Literally translated, it means Whore's Spaghetti.

I wore the ballet flats.

He noticed but said nothing, and rattled off the menu for dinner to me in short order, handing me a glass of wine as he did, with a smile.

We're having Spaghetti alla puttanesca. Are you hungry?

Starving. He seems to be on his best.

Can you wait a half-hour or should I do up a plate of fruit in the meantime?

I'm fine to wait. Will there be garlic bread?

I have a baguette. Would you like to make some?

Sure. I kick off my shoes, put my wine glass on the island and get to work sawing the bread into slices with the giant serrated knife he keeps in the block. When I'm a third of the way through I wrap the remaining loaf, tuck it into the fridge and pull out the butter dish and minced garlic.

I enjoy cooking with you, Neamhchiontach.

Come over any night of the week. I'm there same time every day.

Except tonight.

Except tonight.

And most of last week.

Did you want to talk about that? You and August are vying for Most Put Out. 

No. No, not really. I just wished you kept in touch while you were gone.

Oh.

A call or something. Just so I can hear your voice. He drinks his wine in one swallow but I heard it. His voice cracked ever so slightly.

For what it's worth, I did miss you.

Then next time, call.

I will.

Let's get the bread in the oven. This took no time at all.

Soon we are eating outside at the little bistro table in the far corner of his patio, jutting out over the cliff. Usually I'd be hesitant to remain here on the frightening part of the cliff but this is my third glass of wine and I have no fear of anything anymore. I always try to front-load my courage for Caleb. Dinner is delicious. Tiny olives pop between my teeth. I eat everything on my plate. So does he.

I rise to clear the dishes.

Sit, Bridget. Not a suggestion, it's a clear order.

I sink back to my seat. He softens.

I'm sorry. Can we just enjoy this? How are you? Not too warm? Too cold?

I'm fine.

You're tense.

No, I'm just...what is it?

I just want to enjoy dinner with you and then I'm afraid I'm going to have to send you home.

Did I do something wrong? Panic builds. I need things. Where are they?

On the contrary. I made some beautiful plans for tonight with you but I'm afraid you'll have to come back another night. I'm very tired. I'll walk you home. He stands and come around to take my chair.  Take the wine with you. He brings the bottle to walk me home. You and Lochlan can have a nightcap.

Once across the drivewat at the door he hands me the bottle of wine and gives me a lingering kiss. I'm sorry if I wasn't able to give you the night you were expecting.

Come in with me. 

As I said-

We'll go to sleep. We can have a nightcap with Lochlan and go to sleep. You said you sleep better with me, this should help. 

Did you ask Loch-

I don't have to, remember? It's in the rules. 

Why are you doing this for me? 

Who said I'm doing it for you? 

In with my already bloodshot eyes.

One of the biggest joys about being in the pool is that I can't hear a thing. I feel the underwater speakers but I can't hear the music and if someone needs me they have to physically get in the water and touch me as I swim endless laps back and forth across the widest part.

Maybe I meant biggest drawback, as instead of reaching out to touch the edge my hand lands on Caleb's chest and he pulls me up against him in the deep end.

Hello, Neamhchiontach. 

Cale. Morning. I smile at him awkwardly. My eyes sting so badly. He doesn't care.

Nice form. He winks.

Thanks. I'm trying to be perfect. (Are we still talking about swimming? I don't think we're talking about swimming. I'm sure not.)

Shall we race? 

No. I would lose. 

No, I think you have a chance. I can always go slow. Or get lost. Or have a cramp. He laughs and his eyes flash. God can drown me now, really it's fine. He's so handsome.

Okay. 

Really? 

He counts down and we're off across the pool. He makes a comical show of doing a poor backstroke, then foundering as if he's unable to swim, and then finally he stops swimming and pretends to walk in slow motion, but he's still really fast and he grabs me, spinning me back toward the deep end, not letting go but reaching out to touch the edge. I win. 

Wow. 

Fair and square. I gave you every opportunity. Something less cheerful flashes across his eyes and we're definitely not talking about swimming any more. All of history is now floating among us, crowding us out, pushing us under.

Tomorrow I get a rematch. 

Of course you do. When we get up. 

When we get up?

Yes, when we get up you can have your rematch. You'll be with me. 

Run it by Loch-

I don't have to do that. His rules. Go get dressed. Wear a pretty slip dress and the pink shoes. We're going out to dinner. 

The pink shoes make me almost as tall as he is. I can't run away in those. I can hardly walk in those. I look like a deer on stilts in those.

I have pink ballet flats-

The heels, Bridget. 

What time do I need to get ready? 

Now, I think. He had you far away for many days straight. I think he can handle one entire twenty-four-hour period without you at all. 

Jesus Driver/Cineplex sanctuary.

We might have bailed on church again for the better offer of specialty coffees and Baby Driver at an empty theatre. Don't worry, we brought Sam with us, as Holiday Weekend Church is usually empty too. We brought everybody, actually and holy, what a sleeper of a perfect movie. We've already made plans to go see it again. It's SO good, and you really have no inkling of how good it is from just the trailers. Trust me. Go see it. I was expecting some sort of teenage car-chase sort of fun movie but holy DAMN, it was so much more than that, stylized in a way that made it never stop. Now it's in my top ten favorite movies and I have to figure out which one drops off so it can have space.

That good.

Yes.

Go.

(P.S. When you get home buy the soundtrack.)

While I patiently wait for someone to trade Miller to the Ducks, you can read this.

Oof. Ben wasn't the only affection- or maybe it's Bridget-starved person here. I've been dodging men, feelings and drama since we landed.

***

Caleb thinks the whole trip was a personal affront. He's challenged Lochlan to wage love on home turf and see who emerges victorious. I can't wait for the jousting at sunrise. For fucks sake. Lochlan, to his credit, reminded Caleb of the umbrella on fire, that he has it covered, thanks, but that a mental and physical getaway is important and Caleb can stuff it.

***

The entire rest of the house thinks Lochlan is throwing up a human shield, himself to be exact, to keep me away from Jay, who's been fresh back a whole week and I've hardly talked to him besides. I tell them they're jumping to conclusions and they remind me that I don't have a man's mind so I wouldn't know.

Ah. Mansplain it to me, Dunk.

No point. 

Gatekeeping, then, is what you're doing. Seriously. 

God, why are you talking like Yoda, Bridge? I think you left your brain on the coast.

Oh, I totally did. I'm fine with that.

***

August thinks I was away too long.

It was three days. 

Four. 

Three nights. 

Right. 

What? 

I worry about you. 

With Lochlan? That's something you need to fix.

But he doesn't get it. Lochlan isn't any sort of threat to anything or anybody. He's been in charge of me since I was in the single-digit ages and I'm still alive, I have perfect manners and I can fend for myself. I'll scream the whole time I'm doing it but I'm capable. But he also hobbled me emotionally and I can't exist without a metric crap-ton of doubled-down weapons-grade affection or I hit a wall and dissolve. Yes. Explain that one. Child- and Teenage-Bridget adores him for it. Adult-Bridget can't even figure out how it all happened, other than imprinting being the best explanation I've ever heard.

Soulmate as a definition is a distant second.

Fate a shadowy third.

***

PJ shoves a list across the counter at me. You're behind. 

I think it's time for you to have a vacation. Also, my chores are supposed to be absorbed by the rest of you if I can't do them. Slackers. 

Yours were. These are new.

Great. 

Hey, you just came back from not having to lift a finger. No sympathy from me. 

I don't know what kind of vacations you take but in my universe it's only a location break. We cooked. We swept constantly to keep sand out of the house-

I thought you had cereal. 

Still have to pour it in a bowl, pour the milk in, dump in a cup of sugar-

I'm glad you're home though. 

Are you? I am too. I missed my guys. 

Me the most though, right? 

Uh. Yeah. Right. You the most.

You're even cute when you lie, Bridge. 

Thank God for that. 

Home is where he is.

We're home, back from the refreshing Atlantic breeze, waving grasses, cool (almost to the point of achey) sand, back from my home coast.

Back.

Back to that beautiful little private beach cottage that had no wi-fi and the stove didn't work all that well either so we went and got cereal to eat instead of cooking and every morning we microwaved water for instant coffee. It was simple. It was like the old days.

What are we doing here? 

Making memories. 

What if we have enough? Is there a moratorium on them? Maybe a quota? A limit? 

No, if you get a better one, you're free to discard an older one. 

How do you discard a memory?

You forget it, Peanut. 

Ah. Is that what we're doing with-

Yes.

I don't say anything and he comes over, glancing a kiss off my forehead, turning me face-in against his shirt. My arms hook up over his shoulders as his slide around my back and I instantly untense every single muscle I can count inside my skin.

I listened. I listened hard for his soft lilt over the roar of the tides. I listened to the words as he chose them and I listened while he dumped out the contents of his brain and his heart, mixing them all up together and now we can no longer tell them apart and I think it, no I think he works better this way.

We ventured bravely forth for a swim each day and otherwise picked sand out of the cracks in our elbows (no, I wasn't going to say something else) and our shoes. We walked for miles and miles. We spoke to hardly a soul, save for the person at the counter in the store we went to for food and the cottage owner so she would know about the stove. She returned a large portion of the rental fee Lochlan had made and also had dinner sent over one night from a restaurant nearby.

We lived in bathing suits and sweaters. We slept in the screen porch and we enjoyed a level of privacy we just don't get or want anymore to the point where I began to miss my children and my boys and so did he. Three days was enough, the perfect length for a surprise trip. I again needed next to nothing in my bag which is always a nice surprise but then again we travel incredibly light after so many years of doing it.

And now we are home. Renewed, refreshed and reconnected. We both tackled Ben the moment we saw him, taking him to the ground with affection built up over three days and nights. We missed him something fierce and it was mutual, as told by the look on his face when we walked in. We made good on our promises to the kids to be here for Canada's big day (150!) and we have already been put to work shopping, cleaning and doing meal prep for the weekend. Every now and I then I look at Lochlan and I catch him looking back at me. He smiles a little and my heart tries to jump out and run across the floor.

See you in a few days.

He's got that smile on his face. The one that says he has a surprise and I see him coming a mile away. Kids are finished school. 

Yes. Finally! 

We should take a little trip now that the dust has settled.

If we did where would we go? 

Back to Montauk. Maybe. If you're game.

Seriously? 

I might have booked our same little cottage for an early anniversary celebration. 

Who are we taking? 

Each other. 

Sold. 

You need to sort out the sunscreen thing first. 

Okay, a big floppy hat and a sweater. It worked last time. 

That it did. Better go pack. Plane leaves in four hours. 

What? Holy. Hold my plate. 

Take it with you and eat while you pack. We don't need to bring much. 

True. 

Bring a smile, Peanut. And that sweater. 

I can do that. 

You wanted a cold beach, I can give you a cold beach.

You'll know where to find me now.

(Yesterday was a big mistake, by the way. I did a metric ton of gardening early in the morning thinking I'd be safe and gave myself heatstroke and turned into a baby because of it. Things are much better after eight hours sleep. That's like a new record for me.)

Ben put up two extra six-by-sixes when no one was looking, down by the trees in the shade off the patio and strung up my beautiful hammock that I had nowhere to properly hang here. He knew I'd love it and I do. The pool area itself is now complete in phase two, with a wraparound outdoor kitchen with space for a bigger barbecue (that we don't have yet but measured for), a small fridge (whoops don't have that either), a wood burning firepit/cookout stove, and a shadier pool deck overall, with space above the pergola where I can drape my tapestries and make it look very neat. There is only one phase left to go and that's to augment the path to the pool from the house to string everything together, and landscape around the sauna and the back of the house a little better. I wanted to pave a path all the way to my house but that isn't a good idea if we want to keep the properties futureproof, to be sold separately when the time comes.

Unless we sell all three or even two houses as a package deal for searching communes. I mean, we could do that.

None of this is something we're planning either way, as we stay until Henry finishes university, so that's at least six years, maybe more. (Did I tell you I now have a university student and a student in grade eleven now? I didn't but I do and I'm so proud).

Then we'll see.

I love the hammock. And I love that today is cool enough to head out and enjoy it with my book and some lemonade and a whole pile of new sunscreen that sucks. Every single one I have tried is awful. They either give me rashes or sunburns. Christ. Any suggestions?

HOTTER STILL.

Because I am a terrible human and furthermore very bad at life, Ben filled the soaker tub in our ensuite with ice water and put me in it early on. Lochlan brought me up a glass of champagne in the one beautiful blue glass flute I own (it was a set but they break so easily) and Ben winced slightly but cheers'd me and then sat on the floor beside the tub while I alternated between sipping my champagne quietly like a good princess and screaming because things were cold. Private things. Sensitive things.

I then got a warm shower for my promises of gold and riches to him, should he release me from this curse and we spent the day again inside, as he has paid his dues on the latest home improvement project and decided it was time for Jay and Keith to pay theirs.

Lochlan came back after supervising the completion of said task (I'll see it tomorrow) with a sunburn and a cold light beer which made him wince after every sip. I ran out of champagne but wasn't given any more and I fell asleep while they watched a movie. The ceiling fan went around and around and eventually I woke up and the sun had moved all the way around to the other side of the room and was almost over and the room was empty, save for me and I didn't mind a bit, I swear.

Tomorrow it's supposed to be a full ten degrees cooler and then I will feel like myself. I hope.

HOT.

It's thirty-seven degrees in the sun and they're working on building a second outdoor shower and a pergola that extends over part of the pool deck. I don't know if pouring concrete at that temperature is any different than wading in the lava of an active volcano but they seem happy enough to plant six-by-six posts so deep into the ground they're never ever going to move and fire up the table saw so many times I began to hate the noise and went downstairs to watch movies with Dalton.

I ran out of pool time anyway and lazing about in the shade trying to breathe in that liquid hot exhaust wasn't that pleasant. I'm a spring and fall girl. I like my water warm and my sand cold. I like jeans on the beach and sweaters on the boat and I hate being warm.

I couldn't even stand to keep on earrings. I'm down to a t-shirt and short thin cotton shorts. No bra, no underwear. No plans to be in mixed company as we're having ice cubes for dinner and at some point if the temperature drops down to reasonable I'll come back upstairs and go to bed.

Filthy souls.

The rules are plentiful. Jay will take back his old room, his old space in Batman's garage, his old life but working for Sam, working for the church. Batman will keep a closer eye on him, as will Asher, Lochlan, PJ and Ben. Ben's going to sponsor him if he still turns out to need it (FUUUUCK) and we're getting him some hardcore health counselling because he still plays fast and loose with his disease and he can't afford to. He's going to get his health under control so he doesn't die. I'm not sure if he's trying to or what here and it hurts.

He is stiff and reluctant and ashamed.

Why do you care? He had the nerve to ask Ben and Ben pointed out that he's family, we look after each other. Jay choked up and hugged him hard and Ben asked him why he didn't ask for help.

I thought it would be better if I just left. 

Ben nods. You'll need to talk to him. 

Schuyler. One of the few adamant about not having New-Jake come back, more as a nod towards being better safe than sorry, as always. Schuyler doesn't walk the talk, he's just very protective of me and I always appreciated that. His boundaries are ironclad, his values carved in the rock at our feet. He's big on love but he doubled down on Jay because after seven years, poor Jay is still the new guy and that's not going to change, ever.

There's always a new Jake. Always a guy coming in to my life in bare feet with an easy smile and a past a mile wide. Always an unexplainable draw that I drown in the sea on a daily basis because I'm trying to do right by Schuyler and own up to my boundaries.

I usually mess up and drown the boundaries and enforce the cravings, Batman tells me but it's not like he's objective, either.

Schuyler tried to put me first and while I appreciate the sentiment, I have a great support network. Jay didn't, where he went. He does again now though.

Welcome home, Jay. This time don't fuck it up.