combined.)

Ben took me out to breakfast this morning where we loaded up on hash browns and sausage and egg mcmuffins and then on the way to get groceries he ambushed me (again), taking me to the phone shop and trying to set me up with a 6 plus. He got one on release because he's one of the eight people in the world with hands and pockets big enough to deal with one. I grabbed it with both hands, tried to shove it in my pocket and then shook my head. I knew I'd regret it. It made for a fine angle from which to plead my case for a 128 GB regular 6.

Sold.

I loaded on every single thing I've got and I still have 80 GB free.

*falls facedown in surprise*

Damn. I'll never run out of music now. This is a very far cry from my 8-AA-batteries-an-hour (sorry Cole, I know those were expensive) Sony Walkman with the option of only bringing one cassette at a time. I always played Jewel's Pieces of You because she's easy to sing along with and it was 1996.

So just..yeah...I still have that album on my phone right now. (shhhhhhhhhhhhh)

It's good, okay?

Caleb was all Good for you! on the phone like I finally let Ben buy me something. I'm very bad with that. I don't know if you noticed but it's very hard to let them buy me things. They'll all nod sagely and agree that it's tougher than they would have thought.

Until I showed Ben the box full of new phones since probably 2006 and he laughed. I don't think I've ever made it more than 14 months without someone buying me a new phone. It's pretty much the only thing I collect, other than boys. Reluctantly, of course.

(Phones reluctantly. Not boys.)

(And yes I blubbered through my call with Caleb. Because I'm a big fucking baby, that's why.)

(Do as I do, not as I say.) Quadrilaterals and polynomials.

You remain,
My power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny.
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.

It's like he's waking up. Eyes flashing, smile unable to leave his face, curls highlighted in the darkness. No longer in the shadow of the devil, he thrives in the moonlight, charm leading the way. A quiet confidence tried on for the first time in ages, inspected and repaired to one hundred percent. My heart soars. I wish sometimes that it was only us again, plotting our course on a stolen gas station map with a borrowed pen and the most foolish of dreams, dreams we never finished. Dreams we don't know the endings of yet. Dreams we can maybe finally afford.

But it isn't just us now and we have a whole built-in circus full of characters, full of workers, everyone knowing their role, playing their part and when the Devil lets go he leaves a wake of flames behind.

Only one person can control those and it isn't me.

Our audience is each other, our acts change daily, costumes too. Our profit is high and our word of mouth travels as far as the eyes can see. To a place I have never seen, a place Lochlan describes as magical, full of adventure and surprise and comfort too because comfort is essential when you travel so lightly as we are wont to do. I nod enthusiastically. I'll believe anything he says when he says it like this, only the adventure came to a grinding halt right here, grinding, sliding right to and then slightly over the edge of the world, tipping perilously toward the ocean but not quite. The wind ruffling our hair, threatening to help gravity just enough to end this grand adventure but our hero thought of that already and has fashioned a safety-rope made of my fears and doubts, twisted tightly together in lengths, knotted for strength, destined to save us somewhere along the line, the face of caution and preparation to his headlong rush, the childlike fear of the unknown that kept him from taking me into his arms and dropping off the face of the earth never to be seen again, lost in a mighty whirlwind of show after show after act after show. Going down in history as the courageous lovers who never saw the end coming until it was too late.

Except that isn't how it ends. Our act has changed so much through the years, veering haphazardly down one path, doubling back before heading deliberately down another and still here's one more path and it's different than all the rest but as he always tells me when the doubts rear up like boogeymen to chew off my limbs and then feast on my heart,

We're together. We have food. We have heat. But most importantly we have each other and I'll never need for more than you as long as you'll have me and be beside me. 

We need more than food and heat, Locket. I have to have grade ten math to graduate and I need an actual job and if we ever get caught we're screwed-

I'll always provide for you. I'll teach you the math. And you don't need a real job, that's why we're here. I'd rather do magic for the rest of my life than suffer indoors at some stuffy office gig and we're too good to get caught, darling Peanut. And that's the best magic right there. We're independent. We're perfect. We're invincible! 

Does this mean I can go get cotton candy for dinner? 

No. I stole beets and carrots from the field just down the road. You need vegetables to grow strong. 

You just said I was perfect. 

Perfectly miniature. I think you'd have a easier time if you grew just a little more besides. Then you could reach those dreams without me holding you up. 

You and your modus vivendi.

Everything I say you lie along with me (she said)
Every song you sing is that because of me (I said)
Any time I cry you always laugh at me (she said)
No matter what you do you won't belong to me

Caleb left this afternoon. Halifax-Dublin-London-Dubai-Delhi-Spain and then home again. Six places, twenty-two days. Which isn't much time in any place but he's rested and ready to conquer the world while we three here decide on whether to accept his offer of armistice once and for all.

I cried when he left. I cry when any of them leave. I cried when I saw Santa at the mall yesterday so this isn't a particularly awful thing, just a thing that I do that I can't fix and don't care to.

(Santa seems early. Don't you think?)

He said repeatedly if I change my mind he can send for me. Lochlan said it wouldn't happen so Caleb cut him out of the conversation all together. Ah. Brotherly love. (Here, take her. Naw, give her back, I changed my mind. You're still a monster.)

Duncan is nine days from coming home. Single digits. I am counting hours almost.

As a surprise while Caleb is gone I have arranged to have his house cleaned top to bottom, carpets and draperies steamed, wood conditioned, kitchen professionally detailed. Then a day before he returns a grocery delivery including fresh flowers.

I'm good like that.

I'm outstanding like that. I spoil my men. Mine, even if I'm not theirs.

And I know what armistice means. Maybe he likes me dumb and pretty, still a child in matters of this life but I know it doesn't mean an end to the war, just a break. Which isn't up to us to accept or reject in the first place. He was going on this trip anyway. That is the break. He wonders if things will change while he's gone. If I will miss him to the point of shifting allegiance. If I will be so lost without him here that I will turn over everything to his charge and leave his nemeses out in the cold.

No. I will not. However. I would be open to a different sort of arrangement but this time I will make it myself and he can either agree to it upon his return or find out what it means to be left out in that godforsaken cold himself.

No one's going to build a monument to love here.

Last minute instructions as he's beginning to pull his things together for a three week round the world odyssey to diversify, reaching out to some untapped desperate markets and have a trickle of European profits to round out what is shaping up to be a surprisingly solid and easy to oversee selection of projects. I reassure him if I have any problems I can easily reach him by phone. If that fails I can always go to Batman for help. Caleb frowns and says he'll check in daily and nothing can go wrong that can't wait.

I nod. This is a technicality. He didn't have to put me in charge of anything. It could have sat with a short note on his voicemail to relay his return date and an automatic reply on his email to say the same. He just likes to put me in the hot seat. He is always testing me and I always remind him that I do business using logic and common senses because that's the way life works. He always frowns and says I sound like Lochlan.

He tells me he is going to miss me while I count out pills and more pills for him to take along. Some are dailies. Some are just-in-cases. Some is spray nitroglycerin in triplicate and it's all neatly labelled now and in clear bags ready to be pulled out of his carry-on bag for inspection at airports. This part makes me a little nervous and so his daily check-ins are five deep. Batman in the morning. John at lunch. Ben at dinner. Henry at bedtime. Me at night. This is so over-engineered I want to Caleb to wait, that he can get Luke or even Batman or maybe possibly me to go at a later date but he wants to get this done and onto the books before year end.

I tell him to avoid the women. And the Russians. He laughs and tells me he's too old to get in any trouble these days.

Any advice for the really hard parts, Babydoll? 

Late in the night when you can't sleep, you mean?

Precisely. 

Call me. It'll be early here. I'll talk you through it. 

Or you can just come with me. 

I shake my head. I'm trying so hard to avoid this part of the present.

Take care of our son and if anything happens, Bridge-

I nod. I know what to do. I know where all the papers are. 

Not what I mean. I mean if I'm gone, don't let them vilify me to Henry. I want him to be proud of me. I don't want him to have to hear the things I have done.

My nose gets all stingy and my eyes start to leak but I nod. I didn't let anyone do it with Cole. I won't let them do it for you. 

And if I go, Bridget-

Just.. Just shut up. The odds aren't there that you won't come back so let's not do this. 

Well you don't read the letters anyone has left for you so I made a video. I emailed it to you already. Watch it now or if I don't come back or later but watch it eventually, okay? It's important. 

I nod and he kisses the tears off my eyelashes. Diabhal? I can't talk about this.

Hey. I know. And this goes both ways. If you need me to get through the really hard parts, call me. 

You're never going to get any work done. You realize this, don't you?

That's fine. I'm at a point in my life where I set up the pieces and the puzzle solves itself. 

You're so humble about how hard you work. Stop it. You need to take it easier like you promised. 

I need to actually be busier because then I get into less trouble concerning matters of the heart. Did I tell you one of my side excursions is to the Taj Mahal?

I have always wanted to see it with my own eyes and it's hard not to turn jaded green at his news.

Send me a selfie when you get there. I'll put it on my blog. 

You'll do nothing of the kind, Bridget. 

It would be nice for people to see that you're human, Cale. 

Why would I want to be human when I can be a God instead? And he leans down to kiss me hard because I'm finished. There's nothing left to pack.

Gods don't need luggage, Diabhal. 

This is not my final form, of course. I like to travel in disguise. He winks and lets me go. His charm. I could drown in it if it didn't dissolve my bones the moment it touches me.

Even at my ugliest.

You always say I am beautiful
As you tear me to pieces

Matt came home early this morning. Early like 3:47 this morning and of course everyone is now asleep and I'm all Hiii? Someone come play with me? But no one answers except the furnace and the odd random cat meowing for attention and winding around my legs.

He walked in with his customary clear call, Honey, I'm home! I thought Sam might burst but he didn't because that would have been messy and ironic and so instead he only grinned huge and glassy and rushed into the front hall and we all followed and Matt was greeted as if we hadn't seen him for years. It made my chest hurt because Ben would go out for six, eight, thirteen months and we would stay up and greet him the same way. Hugs. Smiles. Tired relief like okay, everyone is here now, home safe.

We can actually sleep now except sleep is still waiting for when Duncan is home too. At least for me. The rest of them can sleep but me, I always wait.

But Caleb leaves before Duncan will be home and  my chest hurts every time I think about that too.

Bridge. Come back to bed. 

Yeah. Okay, Locket.