Alone in outer space.

Castaway
My cries are blocked by the horizon
Suffocate
I was doing this all for you

I'm in the shallows
Stuck in the gallows
I tried to save you now I'm swallowed
You wanted war
I am the war
I alone

My apologies. Yesterday I melted down and today I'm someone else. Poured myself into a new mold and I'm just trying to keep my shape as I get bent right out of it so easily.

Lochlan got called back to work nary a breath after saying he was off and I. lost. my. mind. The sad part here is that he said he was on call. But I wanted people fired. I wanted heads to roll down the street like bowling balls. I told him he wasn't special. That anyone with basic IT skills can make a network work and what the fuck, why can't they leave him alone now?

(I was truly the biggest little asshole ever.)

No, of course they can't. Sometimes projects run over. Schuyler jumped the gun on letting him go when they need a day, maybe three to iron out some issues. Sometimes people live in the grownup world where life ticks along and you're expected to contribute, be professional and do your part, Bridget.

Except I'm not like that. I like in a magical world of daydreams and stars and I don't contribute to the normie noise. Never have save for that brief decade when I attempted to be a functional adult and look where that got me. Jesus. Never again.

I want to look into space. I want to feel the sun. I want to have everyone I love around me while we lie on our backs and I show them the sky. I want to not worry about ringing alarms, intrusive phones, rumbling bellies, antsy dogs, stratospheric bills and endless numbing rain. I don't want to do new math. I don't want to cook green beans. I don't want to get the winter tires off the trucks. I don't want to say goodbye.

I don't want to say goodbye.

I want to be little forever, running along hopping into his shadow and yet somehow I've almost kept that stature while losing the absolution of being a child. One minute they protect me, let me off the hook, take away all the things I don't like and the next minute I'm expected to grow up, be accountable, put in my presence as a dot on the map of an average, ordinary day in the universe that shouldn't revolve around me, but does just enough for me to find the light before I'm flung off again, into the dark.

I don't feel like writing anything but today isn't a total loss, since Starset put out an acoustic version of Ricochet. The rock version is INSANE, but this is so beautiful and completely perfect too. With headphones. Incredibly loud. Don't know which one I like better, but thankfully I don't have to choose.

Moms I'd like to fool.

Lochlan wasn't the least bit upset about Duncan (who is still there, by the way, in our bed, enjoying a change of scenery or maybe catching up on sleep or maybe he's doing exactly what he told me and fulfilling some errant daydream of a true communal lifestyle, which for him clearly includes sleeping all day, waking up for food and sex and passing her around because sometimes, man, you just gotta hand off the fun and take a moment to appreciate where you are in life.)

I love him the best right now. I'd much rather he call me man than Mom, okay? That irks me to no end. He's older than I am.

Lochlan did not want to linger in bed. He wants to Do Things. He's a stupidly-early-morning person when he gets into the habit and he needs to be productive. I pointed out his brain/body/mind/eyes probably needs a break and he agreed and then went straight out to buy some engine parts for the latest motorhome he is fixing up. Then we went for breakfast. Then he needed a new phone and made an eye appointment and wondered out loud if he should make a dental one too and then we went back out and did a little grocery shopping (where he smiled at me so contently, and said God, I missed this) and he's been affectionate and not fatherly and not angry and not tired and I lasted about seven hours before I stopped in my tracks and said Okay that's enough. What's gotten into you? 

He smiled again. Guess when I go back to work?

Monday. Please don't say Monday, I was really hoping you'd have more than a week. 

Not Monday. 

Is it...the Monday after that?

No, Peanut. 

I cover my face. Oh my gosh! You've got THREE weeks off? 

My next project is in October. 

Bullshit. Don't say that if you're going to take something on before then. You keep telling me you're taking a break or stopping and then you don't and I-

Bridget. Ask Schuyler. Or Batman. Ask everyone, they all know already. I was trying to make it a surprise. 

WELL IT WORKED. 

I thought you hated surprises. 

I do but I love it when you're home. 

I thought you'd like that. 

Yeah. He's smiling ear to ear while I'm crying. We've worked so hard to be weird but this, this seemed so normal for once.

Fairweather fiends.

I'm holding on
I'm holding on to you
My world is wrong
My world is a lie that's come true
And I fall in love with the ones that run me through
When all along all I need is you

That feeling when you've sung a lyric wrong for close to ten years is a joke to some people. To me it's just one more reminder of my shortcomings, something vital and precious that's soon to leave me. That will be a grief of a whole different kind but for now I've got my headphones on in church and they're on rather loud, though you can't hear them sitting right beside me because Ben chose these ones specifically and he knows what works for every occasion.

He squeezes my hand. I got him out of bed to go to church, he's loaded us up on fresh hot forbidden coffee in return and Sam isn't going to say a word about these headphones because we brought him coffee too. He's been a stranger lately while he sorts himself out and I miss him but I also replaced him for the time being with Duncan who woke up and laughed because no, he didn't want to go to church so we left him there in our bed to wear off the high of sleeping on the coveted third floor. Or whatever the draw is. Can't be me. I'm not whole. God's not going to make me whole, Duncan's certainly not and really there's no hope but I put on a pretty dress anyway and showed up with a smile because that's what you do. Life isn't hopeless, after all. It can be a rollercoaster though, that's for sure.

Speaking of coasters, Lochlan leans his head in between Ben and I. I feel his presence a heartbeat before that happens, a teenage thrill that runs up the back of my neck and that gives me hope that the sound of life will be replaced easily by bigger feels, stronger intuition, bulletproof telepathy when now it's somewhat unreliable, spotty coverage, like wifi on the point.

Guess who's on vacation? 

It's finished?

My part, yes. I don't have to go back. I'm only on call until Tuesday and Schuy said if anyone calls me they'll be fired. 

He climbs over the bench to sit on my other side, arm curling around me, pulling me in tight. What did I miss? 

I smile because I wonder if he's been home. We're here for appearances. 

Ben laughs, No, we're here to prop up Sam. 

Sam's doing better. 

It goes past appearances, I remind him of what I just said. He needs to know we've got him. 

I think he knows. He motions to Sam who comes over and leans toward us to hear whatever murmurs we're about to have with him when Lochlan grabs him fully and pulls him right over the bench into his lap.

How are you doing, Preacher? 

Good. Good. Nice to have you here. I need to see your faces today. He grins sheepishly, kissing Lochlan's cheek. He stands up and hugs me for a long time and moves along to Ben for a hug. Ben kisses him on the lips possibly with tongues involved and holds him hard while he does.

Oh. I love to watch these things.

Sam laughs with tears in his eyes. I needed that too. And Ben laughs and claps him gently on the back, letting him out of the row. We sit back down and listen as the whispers spool up behind us from those who disapprove of what I don't know. I'm sheltered. Maybe they think affection and church mix like oil and water. Maybe they think people shouldn't show their feelings. Maybe there should be no visible love between brothers. Maybe preachers shouldn't fall in love with their landladies and spend time in their beds. Maybe they can go fuck themselves. I'm not here for them. I'm not even here for God. I'm here because I want to support my friend who has supported me since forever and I'm not going to apologize for a goddamned thing anymore.

Except maybe replacing him with Duncan because I'm sure that will come up later. Whoops.

Bridget's not cool Vol. 73645246726

Love my boys. They presented me with a t-shirt last night that heralds a giant skull wearing headphones. I loved it so much. Then they pointed out I needed to see the back.

It says DEAF BEFORE DECAF.

I don't think I'll ever take it off but I also got my coffee back this morning with a warning to stick to one or maybe two cups at the most.

Roger that.

We're four episodes from the end of Lost in Space and I'm still on the fence. It has some good moments, lots of humor but then the overreaching weight of the blended family aspect leaves me believing that every single word that comes out of the dad's mouth is something the writer wishes his own dad would say. It's cloying and oppressive and I hate that part because instead of giving the show depth it takes its light and snuffs it out.

Oh well. On to brighter and better things soon.

I do love grabbing a pizza and eating slices without plates while we watch movies and television in the theatre room though. It's more the method than the media in this case, it's the company and the break from life. It's nice and I don't care if every show isn't my Favorite Show Ever, they're all of very good quality and all are very entertaining and sometimes that's all I want. that escapism.

Today is the Vancouver tattoo convention and I'm on the fence about that too. I've never been to one. I'm sure it's predictable. I'm tempted to go and wear white, because everyone will wear black. I'm tempted to get flash (I have tons, I'm not knocking it. New school butterflies EVERYWHERE.  I'm tempted to swallow my fears about being cool enough and just go.

I'm fairly certain I can hold my own in the tattoo department, as I have a full suit and take no shit for it, though I also have been know to cover every inch of myself with Dermablend for special occasions. Sometimes you just want them off. Sometimes they're tiring to the eyes. So much reading all the time. And yet I still feel like I didn't have an ounce of credibility until I got my knuckles done and the minute I did that (they spell LOCH LAN now with a heart at the end), the finish line moved to include face tattoos. I'm never ever doing that so I'll be back here with no chill. I'll let you know if I go, or rather you'll see me there. Dressed in white, don't forget. Because if I'm going to stick out, you're going to see me from outer space.

There's no place like Rome.

It's Friday, it's National Lima Bean Respect Day, and it's a day when we're watching the new Chef's Table season on Netflix so I don't have time to write. YEESH, people. Can't you see how busy I am watching pretentious food critic ladies gatekeeping proper gelato?

I know, right?

(Fun fact: Eight years ago when we moved here we went for a walk in Coal Harbour and stopped to get the kids some ice cream. The two tiny cones were $16 and the shop had a tip jar. My tip was to charge less, though in actuality I think I put a quarter in the jar, because I'm only sort-of an asshole.

That was my first inkling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.)

I almost wrote 'canvas' right there. I'm not caffeinated today. We did go out for brunch yesterday and Ben was pretty sure that along with forgetting his hash browns the server also forgot my decaf and probably gave me regular coffee. I could have run beside the truck to get home. I didn't fall asleep until four this morning. And still no one will let me near the coffee machine. Or outside so I can go to someone else's house and get some.

But yes! We're not in canvas anymore. We are in scratchy modal t-shirts though, which is too much fake for my poor skin which only seems to like boy flesh or organic cotton these days and everything else gives me hives again. So I'm hibernating with Netflix and nakedness in my room, just to try and ease the discomfort. I wouldn't notice it as much if I were distracted by my own energy levels but I'm not in charge here. This lady who demands we fly to Italy for the best gelato is, apparently. 

My hashbrowns read my future and other Thursday stories.

Fade away to the wicked world we left, and I become the dark of you
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within, as I become the dark of you
Let go
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world

Poor Asher put up with my music choices (The new Breaking Benjamin album Ember, the new Godflesh, the new A Perfect Circle on a loop for almost four hours while we sorted through 2017 in Batman's office. It's done and the pile for the shredder this year was knee-high. Because I'm not doing it, I guess. Between Jasper and I it never made it higher than about two inches. Asher keeps every scrap of paper that crosses Batman's desk, just in case. So he got a lesson in finesse and the art of being an efficient EA, instead of a just-plain thorough one.

He's great though. No airs, no bullshit, no history, no tension. And he's patient, between the music and the four cups of coffee I had between six and ten this morning which left me talking a mile a minute, singing when I decided I was probably talking too much and vibrating the rest of the time, when I wasn't talking or singing. That was fun, since when I left I ran smack into Jay, who was newly awake and heading for the same coffee pot I just finished. Whoops. He took the caffeine vibrations as fear and asked me with the most...Lochlanesque ire I've ever seen, that incredulous, passionate question that shows he's mad but not at you specifically,

Why are you afraid of me?

And I laughed because nervous, overly-caffeinated underslept caught-off-guard Bridget is a cold mess. I'm not. I've been drinking coffee all morning and I should have stopped three cups ago. It does this.

Wow.

Yeah.

Want me to walk you back?

I'm good, thank you. Enjoy your breakfast. I roll my eyes at myself at the banal formality and he laughs at my inability to be cool even as I seem to want so badly to be.

Catch you later.

When I get home I track down Ben. Did you know there's thunder at the beginning of Dark of You? I demand of him.

Yes. We heard it on Friday.

I didn't hear THAT.

Use your headphones. Thunder rolls in underneath my senses now, save for touch. I feel it. I remember what it sounds like. I meet his eyes briefly, long enough to see the concern flicker past like lightning. Why are you trembling?

Coffee.

Jesus, Bridge.

Asher doesn't know that rule.

Ah yes. How is Batman?

Good. I guess. He's in Hawaii having a break from his retirement. I roll my eyes again.

Why were you there? Ben's face takes on that stupid oh-right-Jay-lives-there assumption I hate but deserve anyway.

I was helping Asher do year end stuff. Remember? It's my job.

Your only job should be making me happy. He laughs and wags his tongue at me.

Oh, didn't I tell you? For the rest of the year, it is. I've been fired from everything else. Use me. I try to waggle my eyebrows at him. Between that and the jittery limbs I must look like a little blonde......glitch, for lack of a better word.

He laughs at my eyebrows. I need to teach you how to do this. But I'm not good with faces. I can read your emotions, your desires from a mile away but I can't read your lips and I can't control my expressions to save my soul. Luckily it was saved for me. My stomach growls and Ben laughs again.

All coffee, no food? You sound like there's a family of owls in there.

Yeah.

Let's go out for breakfast.

If we do that I'll want more coffee.

You can have all the coffee you want, as long as it's decaf this time.

I always forget about that.

Yes, I know.

(*Hey, did you know if you google 'Dark of you lyrics' one of the top suggestions in the search bar pops up as 'Dark side of you destiny potato'. Which made me laugh so hard I clicked through and listened to the song. And well, I don't even know what that was but it wasn't the worst thing I've ever heard. How long does it take for caffeine to leave your system again? Anyone?)

Fearless moral inventories (Bridget anonymous).

While Lochlan still marvels aloud at the fact that I'm old enough to understand that he was protecting me at every turn while we travelled and he had to be the bad guy more often than not (and not only do I recognize that but I forgive him for it), Sam is embarking on step four, having skipped right down the line, the first ones easy, fluid, reverent even.

This one will slow him down, as he highlights all of our defects too, a cutting honesty he'll wield like a weapon before moving on to step five, ignoring the fallout until he gets to steps eight and nine, in which he comes back around to make his amends.

It's a necessary evil like so many others and we're used to it. We'll pick him up, helping him along the way and we'll forgive him as we look in the mirror to see that he's right.

(No one is ever wrong when they're telling you what your 'problems' are. It's what you do with that information that makes it worthwhile. Some have thick skins. Some throw punches. Some leave. Some improve. Some reflect the words back and refuse to accept them. Some don't show up to hear them. Some have very tissue-thin, translucent skin and love you for the attention you've given them and never ever forget the words you say for the rest of their lives when they look at you and it makes them want to cry every. damn. time.)

(I'll let you decide who is who.)

It's a ruthless, brutal, even fatalistic life. I've said many times we share certain aspects, certain parts of our personalities that match, qualities I demand and will defend until the day I die. Our vulnerability shouldn't be so prevalent, but it is and it's what makes us us.

Thin skin? Line up over here, behind me. I think I got the worst of it, honestly. And then Matt showed up with some words that cut even deeper than Sam's, because he cares, he said, as if we don't and I realized he's a stranger. A charming, easygoing, quick-tempered interloper who knows nothing about us.  Sam didn't let him stay long, everything is under control and I think Matt just serves to be fuel on a fire that burns so quietly we can't see the spark. Sam will be okay. He's tougher than Ben, tougher than most even as he shares the thin skin I seem to wear on my bones.

I think the whole point should go dry. I know Ben said it's a personal decision to touch the alcohol and it's not up to everyone around the person to shield them. I know all the talks, read all the books, heard all the advice but BUT at the same time if I hadn't been holding that drink Sam wouldn't have taken it from me and all the meetings in the world won't change that fact.

This isn't your fault, they all say. I look around at this Collective, this point, this tiny little universe of mine and I know damn well it is.

I could write a book about it but you'd cry so I'll do it piecemeal instead.

It's a sunny day today, windy with fast-moving clouds. It's cold. I did that thing everyone sort of hates but doesn't where I went to sleep with the blinds up, curtains open, windows open and woke up thinking I might be outside. Sleeping outside is underrated. I want to sleep on our balcony but Lochlan said it's not a good idea.

Why not? 

Because our room is beautiful and it's safe. There are bears outside. 

They're not going to climb the eavestroughs. 

They might. 
 
Really? But I know it's a moot point. If Lochlan has a choice he will pick indoors, under a roof because that's what you do if you can.

Sometimes we haven't had a choice. Sometimes it's a little fun when you're young to get woken up by goats nuzzling you, bees in your hair, sunshine on your face. Apparently if you're slightly older than I was, it's terrifying. Of course it would be. Lochlan bore the gravity of our situation by himself and made it into a magical adventure for me.

Bless his heart, though hard as I try he won't let me do the same for him now.

1984/2018 (Don't know if it matters since it's the same conversation).

Let the calm rise up
So graceful
Every wasted word
So faithful

Tame the fire from within
You won't break me
Love will tie the tourniquet
And suffocate me

He looked cross. Cross and exhausted. Finish up your breakfast, Peanut. I gotta get going. 

I looked out the window and he struck his hand on the table. EAT.

I jumped fifty feet, hitting my head on the clouds, knocking myself out, choking back honey on toast, swallowing bites whole, breathing in juice until I coughed myself blue.

Bridget. 

I look away again, out the window to the sea where no one fights, no one orders, no one yells, and no one disappears either.

Bridget, I'm sorry. 

The sea is so blue-

BRIDGET. 

WHAT?!

Look at me.

No.

See you tonight. He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap, kissing my cheek, stroking it, resting his head against mine. I love you. 

I say it back but nothing comes out. I'm scared if I try harder to talk so he can hear me I'll start screaming for him to stay.

Eleven years ago I would have told you you were crazy.

My birthday weekend was almost six weeks ago, Bridge. He says it openly, not in a whining sense but just flat. As a fact. I was wondering if maybe you're done haunting galleries alone if you'd come over this evening. 

I stare at him. I want to point out I wasn't alone. John came with me because he was free and he shadowed me because no one is comfortable if I just head off somewhere far from home alone. John is the best bodyguard and he got to see all of the Murakami works once more while I talked with Poseidon until closing time. I would make enquiries as to buy the Scherman painting but I also don't know where I'd put it. My walls are full. Everything Lochlan paints goes up. Everything I paint goes up and some of my favourite pieces Cole did are still up. Then there are the photographs. We have a big family. I don't think there's a free space left.

I stare at Caleb some more while I think. Maybe he just wants to twist my arms because I open admitted my feelings for Sam. Those feelings haven't ever changed. I've loved him forever. The part the boys keep forgetting is that I'm not going to leave anyone for him.

Caleb reads my mind and reassures me. I understand. It's just difficult. And I don't want to talk about them. I'd just like some time. Hot chocolate and movies. Maybe stay the night. 

Oh. Will we be up for church tomorrow?

No, Bridget. Not this weekend. It's been too busy as it is. 

He has a point.

***

This morning I bolted, gasping, out of my dream but I was pinned in Caleb's arms, blankets pushed down around waist-level. Not cold though, he keeps the heat on. The sun is peeking thought the skylights which means it's late and he lifts his head and kisses my forehead.

Good morning, Neamhchiontach. These are the best days for me. 

I stare at the framed photograph on the wall. The one of Cole whispering against my head as I wait for his direction during a shoot,  the fairytale ballerina series everyone loved so much. And I know how Caleb feels to pin all of his comfort, all of his happiness on one person. I keep doing it over and over and I never learn either.

A girl, a rainy Friday night, a membership card.

(I may have fixed the issue I had when uploading decent-quality photographs! You can click to make them larger but I can't get rid of the heavy black frames around them. I will keep working at it.)

When the going got tough, the not-so-tough picked up her handbag and went to see Bombhead, which was a terrible exhibit, frankly. Far more seventies-educational than evocative art, and bore the weight of history without comment or expression.

The gallery was EMPTY. I mean, not just lacking in the usual rude crowds but completely empty. I was the only one upstairs.

Back downstairs and still no people.

Empty, I tell you. What a gift.

On my way back down I detoured to spend a little more time with Poseidon. Isn't he something? The photograph does him no justice but he listens well.

Noel Coward said it best: "It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit."

Held out in the rain underneath an industrial beat so hard I drowned and was brought back just in time. A kiss takes the breath I was about to embark on and then I'm put down somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere far more dangerous than I first realize.

Focusing is so hard. It's not bright enough. I'm still riding the high of yesterday and I can't seem to find the floor even as I'm on it. The killing floor, possibly as Diabhal is having none of this.

The hell is this. He says it quietly.

Keeping myself busy while they're gone. I smirk at him and his whole face twists into some new level of anger that I haven't poked in a long time but hell, let's do it. Let's self-destruct, co-destruct, tandem-destruct, whatever you want, Baby. I'm ready.

Where's Lochlan? 

WORKING. 

No, he's right here. We both look and there he is in the door. He wants to know why you've got his wife by the throat. 

While we're both making sure she's taken care of and her children, your child, are taken care of, financially speaking, she's off doing something that breaks the rules. 

Is she? I see Lochlan shifting sides. Ever so slightly.

Did I?

Yes. What's the one thing we told you not to do when it's concerning Sam? That you could do whatever you want, except for one thing?

Don't fall in love. I parrot the reminder robotically, automatically.

Don't fall in love. And look what you've gone and done. 

(Fuck it.) You think I just did that yesterday?

Post selfless.

Wait
Wait
Wait
For wings

Now
Run
Run
From me

I sit up so quickly I get dizzy, whipping the quilts off my head, leaving my hair a beautiful mess. Almost a bedhead-bob. Almost long again.

What is this?!

Godflesh. 

Figures. 

Coincidence. But it sounds like Nine Inch Nails, don't you think?

No way. I don't like them. And it's somewhat insular to compare every industrial metal band to NIN. 

That's very true. It's fashionable to be insular though, Bridget. 

Yes, it is. 

So we can blame our small town upbringings? 

Sure-  Abruptly he pulls me back down underneath the quilts, making me squeal and I forget all about the music.

He called this moon old once, when we were on the road and I made jokes about it for the rest of life.

So you think you're lonely
Well my friend I'm lonely too

Last night was the first chance to get everyone out on the patio for dinner since forever. Heaters were on but it really wasn't that cold until late. We had burgers and salad, olives, cheese and wine. Lochlan played DJ and August helped him, sticking with eighties ballads and mostly light stuff. Caleb sat on the steps with a drink and didn't say much. John played along with the songs on his guitar as he was inspired and Ruth and Henry disappeared to play games with their friends online the moment their plates were clean.

Sam and I sit smushed together in an adirondack chair watching Daniel and Schuyler slow-dance. 

I'm so jealous, I say abruptly, my eyes widening at my own admission. Apparently I'm a little more drunk than I was half an hour ago. 

Of their dance or something else?

I don't know. Maybe of just everything. They have colorful histories but they're so committed to each other. 

And you envy that? Why? Don't you think Lochlan is committed to you?

Sometimes I think Lochlan and I are looking for the absolute best way to hurt each other and it's disguised as forever. 

Wow. Ask for a spare marble, get a cannonball. Do you want to go inside and talk for a bit? Maybe sober up a little, Jesus, Bridget. This doesn't help matters. 

Helps my matters. And no. I might miss my shot at a dance. 

You can ask him, you know. 

No, I have to wait for him to ask me. I look at Lochlan and he looks away when he catches my eye. I know the music took him somewhere, probably to better times when we were scared and homeless. Hungry, ruined. Whatever. He'll still claim it was better than this is. He's stubborn like that.

You two are children. 

Yes. 

I can bring him in and we can talk together. 

Or, you know, you could stop being a reverend all the time and just have some fun. 

Not when my friend is hurting. 

Your friend is always hurting. 

Then I will always reverend, he whispers, finishing my drink so I won't. 

Selling them the fear of hell and fairy tales absurd.

And we're here at the end
The final descent
One minute here
and the next you're dead and gone

No light music today, instead I'm torturing myself with one of my favorites. Gravesend, a band so heavy you can't even pick them up, with a muddy, positively filthy guitar sound wrapped around lyrics I can only pick out parts of, just enough to know I love it, just enough to let it carry me off into the dark again.

When they want to be that heavy, I mean. Dead and Gone is a perfect song, maybe just for me. I put on Ben's headphones and let the music order my emotions into their places. Then I let the words sink in, marking my skin permanently, keeping me awake, keeping me in pins and needles, forcing me into that dark with eyes wide.

Are you going to discount everything I try to do here now, Neamhchiontach? The Devil's question rests against my ears, with no room left to crawl inside.

I don't know yet, I think. But I'm fairly certain my thoughts are blocked by all this beautiful noise.

Well there is only now in the future
There’s a truth you don’t hear much now do you
Hold the absolute that’s running through you
And be like you belong

PJ and I scrubbed the house this morning. Kitchens, bathrooms, floors. Windows open, incense burning. Foy Vance on super loud, in spite of his protests. In spite of his plea for Testament or Sepultura or hell, we can listen to Def Leppard if you want, Bridge but not this. 

But I like this. 

Well okay then. 

We're trying to keep control of the dust and the footprints and the general filth that comes from having a house that's partially torn apart and I'm also trying not to get into it with Caleb for the same reason though I took the color swatches he gave them for paint (it's. almost. done.) and threw them out and said in no uncertain terms were they to use those colors. They've already purchased the paint, Emmett said, as if I would say okay fine, please paint my whole house dark grey. On the inside. 

Caleb thought I would love it.

I do, for his house but not for this one.

This one's getting white everything. And everything that's not white will be black. And here and there in different rooms will be punches of ochre or smokey teal or medium grey. But the walls will be white and god help them they needed to buy heavy duty scrubbable paint anyway. We're not a museum, we're a functional family household and the house gets lived in. Fingerprints everywhere, paint everywhere. Kerosene and guitar picks and cookie crumbs and endless coffee cups. Don't give me something I can't clean.

I think I like to clean.

It's cathartic, like running used to be only now when I finish my reward is that my chores are done.

Disciples, discipline (Jesus referee).

When I wake up everyone is gone and Jake is kneeling by the edge of the bed praying. Arms covering his beautiful blonde waves as he always prayed, as if bombs were falling from the sky.

They are, he would laugh. Psychic bombs. Bombs of doubt, of hesitation, bombs of denial. 

He looks up when I touch his head and he goes out of focus straight away, as I haven't been this close to him in months, years, maybe. Tears flow down the side of my face into my hair. He wipes them away and smiles at me gently. I can see right through his face.

Don't wear the ring, Princess. His voice. I can feel it in my blood, the deep bass pumping with each heart beat.

I don't want to. I feel like they're forcing me to. 

Do you want me to go to them?

You can do that?

Yes. It just takes a lot of energy so I prefer to visit you instead. I don't know if it's finite. 

It isn't, Jake, you've been gone so long. 

This is my fault. Ghosts have remorse. Film at eleven.

It is. 

You would have left me for Loch anyway. 

Probably. But you'd still be here. 

Yes. Like the rest. 

Then come back. 

I can't, Baby. But I can help protect you from Caleb. 

He's not going to hurt me. 

He's still fucking with you. Why not ask him if he cares so much about you now to prove it and eliminate the ring from your current stresses. 

Oh. I didn't think of that. 

It blows my mind that no one suggested that. 

See? We need you and you checked the fuck out. 

Bridget, I-

Just go away, Pooh. I hate myself for saying it and when I open my eyes again he's gone and Lochlan is standing there.

I was coming to wake you up for brunch and you were talking in your sleep. Quite lucidly, actually. 

Jake was here. Or he was you. Or maybe he's shapeshifting to stick around. I don't know. I don't want to wake up now. 

I close my eyes and turn away. I hear Lochlan leave after a minute and I press my fists against my chest, hunching down into a ball. It hurts so bad.

***

When I woke up again everyone was out and instead of catching up with them for church I decided to go to hell instead. Caleb is having a slow morning too, shirt half-buttoned, bare feet, dress pants, no Breitling, no tie, uncombed wet hair. When I see him the tears start before the words and his eyes cloud over with concern.

What is it, Neamhchiontach. 

And I tell him. I tell him if he loves me and he wants to be a part of my life then he needs to not pull stunts and force me to do things like wear jewelry that I don't even trust fully. That if he's changed and he's trying then he needs to remove as much stress from this relationship as he can, not add to it.

He is rocked backwards, his eyes welling up too. I didn't mean to hurt you with this. I wanted it to be something that reassured you. 

It doesn't! It scares me and you just keep strongarming me. This isn't how it's done! 

He goes and sits on the edge of the big chair, hands pressed together at his mouth. I'm so sorry, Bridget. 

Take it back, have it undone. I'm not wearing it. 

He stands up and comes to me, pulling the ring off my finger, putting it in his pocket, kissing me hard.

I'm sorry, he says again, and I can barely hear him now. And he kisses the top of my head and shoves me out the door before I can absorb his disappointment or risk his change of heart.

Indigo people.

Sam created a rescue party of one, after the weird paralysis of damn near everyone else took over and he realized that something was more off than previously thought.

Something's always off with Caleb. Caleb's always angled for a better purchase on something he wants. This ring erodes the steadfastness of my army. It gives him a foot in the door and now it's wedged open again whereas before it was firmly closed. He brought the ring back over and put it on my finger, glowering when I pointed out that finger is for wedding rings and also that finger is far too small for that ring so he settled for my middle finger, right beside my other rings, Ben's wedding band and Lochlan's heart-shaped diamond wedding set.

That's not comfortable, I complain, moving it to the middle finger of my right hand. He rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything and probably twenty minutes after I leave he'll discover I left it in the bottom of my drink again. Ice with ice. I'm so done with this. If he won't have reduced to its value and put it back in the bank I'm going to have to.

Sam is not all that worried, fresh off Easter faith and on holidays for a couple of weeks, ready to dive back into the exploded ruins of my memory and sort it all out again. He tries to keep up with me but it's hard and for all of his organizing and filing I have a tendency to pull drawers out and dump them all over the floor the moment he leaves, looking for the things I need, not knowing where he put them.

He reassures me that he'll stay with us to help find everything that's been lost and we spend the whole night talking. Sometimes I fall asleep while he and Lochlan talk. Sam has his arm around Lochlan's shoulder. Sometimes they listen to me when I wake up enough to participate in the conversation, and sometimes I leave Lochlan's other side to push into the centre, between them. I put my hands up to Lochlan's face and ask him what Caleb threatened him with and he finally says that it wasn't anything specific, that Caleb reminded him of what happens when I get too far from him, that I turn inwards and start tearing myself and those around me apart and he thinks everything needs to be left the way it is. He assured him of the ring's meaning to prove that he wants it left the way it is and for whatever reason, be it childhood loyalties, exhaustion or naivité Lochlan believes him and told him that he's going to hold Caleb to that promise. Caleb told him he just wants me to be happy.

Sam believes that too.

I still don't know if I do but Ben shows up and takes Sam's other side and all the arms are wrapped around everyone and I fall asleep in the sweetest, safest group hug and I don't hold my breath. I don't clench my teeth. I don't even dream.

Tiny Friday scaries, tiny Friday braves.

I sent a whole host of reputed goldsmiths inquiries as to what I can do with a six-figure ring if the recipient doesn't accept it. I signed Caleb's name and used his email.

I can't wait for him to get the replies.

In the meantime I left the ring in a glass of water on the counter beside the kitchen sink. Come and steal it, it's well-insured and there's no such thing as a heirloom in this day and age. The only expensive piece I've ever kept from Caleb is the Breitling. I tell the boys if I ever get mugged for it I'll most likely die because I won't be giving it up. No sir. Shoot me if you have to.

Loch said just not to talk about the ring.

For once he doesn't want to talk? Makes me wonder what he got. Threats or a present too? I haven't seen the latter so I'll have to guess the former which means I have to tear him down later to find out what Caleb has bullied him with. You know, if Lochlan ever stops working, I mean.

Since everything else has gone to hell this means the highlight of this week was my beautiful Benjamin, sobbing very quietly last evening watching the final game played by the Sedin twins, who are retiring from the Canucks after eighteen years. They started out great, but I think they overstayed. They need to coach the team though, that would be awesome. Ben tells me I'm blasphemous and not to say anymore. He heads downstairs to weep softly into his microphone or maybe into his guitar hole.

Forced into silence I called Joel.

Joel remains mildly alarmed and wonders out loud what Caleb is doing now and then I realize he's being an energy vampire and I tell him I have to go.

I go to see Daniel but he isn't home.

I go to see August but he's also moderately alarmed and I don't want to talk about Caleb.

I go see Caleb.

Where is the ring?

I lost it, I lie. He knows I'm lying because I'm not good at this.

Go fetch it and then we'll have a drink. To celebrate making it official. 

Making what official? 

Girlfriend/boyfriend status? He laughs.

Which means the pressure's on now, huh. 

No, it isn't. I want to die formally involved with someone I'm proud of. 

Then you should ask Ben to marry you. 

He's not my type. 

Too big? 

Maybe. He laughs again. Seriously. Go get it, Bridge. I need some happiness. I'm glad you're here. 

I told you. I lost it. 

You didn't. 

I did, I went swimming and it must have fallen off. 

Funny, since PJ sent me a picture of it earlier in a glass in your kitchen. 

The traitor. 

I think he was trying to rub it in that you're not wearing it. 

Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. 

So you put it in a glass. 

I was going to freeze it but I got distracted by Ben's grief for the twins. 

What? 

The Canucks. 

Oh. Yes, well, go and get the fucking ring before I do it for you. 

You can go get it if you want. 

Don't go anywhere, Bridget. 

What if I do? 

You'll wish you hadn't. 

Yeah, I wouldn't date a guy who threatens me. 

And yet here we are.

Shotgun picks the music, driver shuts his cakehole.

What are you running from?
Taking pills to get along
Creating walls to call your own
So no one catches you drifting off and
Doing all the things that we all do

Caleb is driving, therefore I get to put on playlists as loud as they will go. This one is called YESTERDAYS, which means every song has the word Yesterday in the title. It's ridiculous. I only turn it up until I can feel the melody in my very blood and no further, though if you ask those with perfect hearing they may claim it's a volume that hurts. They're not wrong. It hurts me too and I like it.

We have business downtown. I keep saying he should summon everyone to the point instead, because even the bankers will come to you now but he prefers to keep business in offices and keep home for not working much at all anymore. We split up for two meetings, meeting back up for the third and end with brunch, which to him is a good enough reason to head downtown. We find a patio that isn't even open for the season as of yet but he speaks with someone and soon we are seated alone outside under the first turns of the newly serviced heaters. Every place has them here. We have them at home. It makes a nice difference but I leave my coat on nonetheless. Might have to make a quick getaway. Might have to make sure my food isn't poisoned. Might have to face this firing squad of one as he calmly reloads, missing me by a hair's breadth over and over again.

Why this song? 

It's sad. It hurts. 

And this is good?

Oh, yes. It also has no history for me. I like that part more. 

I remember this, I think. You were out of school.

Yes. 

I was already practicing. 

Yes. 

Seems like a million years ago. 

Twenty years. 

Jesus Christ. Do you not SEE how time is speeding past? He begins to speed. I jumped forty feet when he yelled. I would have launched myself out of the car had it featured a sunroof.

Diabhal, please slow dow-

Keep the fucking ring, Bridget. Know that it represents all of my promises to you with assurances that I don't expect more than I have but I want to-no, I NEED to legitimatize this relationship and the only way I can see to do that is to have you wear a ring from me. 

If you were secure in your own-

It's not for me. It's for you. And I ran it by Lochlan. He didn't care. 

Don't believe him because he's lying to you. 

Maybe he and the rest of the Collective enjoy the lifestyle they've become accustomed to. Maybe the threat of losing it on a whim by a girl with a head full of stars and cotton candy is a difficult threat to live under every single day. 

Then maybe you should give them rings and they would have that security. 

They believe in you, Bridget. 

Well, that's dumb. But I say it under my breath, facing away from him, looking out the window at the cold rain on the streets as we drive home. The ring is heavy on my finger but heavier on my heart.

Let's talk about anything but my love life today, okay?

I finished Hoffman's Rules of Magic. Yes, I know it took me over four months but some nights I don't get to read. Well, most nights I don't get to read, not to mention it took me a good two hundred and fifty pages to even like the book. It was difficult to catch onto and I felt like the first half was a rehash of it's sequel, Practical Magic, with scant interest in the main characters (the aunts, Frannie and Jet (short for BRIDGET *screams*)) and their brother Vincent. Until their aunt dies and BOOM. The book comes to life and I cry and I sob and then more people die and it's so beautiful suddenly and it ends right where Practical Magic picks up which is a perfect place to stop and I don't know if I could be an Alice Hoffman fan or not. She weaves a good story, albeit with a massive slow build I wasn't expecting, and has moments of pure brilliance in her writing that take one's breath away but surrounding that is a mountain of lazy editing, in that the repetition, the detail doesn't hold my attention.

Will try a third one of hers, though, since I think it's me.

But up next is Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked. I haven't been this excited about a book since Geek Love, honestly. It takes a lot to get me to go looking for a book. They usually find me. 

C8H11NO2

Until I get proof that you've taken it back.

I can't. I told you, it's bespoke.

Then sell it.

Bridget-

Sell it for parts. You can sell loose diamonds, have the metal melted back down, sell it by weight. There's a way. Stop being difficult.

He laughs. I'm being difficult.

Yes, you are. You know where we stand and it isn't at the place you've made in your head.

It isn't at the one you've made either. He isn't smiling anymore.

But mine wins.

Bridget, I don't play by their rules.

You don't have to play by their rules. You have to play by mine. Stop being all menacing and just take it back! JESUS. 

He laughs again. I love you when you're desperate and frustrated. You revert right back to that stubborn ten-year-old.

I grab my phone and walk out. I tried. Guess we're done. He did indeed wear me down. Just not in the way he thought he would.

Hyperextensibles.

Ben woke me out of sound sleep last night, pulling me away from Lochlan, up into his arms, pressing his face into the space between my ear and my shoulder, exhaling as he held me so tight he would have to breathe for both of us, because I couldn't any longer and that's what woke me up.

He put me down underneath him, pulling my arms up around his neck, forcing my legs around his hips, kissing me softly as he moved to become a part of me. I pulled myself up hard against him and I'm no longer touching the earth, just Ben. It's a memory come back to life. He's still here. He still breathes. He still reaches for me in the way I reach for him.

One arm pulls me up so hard I don't have any control anymore, before being pushed back down just as hard, pinned tightly underneath him. His eyes are huge in the dark but he doesn't say anything, he just wants to make sure I'm awake.

I nod without words. Who needs words? We don't.

An eternity later we're up, sitting together, limbs tangled, euphoria achieved. I'm afraid I might be hurt if I move. He won't let that happen. I lock my arms around his neck tightly to protect myself as he holds me up slightly, bringing me down just enough that he loses his grip on the night completely, sliding into the dark, taking me with him. He gets up and forces me back down on my face, pulling me up away from earth again. I feel Lochlan's hands take mine and he is there and no way. Not doing this. Ben puts his hand over my eyes, pulling my head back against his chest. No no no. I flail against Lochlan's arms but he presses his head against mine, just above Ben's hand.

We won't hurt you, he promises but I don't believe him. Instead I fight and Ben pulls me back, flipping me down onto my back, pinning my arms and legs.

It's fine. 

I shake my head. Lochlan smooths my bangs back, whispering shhhh against my temple. Headphones are put on me and I close my eyes and dive deep down into the music where they can't find me.

I feel myself pulled up into thin air and Lochlan is behind me now. They stroke my head, my face, my skin. Once the goosebumps go away, once I stop fighting, once I forget and go back to the music, all muscles relaxed, they take over and I let them.

I can't breathe. The music is so loud. We're moving but we're not moving. Lochlan's arms are locked around me so hard I feel like my ribs will break but it's also the least of my worries somehow.

The sensory overload kills me dead and I am resurrected all in the same night. If only it were this easy. If only this were easy. If only. Easy. If. 

Sweet fools, glittery Jesus.

I woke up hoping for a miracle but prepared for a lot of work. Easter is busy, but April Fools is busier. I was pouring coffee and passing out waffles to a lot of not-ready-for-church goers when someone pointed out a PWC was coming in from somewhere, to our docks.

We all went outside and there was the big bunny, in an ill-fitting new suit, with a wetsuit underneath and a backpack. It was one of our waverunners, and now I need another bunny head, since this one isn't going to survive the spray. I just replaced it last year in time for Batman's turn too. They're very expensive.

The bunny charged up the stairs, breaking into various boys' signature runs to keep us guessing as we did random head counts and tried to figure out who it was. Who was missing. Who's turn it was.

Once the bunny got close enough he began to drill eggs at the boys. Underhand, overhand, he passed a few out gently, he left a few on the steps. He dropped the backpack and came to me, dipping me backwards, low, before leaving me upright with a big foil-wrapped chocolate egg in my hands and he took off up the driveway, never to be seen again.

We collected the eggs that weren't handed specifically to a person and piled back inside to finish breakfast. No one could figure out by the body type or walk who it was. Maybe Batman again? Maybe we hired an outside performer? Where is Loch, oh, no, there he is. No, the bunny was too tall anyway to be Loch, that's for certain.

They were all still marvelling as they went to get ready for church, and it wasn't until they went to put their wallets and phones in pockets that they realized everything was filled with glitter. Soft glitter. Undangerous glitter I now buy in buckets. Shirt pockets, breast pockets. Watch pockets. Everything is full.

We get to church and Sam is already there, trying to shop-vac glitter off himself in time for early resurrection rained-in service. The most sombre and exciting of all. I always hope it will be Jake but I've learned to eat that anticipation so that I don't disappoint his friends when it isn't. Maybe today will be different. What an ultimate, cruel April Fools joke that would be. He would win everything.

But he didn't come back so we group ourselves around the collection plate when it comes down our row and fill it with eggs, and since it's full, PJ returns it to the front, leaving it on the table, fetching a new one to pass to the row behind us.

Sam is wrapping up his service when the first chick hatches, a fuzzy little wobbly-damp orange blob in the collection plate. Then they all do over the next fifteen minutes and Sam is overrun with sleepy new baby chicks that we quickly help him scoop up to put in a large box.

He grins from ear to ear as he tells the congregation to have peaceful easters (knowing ours won't be) and that God loves them.

We were home and having second coffee, kids were finally up (they don't go to church much) and telling them of our exciting morning as several of the boys did house checks to figure out who the heck the bunny was.

They couldn't tell for certain but Andrew came in as the biggest contender. Right size, and hasn't been the bunny in a very long time. But until he confirms or denies we have to wait.

Sam finally gets in, the box of chicks taken happily back by a nearby hobby farm up the other side of the cove who I've been working with to find timely eggs. Sam is still covered with glitter mostly, complaining that it made him look like he just rolled in from a bar or something and put on a suit and went straight to church but I said it made him look like a Twilight vampire instead and he laughed for so long he was no longer annoyed.

When, over brunch the boys came to the conclusion finally that I must have hired someone to be the bunny this year I finally spilled the jellybeans, even as we were interrupted by PJ pouring juice and swearing that there was glitter in fucking EVERYTHING here, (which makes me so fucking happy actually but don't worry, in the food it's food-grade cake glitter, just enough to make its presence known, not enough to change the taste of anything. Much.)

It was someone who lives here. It was one of us. 

Everyone's accounted for! Someone's lying! Where was August when the bunny hit the grass? Maybe it was more than one person? The questions rose up and I started to laugh. Been waiting forever to pull this one off.

I can't believe we fooled you-

TELL US! 

Henry stands up and waves, and I hold out my arms to indicate him and bow, for this was the best April Fools ever. And possibly the sweetest, because for the first time they saw him as one of the brothers, and not as a child. He really isn't a child anymore. He's bigger than half of them and now they see he's faster too.

Hang on to your britches, bitches.

Emmett has brought me a large coffee every single morning that he's been here since Wednesday. I've never had such a productive week. Eventually someone's going to tell him it's a bad idea and he'll apologetically stop but for now it's nice. He's trying to bond with me. I'm not dumb. If you asked him behind my back he would say he's just trying to make this transition easier and being polite to the owner of the house, plus it gives her a chance to voice concerns if he can check in each morning. That's what he will say when you ask, trust me.

I give them to Lochlan after drinking a quarter of them and I'm still contemplating painting the house while I single-handedly do massive spring cleaning jobs and Lochlan repeatedly wonders aloud why caffeine is such an incredible boost to me when no other medication seems to do a damned thing. They're practically fogging me with horse tranquilizers to get me to sleep half the time and so this is a strange turn for certain.

But the work is almost done. And I'm glad for the fact that for the next two days no workmen will be here and neither will Emmett which will mean no coffee curses but also a lot of room to plan and exact the biggest mashup of holidays in the history of this collective: April Fools' Day and Easter Sunday, falling on the same day for the first time EVER in our lives.

We're all doomed. It's going to be great. I'm ready. I think they are too.

Cross.

On the walk today Caleb caught up with the group and tried to talk to me. I smiled and told him I'd see him later. The hopefulness that bubbled into his expression was quickly shadowed by the realization that I was blowing him off and he listened to me, falling back with Schuyler, who probably wouldn't have talked to him had he known. We weren't supposed to talk anyway. We were supposed to walk and reflect on someone that we've lost. 

Everyone went. I'm fairly certain half of the boys thought of Cole. Ben and Danny thought of their parents. The rest of us thought of Jake. I find it so incredible that the same faith that is supposed to fill us with hope seems content that it gets pushed out with despair but Sam squeezes my hand and tells me to wait. That before the weekend is over maybe a miracle will change my mind. 

I don't know if I have any faith left. I don't know if I believe in fairy tales anymore and yet I look at Lochlan, who is out of his element and vaguely uncomfortable in his good brown suit, hair tied back neatly, head cold, probably wishing for his top hat. Shoes pinching his toes, hand cramped because he won't let go of mine, and I won't let go right back. 

It was the longest service of holy week, unscheduled to be so but made difficult by the walk Sam chose, over rockier patches. He wanted it to be difficult. He wanted it to be slow. He has a lot of senior worshippers. It took almost an hour by itself so he cut his sermon short and we spread out to each find someone to help back to the parking lot from the water's edge. 

When we got home, PJ and John, Ben and I started whipping up french toast and bacon and Sam marvelled on the sweet touch of all of the boys finding someone they could help with the walk. He said if only they could help each other the way they help total strangers, their fellow humans while they spend so much time fighting amongst themselves, with the very people they live with and love, the people they proclaim to be family. The guilt that resonated through the room, around the table while he spoke is our penance today, and that maybe salvation is just around the corner. 

After lunch everyone scattered to spend time with each other and do quiet things. And I excused myself with a thousand promises that I would be back in a few minutes. That I just wanted to check in with Caleb and confirm his attendance on Sunday and maybe remind him of why he needs to stop trying to break all the rules and I needed to do that alone because he and Lochlan already had a really awful throwdown last night over this anyway. 

I knock on Caleb's front door and he opens it. He's got a fresh whiskey and is still wearing his suit jacket, though his tie is missing and his top two shirt buttons are undone. 

Drink? He doesn't look happy to see me. It's a first.

No, thank you. 

What can I do for you? 

I told you I'd speak with you later when we were at church so it's later and here I am. 

Didn't think you'd show. 

I'm the female Jesus. You waited and I appear. 

Oh, that isn't as funny as it is true, Bridget. And I didn't do anything I haven't done before. I took a chance. That's all. That's how you get ahead in life. It's called a risk index. 

I'm aware. But when it comes to human emotions and love, especially, you can't take a formula out of economics and apply it across the board. 

Why not? 

Because humans aren't investment products, they-  Oh. He's got me. But money doesn't have emotions, contrary to popular belief! 

Doesn't it? Comfort in peace of mind. Safety. Happiness. I call bullshit, Princess. 

Don't call me that. 

Don't take on Lochlan's opinions as your own. Think for yourself. 

I do! 

Then let me formalize this. 

I can't. 

Why not? 

Because that's not in my future. 

When are you going to realize that some hag in a scarf seeing something in a crystal ball isn't your future, it was your entertainment. You went on a thrill ride and it ended the minute you walked out of her trailer. 

No, it didn't. 

Touché. 

So take it back, now that you know for certain where you stand. 

I think I'll keep it for another day. Maybe a decade. Wear you down. 

Won't work for you the way it worked for Jake (I pick up the obvious dig). 

Why not? 

Because your brother gave me more than enough of an excuse to run. He made me miserable. Lochlan doesn't suffer from the same issues the rest of you seem to sport. 

Oh, doesn't he, Bridget? 

Not in the slightest. 

Then if you're so sure of him, and of yourself, take the risk. 

You need to learn to listen better. 

I do. Better than you. 

I don't say anything, leaving before I lose this war of words. 

He reads my mind. Too late for that.

Well, then the Pope clearly hasn't met CALEB.

(Condemned souls just disappear, he says now. Right. Tell that to Cole.)

(Also, Caleb crossed a boundary when he got home like a goddamned finish line and I'm not speaking to him or about him today. Easter may be about fresh starts but he'll be lucky if I speak to him before Christmas.)

I'm busy trying to teach PJ Out on the Mira anyway. And I'm playing guitar along (haltingly, trust me) with singing so he can appreciate it better. It's really hard to do both and my fingers hurt. So does my heart when I sing it, really it does.

But it's Friday. It ain't raining and I already know who the rollerblading bunny is this year. So there are good things too.

There are always good things.

But hell is real.

Sorry to burst your bubbles. 

I like to think predictability is a feature, not a bug.

I called Caleb at an ungodly hour this morning to thank him and managed to dig myself a hole that I might never grow big enough to crawl out of.

Is he my present?

Who?

Emmett. We were introduced this morning. I really appreciate you shifting things around like this-

Bridget, what on earth are you talking about?

Emmett. 

Who is Emmett? Who's home with you? Put Lochlan on the phone-

He's at work. It's a pathetic admission from me, as Lochlan could charm the pants off a lightpost, telling me he'd be home more and then promptly doing what he always does, leave for work. I don't want to say there were tears and a little bit of an argument but he needs to remember you can't make promises to a child and then not-

Okay, just nevermind.

I flounced downstairs after my shower and appropriate-length sulk and PJ was standing in the foyer, arms crossed, having the best chat with a total stranger and a few of the regular people who are here working on the house every day.  The stranger smiled at me, elbowed his way through the group to greet me, shook my hand, complimented my property and then handed me a very large, very forbidden take-out coffee from Tim Hortons.

I took a chance that you might like coffee? 

Oh, shit, PJ says under his breath.

I do. Thank you! 

Emmett is taking over from Ransom now that our renovations are well underway and I want to say almost done but that would be optimistic. No one will tell me a date though. I've asked.

I take a sip of my gifted coffee and look at my watch. In about two hours the caffeine is going to hit me like a freight train and I'll have to be restrained. It's just the way things are. But in the meantime, Emmett doesn't seem to suffer from the bristling arrogance that plagued Ransom's very (creepy) being and I like him already.

He must have found it mutual, as he proceeded to give me his personal cell number and assurances that if I had any questions, concerns or problems to not hesitate to call him day or night and that he'd stay out of my way, but also work to keep us up to date as well as to be sure this project is completed on time.

Remind me of the date again?

Bridget, you should go make sure Henry's up. PJ's growl makes me choke on my next sip.

(For fuck's sake's PJ, I'm trying to flirt here.) I shoot PJ a glare but thank Emmett for the coffee again and head back upstairs only to find out Henry isn't even upstairs and is in the kitchen so I call Caleb from the back patio while Henry dawdles over his toast inside.

Emmett. Ransom's guy, I guess. He's taking over the renos. 

Oh, yes. It slipped my memory. So is he a little less unsettling for you? And no, he's not your 'present' and if you persist in being difficult I can have Ransom come back on the project. 

It's fine. I was teasing (I don't tease Caleb). I appreciate it (Boy, do I ever).

Very well then, I should be leaving here shortly so I'll see you when I land. 

The house might be a different color when you get here. Keep your eyes open. 

What? There's nothing in the plans that involve painting the exterior-

Emmett brought me a huge coffee from Tim Hortons. 

Oh, shit, Caleb says, echoing PJ.

Those moments that break our hearts.

Last night Lochlan came in around eight-thirty, dropped his laptop bag on the floor and crossed to me, pulling me out of my stupidly-comfy barely-awake snuggle all by myself in the corner of the big sectional in the great room and kissed me so hard I think my lips bruised. Then he let me go and went over around the island giving PJ a shove so hard they went into the stack of clean plates that PJ had just put down from unloading the dishwasher and broke the top five of them.

PJ used great restraint, grabbing Lochlan in a headlock, bringing him right down to knee-level and fucking up his hair, rubbing his knuckles on Lochlan's head until he was redfaced and tapping out. PJ's noogies hurt when he wants them to, but he'll deny it until the sun goes down. He looks so good-natured and is loathe to inflict injury (or see it inflicted) but he also takes shit from no one.

Anyone else want to side with the Devil? Lochlan says, straightening his shirt, raking his hair back behind his ears.

I raise my hand.

For fucks sake, Bridge.

PJ crosses to me and blocks Lochlan's view. For fuck's sake indeed. I side with her. PJ aims his thumb over his shoulder. You're not here enough.

I'm trying to finish this so that when things change we can stay here. 

I own the house, Loch-

I don't believe that for a second, Bridge. Not for even one little second. So if I have to have everyone calling me home because I'm trying to secure the future for my family and giving me a hard time then I'll have to bear that too. 

God. The memory thief just threw me a bone. Twelve and seventeen and Loch steals a welcome mat for our camper from a house in a nearby town.

Want to make things nice for my family, he said as he folded me into the crook of his shoulder, the smell of summer hay and dirt on him so real suddenly I shake my head.

What? He says. Oh, I guess I did that out loud. No, what?

The paperwork is ironclad- PJ's trying to reason with the unreasonable.

I'm not going to debate his tricks. I know him better than any of you. The deal is you keep her from him while I get this done. It's not so hard, is it? Jesus, Christ. Look at her. 

And just like that the argument vaporizes. John and Ben, who have come in quietly, disappear again. PJ claps a hand on Lochlan's shoulder, letting it slide off into a handshake. He nods. I know, Brother. Look at her. Look how fucking much she misses you.

PJ leaves and then it's just me and I feel like I want to take in every inch of Lochlan's face, suddenly a stranger with features I hardly remember.

Don't manipulate me, Bridge. For someone who can reach out and touch ten men at any given moment I find it hard to believe-

Believe it. And when have I EVER manipulated you?

When you let Caleb into our lives. Into our bed even. When you insist on being near him after all this time. It's so fucked. 

That's not called manipulation. 

I know. I'm sorry. I know! I just wish..you know what I wish, Peanut. 

No one else dies on my watch, Locket. Even him. 

Let's not do this tonight, okay? Let's just go to bed. Schuyler's going to approve changes so I can keep an eye on things via remote access. Would that help?

Should have said that when you walked in. Would have helped. 

What would have helped would have been you confiding in me, not in Caleb. Next time come to me, call me, whatever. You know damn well I'll drop whatever I'm doing and be there for you. But I figure you're just fine if I don't hear otherwise. You don't say a thing when I get home. 

I'm asleep!

You have no trouble talking in your sleep. 

What did I say? 

Last night you did our show wind-up in a whisper with your stuffy nose. I listened to the whole damn thing. It gave me chills. 

Why didn't you wake me up? 

That's one dream I'll never pull you out of.

Presence.

I found the Devil.

I'm flying home Wednesday morning. And I have a present for you, he tells me on the phone when I resorted to calling him. We have an unspoken rule on the point. If you need someone, go find them in person. Phones are a pain. Ben and I have bad habits of leaving our phones in the bedroom. Most of the guys don't carry them anymore because you never know when you're going to get thrown off the cliff or stuck working outside in the rain and also it's so nice to play dumb, ignore half a dozen messages so then Bridget will track you down, so happy to see you that her face lights up, making your day.

What is it?

You'll have to wait until I get home to find out. He chuckles. He's probably happy I didn't just order him to take it back. I hope you like it. 

Give me a hint? 

Forget it. How's Lochlan? 

I dunno. I haven't seen him. Schuy has a big project as usual. 

I'll speak with him.

Please don't. Besides, he has a long weekend at least. 

We'll sort them out over dinner. 

You will do nothing of the kind. Just leave it, please. He'll refocus once he's had a few days to stop and breathe. 

Bridget, I can increase his-

Please leave it alone, Diabhal. He wants to do the right thing and to him this is it. Working as much as he can keeps him from feeling weird about the Collective. Please.

I'll talk to him. 

Why can't you just leave it be?

Because of you, and because of my brother. If someone is upsetting you it doesn't get ignored. You know this. 

But yet there's a double standard for you-

Yes, for me there is but I'm trying my hardest to change that so there doesn't have to be. But things are different between us. Now, why don't you call Lochlan and invite him home for a nice dinner. I'll see you Wednesday. Maybe save me that evening for dinner out? And thank you for the Easter invitation. I'm looking forward to it. 

Okay.

Love you, Neamhchiontach. Wish you were on this trip with me. 

But then I wouldn't get presents. 

That's a good way to spin it. I like that. See you midweek.

Bridget irreverent.

Sam is in fine form this morning as he's dropped into Holy Week, the week when he gets to deliver sermons six times and everyone shows up to hear them. Easter and Christmas, but the resurrection holds far more weight than the birth.

I wish we could bring back anyone we wanted during resurrection. 

Hush, you.

I've offended him. I meant Christ, sure, but also Jacob and maybe anyone else that we miss. 

Cole?

No. 

Please pass these out for me, Bridget?

Why do I work here for free again? I shoulder my bag and take my place at the top of the path leading down to the beach. It's fucking freezing but every single person that passes me gets my winning morning-person smile and a palm leaf for their 'Jerusalem walk' down to the beach, into certain death. Except Sam's not going to kill anyone today. He's going to educate, pontificate to them, telling them that Jesus arrived knowing exactly what would happen to him, but he faced his destiny and he went down swinging. I already heard the sermon five times in the past month as Sam worked to make it relatable and not as heavy, though with the reverence required. Sam has a perfect balance between making sure the heathens like us get the gist, learn the history while the ancient..ier (hey, new word!) members of the congregation don't frown at his 'modern' spin.

He does it well, and with the same boyish, handsome charm that Jacob used to do it with. Man, I hope Jacob walks out of his tomb next Sunday. That would be the best rebirth EVER. But I don't say it out loud and when there's a lull in people to hand leaves to I fold mine deftly into the shape of a cross and then start doing a few more. Sam doesn't do that but I learned it in Sunday School when I was little and never forgot and people love it. Give me a party, I'll give you a party trick. Which is great because while I have tons of charm, I never waste it strangers.

Soon people are asking if they can have a cross leaf. I've won the day. Good luck, Sam.

My payment for having to talk to every. single. person (triple the usual turnout) was to drive home alone and not be taken out for lunch. Sam's too busy. Lochlan never got up. Don't know where Caleb is. PJ says Easter services are too crowded and he'll be back when summer vacations begin and the church is really empty and so I made myself a cheese bagel and watched Ugly Delicious on Netflix.

But now Lochlan's up and the day will be a one-eighty. I might be too worn out to enjoy it. Easter is heavy, indeed.

The Princess Eats Her Own Legs.

Standing in front of Tony Scherman's Poseidon this morning and I'm stricken by the highway of people who rush past, behind me, all around me, going places while I remain fixed to this one place. His eyes. They glow with a sadness that connects me to him, a sadness that I can identify with and this may forever be my favorite painting of all time now, for the expression, the lighting of the eyes, the roughness and scratches juxtaposed against the smooth wax of what is a new medium for me to explore. Encaustic painting.

And I can't seem to move, even though we gotta go, with lunchtime reservations half a city away and still the few with me today are scattered to all the levels of the gallery. They will find me and they'll have to pull me away from Poseidon's gaze.

And I didn't even come for this. I didn't expect to meet him today. I came for the Bombhead exhibit. I came for Murakami. I came for my membership card, which wasn't ready yet. I come here a lot. It's like a train station or an airport. There's a bustling hustle about it, endless lines that move lighting-quick, a sense of being alone in each room while you're surrounded by people, a rude slice of culture in which the beauty of the works presented contrasts exceptionally with the self-absorption of those in the crowd. I want to say I hate it but secretly I love it. I love the smells, the feelings, the stark realization when you see something new and fall in love. Like I did with Poseidon today. Brown eyes with more soul than one would even see in person. A darkness I understand perfectly.

And just like that I am collected and we're off. No time for Bombhead, maybe another day. Enough time to marvel that the same man painted Gero Tan and Picture of a Turtle.

I remain surprised at that. But moved by this.

I will just google it from here in the dark.

For those rooting for him, Caleb didn't get the job. He did that thing where he took over and we didn't go to Starbucks, we went to some place that I was terribly underdressed for and he did all the ordering and then started laying on the scariness and was completely himself instead of the goofy, playful millionaire showing up at the kitchen door that he had started out as. So all of the tension crept back in around us like shadows and I didn't eat much of what he ordered and honestly for coffee listed for fourteen dollars on the menu it can't be better than anything we can make at home and really can we leave now? I want to get caught up on the chores I started this morning and left to wait.

You're being petty, Neamhchiontach. This coffee is imported.

Coffee isn't fourteen dollars. 

This kind is. 

You're like those people that get waylaid by a designer label. It may not be superior just because it costs more. 

Sometimes you get exactly what you pay for. He's not talking about coffee anymore and I slip into my armor and unsheath every weapon I've got.

But he is unmoved. You can put your brass knuckles away, Bridget. As hard as you try to hold on to your trailer park beginnings just remember who brought you to this point. 

Jacob. But he died doing it. Oh. Caleb's face suddenly loses that hard edge. Oh, I'm so done. I won on the pity card and I don't want to. I want to win because I'm stronger than anybody else in my little, insular world.

He gets up and picks up his coat. It worked, maybe? Maybe I did win with my words, even though he rarely listens. Maybe my brass knuckles scared him off. Maybe my armor did. Maybe it's legendary while his remains epic. Maybe it's heroic and his is stock. I don't know. I just know that a fourteen dollar cup of coffee isn't worth fourteen dollars and I know that I don't need a liaison to explain life to me anymore.

Boss lady.

A knock on the side door startles me. Better not be Ransom. Better still be a side door there when I get to the bottom of the stairs. I never know what to expect. I'm still threatening to move out until the renos are finished.

I open the door and Caleb is standing there holding a folder and smiling. He sticks his hand out and says Good afternoon.

I take his hand and pump it twice. What the fuck are we doing? Good afternoon.

My name is Caleb C____, I'm here to apply for the liaison position.

The wh- Oh, ahahahahahaha. Nice. Come in.

I'm serious.

There's no actual positi-

We could learn together because honestly I'm only really clear on medium brew and Americanos.

What are those again?

Espresso mixed with hot water.

Jesus, WHY?

Indeed. Let's do it. We'll be experts by Christmas.

Or we could remain here in denial where it's nice and eventually someone will take pity on us and make some coffee or an espresso or one of those...things. My brain is full.

Sleep on it but I think one of those Crystal Balls would be good.

You want an ice-cold diluted un-coffee full of sweet grossness on a rainy day?

No, I want a coffee date with my favorite person.

Oh, when you put it like that, let me get my bag.

My treat.

Thank you. Be right back.

If I'm paying why do you need your bag?

Clothing for girls doesn't have pockets.

Really?

Really.

Wow. That's as big a mystery as the Starbucks menu.

I KNOW RIGHT?

Fuck crystal ball, they have SMOKED BUTTERSCOTCH something-or-other, I don't know. (Now hiring for a Starbucks Liaison. Interested?)

Should we go get some of those Crystal Ball frappuccinos tomorrow?

Tell me again what a frappuccino is first and then I'll answer that. 

From Starbucks. 

Yes, but what's IN it? 

Whipped cream and sprinkles. 

No the drink part, not the decorations.

Uh..

Wow. And you call me sheltered. I'll look it up. 

You are sheltered. You don't even know what a frappuccino is. Or anything from Starbucks. In this day and age that's weapons-grade sheltered. 

I know things too, you know. But important things, not a drink menu.

Tell me one thing that you know that's important that I don't know. 

Charlie Sexton in on Instagram now! 

Who is that? 

Exactly my point.

(One of my first crushes as a teenage girl. Beats So Lonely was my rebel ANTHEM. If you want to follow him, his account is @sextonplace. And if you think combing through his followers will lead you to my account, I don't have one. I just go to Instagram online and type in names in the search bar lot. It's like a soothing thing. Or maybe a boredom thing. Don't ask. Apparently I should have been using my time more wisely and studying menus! Argh!)

(Once more with feeling, Bee: A Frappuccino is a coffee or cream base, blended with ice and other ingredients and topped with whipped cream. This is not a yucky latte, which is a big old glass of milk with a shot of espresso in it. Grossssssssss. I will try to remember.)

Equal lengths dark and light.

It went down like a really great gameplay by the world's best coach (not Travis Green, clearly), as I was distracted on my way back to Batman's by Lochlan, who had something to show me (the ocean, Peanut, look how beautiful! When do you want to set up the new camper? We can have a cookout, maybe a sleepout too if you like) and Jay was intercepted, paperwork in hand by Schuyler, who 'has a guy' to do taxes which turned out to be Caleb, and by default someone at an unnamed standard tax preparation front, since Jay means absolutely nothing to Caleb on a personal level and has virtually uncomplicated taxes so he was sent off to the shopping centre and reminded to keep up on the very basics of being an adult or there will be consequences.

When pressed, however, Caleb refused to tell me what the actual consequences are, and for the briefest second my curiosity ate my common sense, swallowing it whole while I considered telling Jay not to file his taxes so we could find out.

But I would never do that and so I'll have to guess at what would happen around here should we all fail to be adults.

On second thought, I'm sure I already know.

And on the upside, Schuyler released Lochlan from the latest round of endless work (HAD HIM HERE ALL DAY) and maybe they're better at Bridget-management, honestly, those who can be parental and micromanage and order and direct. Maybe patient isn't the way to go around here. Honestly whenever they instructed me to do something, I did it because they were older and smarter and responsible for me. So things like Get your jacket, Eat your vegetables, Go home now before it gets dark and Don't let go of my hand are second nature to them and never questioned by me as I was raised by these surrogate-parent wolves.

It works. I listen. They order and then teach. They usurp each other and also police one another.

But they always do their taxes.

(Because I make them.)

Turkeys.

Batman's there looking beautiful in brown shoes, grey pants and a medium brown shirt. He looks rich, is what he looks. You don't need to see labels to know everything is expensive, you can just tell by the glow of the leather, the drape of the cloth, the stitching on the button holes. He wears an Apple watch but no other jewelry but he's neither had a haircut nor shaved in a week or two which gives him a slightly old-fashioned look. His eyes are so patient. He's always had all the time in the world for me and is one of the few people who doesn't try to micromanage my movements or order me around. He doesn't strongarm my life and instead offers and waits. Some things I take, most things I leave.

This morning he offered coffee and croissants. I know where he gets his croissants from. They are delivered to the house on Mondays and Thursdays and they're worth the cost so I accepted.

In the kitchen?

Yes, of course. I hear laughter in his voice. I'll be waiting. 

Give me ten minutes. I hang up and scramble to get ready. Rose gold hoops. Skinny jeans. T-shirt that says IRISH across the front, emblazoned in green on white. I throw on Ruth's Adidas superstars and I look and feel about fifteen years old, tops save for the dark circles under my eyes and the tattoos.

At the last minute I grab my sweater and pull it around me for warmth.

When I arrive the coffee is just ready and Batman looks like he's about to run out the door anyway. He only works from home in between projects and never seems to actually relax.

You look..uh, he catches himself, young today. Like this, I mean. 

I don't have to work today. 

Actually I need you to. 

With no notice?

This is your notice. Could you help Jacob with his taxes this afternoon? He's missed the deadline to have them sent to the accountant. 

The accountant doesn't have a deadline for this. 

For our terms, he does. Please be a help and do this for me. It is within the scope of your work here. 

Right. Batman hasn't actually called me to work for months. I though I was home free.

I like your shoes. 

Thank you. They're Fluevog. 

I noticed. Look, I'm not really prepared for staying to do tax work today-

I can send him over whenever. He needs a keeper, Bridget. He has this household in perfect order while his own is a mess. 

What do you mean? 

You'll see. 

A kind smile all but dismisses me so I take the last sip of my coffee, eat the last bite of my croissant and reach across the counter to pick up the box of croissants that is still half full.

You don't need these. They're so bad for you. He grins as I wink at him, nodding his permission for me to steal his expensive pastries. The very least he can do if he's going to foist Jay on me this afternoon is to load me up with butter and fat first.