(Look, if he's going to mean, I'm going to have to match him. Otherwise he'll just eat us alive.)
I tried on a maxi-skirt today at the mall. Were it not for the meter or so of extra fabric underneath my feet, pooling on the floor it was perfect. I look good with a train, do I not?
Sigh.
I bought a pair of flats, three t-shirts and two dresses instead. The Gap is always fairly kind to me and Lochlan approves, saying I look like 'myself'. Whatever that means. Basic? Casual? Short?
Average, I think he means, as he had zero use for my outfit this morning as I prepared for a meeting in which I learned Caleb left himself as cosigner on everything and I mean EVERYTHING. I got all dressed up in a summer silk dress and killer heels and lipstick and ducked behind my baby-lawyers to hide while they crafted sternly-worded suggestions in a letter to Caleb that will be delivered tomorrow.
Happy Canada Day?
Right.
Caleb was in the driveway when I got home, pulling on his best Jeffrey Dean Morgan look, pretending he just 'happened' to be out there when I returned in Sam's Soul.
(Woah. That sounds odd. It's Sam's Kia Soul. It's like a mini SUV. I love it and he lets me drive it when he borrow's Ben's truck for big jobs. But can you imagine if I could test drive Sam's actual soul? Give me one chance and I'll play God sooner than you can finish asking me if I want to. Second on the to-do list as the Lord would be to resurrect his son. No, the other one. Jacob. Jesus and Jacob, the righteous fucking twins, back from the dead with all y'all souls.)
Neamhchiontach.
Diabhal. I nod.
Happy Canada Day. I'm taking the kids for a beach picnic for lunch. Would you like to join us?
Not today, thank you. I need to go change and then check in with Daniel. We have a call with Ben in thirty minutes.
Ah. How is he?
Daniel or Ben?
Both.
Daniel is doing well but he's uncomfortable. The cast might come off next week. Ben is Ben.
Ben is Ben. Would you like me to talk to him?
And say what?
That you're hurting and that Lochlan is taking everything Ben worked to build and that maybe it's time to come home.
Ben knows what time it is.
You're so proud and so stubborn sometimes.
I can't do anything about this-
Sure you could. Organize a disaster. Orchestrate a meltdown. Cry just hard enough and Ben liquefies and comes running but you won't. Instead you're the walking wounded, lashing out at the rest of us, punishing me, punishing Ben and throwing yourself at the mercy of the logical freak instead of doing what you're expected to do. It isn't self-improvement or progress, it's just a new spin on an old record, Bridget. You're not getting anywhere, you're worse than ever.
Your confidence in me really is astounding.
I would protect you.
From what?
Yourself.
No one can do that.
Ben could. But you threw him away in order to put all of your newfound trust in someone proven time and time again to be woefully unprepared to manage the scope of your emotions, from the comfort of his grungy little RV, no less.
We'll learn how to do it together.
You two have learned nothing as the years go by. Absolutely nothing.
We learned what's important. And what isn't.
And what isn't important to you both now, that was before?
You.