Still twelve and seventeen, apparently.

I got annoyed at iTunes this morning for not taking the playlists I have made on my phone and populating them over onto my macbook. Is this even a thing?

As usual Lochlan won't help with anything because he expects me to be technologically independent so I threatened to go back to using a Blackberry. Drag and drop. No problems. If Ruth burns through any more iphones I may have to go back to Blackberry anyway because they're less than half the price of a new iphone so I would just give her mine and revert. We shall see.

I'm not independent in any way, frankly and I don't know why he persists except that he is hurting today and lashing out because the Cirque show brought up feelings in him that he has no place to put anymore. I tied him down. I took him out of his comfort zone and stuck him rigidly into Happily Ever After right smack up against the Devil even though I knew when I fell in love with Lochlan that he would rather die than sit still, ever.

Oh, good choice of words, Loch. Excellent. Now please excuse me while I run upstairs and cry my eyes out for ruining your life. 

That's not what I meant. 

It seems pretty clear to me. 

I miss it, Bridget. Don't you miss it? Life was simpler. Everything was simpler. There was so much magic. 

You have to find the magic in other ways now. It's still simple if you keep it that way. 

This isn't simple, Bridget. 

So your fix for it is to hurt me? 

No, I just want to make you see the things you seem to have forgotten. 

I didn't forget. 

Maybe you were just too young to remember.

Maybe it was just too hard to live like that. 

I can see that. It's much nicer and cushier here with the Devil emptying his wallet on you.

That's not what I meant. 

Then what did you mean? 

It's safer here. 

Why? He's right in your face so he can't sneak up on you any more?

Pretty much. 

Well, I wanted more for you. For us. 

And I GAVE IT TO YOU. Even though it's cost me most of your trust in the process. 

I wonder if this was worth it, Bridget. Do you really think it is?

I don't see any other way. 

Well, you would, but you've grown too use to this gilded life to consider anything else. You sat there complaining about your phone this morning. We used to walk to the payphone, a mile there and a mile back. Did you forget already?

That was in the eighties! Before cellphones. You're not seriously going to use that as an argument are you?

I was but I'm sure you've bought all your answers in order to be sure you'd win. Or he did for you.

This is exactly why I ran away and joined the circus.

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. I nearly imploded from the impending excitement of attending Kooza, the Cirque Du Soleil show that arrived in town last month and didn't really get my shit together again until I fell asleep on Ben watching Rogue Nation in our theater last night.

(The movie was boring. Wasn't it? I didn't really find it interesting enough to stay awake.)

But Kooza.

Well, Oh My God.

I watched it with tears in my ears. I saw things I've done. Things I couldn't do. Things I wished I could still do. Things that made me laugh, made me cry. It was positively full of heart. I loved the historical costumes and I loved the skeletons too. I actually considered re-applying to work for them.

I bought a lot of souvenirs. Christmas ornaments, t-shirts. I bought six-dollar water.

Things have changed when you can charge six dollars for water and people buy it without blinking but it's also Vancouver.

Heh.

I think my favorite big part was the two athletes on the wheels. And my favorite small part was when,  both during the pre-show and the actual show, they would bring an audience member onstage for a moment and when they escorted them off one of the clowns would reach into his pocket and throw a handful of confetti into the air at their back.

I don't know why but that always seems touching to me.

I might have spent some time again wondering why it all turned out so differently for me, but eventually everyone leaves the road and moves on. It isn't an easy life, all told, though it's more magical than most.

Lochlan's eyes watered the whole time too. When we got home he went to our room and didn't come out again. I know he feels it. It hurts because it's so beautiful and because we can't go back again. I mean, we could but it wouldn't be the same.

Lost at last.

I found my latest happy place this morning, sitting on the wet sand at the edge of the water on my beach, (because the rocks and logs were all slippery-frosted over and wet seemed better than slick and I made a mistake, okay?)  headphones in and David Gilmour's song In Any Tongue on repeat, Cole's big grey sweater wrapped tightly around me.

This is the best. The sand is ice-cold, the music is glorious (the album is hit and miss, though Faces of Stone, A Boat Lies Waiting and the leads in the intro and outro are glorious. Also The Girl in the Yellow Dress is amazingly smooth and jazzy, a surprise. I wish Gilmour's voice was stronger. I wish he wouldn't age. Eventually there won't be any new music and we will still listen closely and hear things we never heard before. I will, anyway. I miss a lot.

In the meantime, I'll be here. Winter has finally arrived at my beach and once you survive the trip down here, it's the perfect place to be alone.

Not that I need to be alone or anything. I don't actually like to be alone but I also don't like to be anywhere but here.

This house is made of cards and they're old and flimsy and don't hold up at ALL.

I'm not sure why everyone is harping on her Majesty the Queen for carrying her purse in her own home.

I do that.

Mostly because I bring it down in the morning and put it on the table in the foyer. If there's people around the property that I don't know I leave it on the desk in the kitchen. At night I bring it back upstairs and put it on the dresser in my closet.

If I go out I make Ben carry it.

See? Simple.

Thought right now there's too much stuff in it but I vetted everything and it all passed muster so I think I really need something bigger. I always loved carrying diaper bags. You could bring damned near everything you own. Case in point, I pare down my bag and then instantly need something I have left behind.

Also don't disparage the Queen. Thank you.

Speaking of queens royalty, PJ is considering a trip for Christmas after all. The Devil is such an asshole. I asked PJ what he was going to do because he's about to start his chocolate advent calendar so he can't leave now.

I could bring it with me. 

No. Sorry. They aren't portable. 

What are you talking about? It would fit in my bag.

I said no. 

Oh, I get it. You just don't want me to go. 

Of course I don't. I don't care if you travel but not because he wants to call the shots. 

Don't worry. I've been kind of restless lately anyway. I won't give him credit. 

Why can't you go in the spring instead?

Bridget, people need to be with their families at Christmas. 

I am your family!  I might have stomped my foot with that sentiment to drive home my point but I was holding my purse and it was heavy.

The Devil you don't.

Caleb suggested that PJ take a few weeks off and come back at New Years, refreshed and refocused. He is worried that PJ can't do a good job what with all the distractions around here. I told Caleb he could stuff his opinions into the cold marble house on the hill and also what is he doing with that place anyway?

Establishing my role as King of the Mountain. But he laughs when he says it. He worries. About me. About PJ. About the children, though he doesn't have to worry about them. PJ puts them first and is the best nanny a mom could dream of, honestly and I'm not going to send him away unless he wants to go.

He already said we're all making a mountain out of a molehill and he doesn't want to go anywhere.

Good, then that's settled and I can get back to dancing to Dark Side of the Sun. Because something something Modeselektor and no metal cred anymore anywhere.

It's fine. Really. I just wish I could figure out the words. Besides Bitch motherfucker, because that part is obvious. LOL.

***

Other weird things about today:

~Pinterest has a shitload of 'one-pot wonder' meal recipes that are amazing. We just do five stock pots on the stove instead of one. And it reduces the need for an hour of slavery over the stove. I finally found a use for that website.

~Fingerless gloves look really good on everybody.

~ Hanukkah starts in less than two weeks!

~Christmas is THIRTY days away. I asked for beards. Razor burn works very well as a....macrodemabrasion feature but I fear in places I don't have much skin left. What happened to Vikings and Highlanders and..and MOVEMBER, people??

~OH. The last two episodes of American Horror Story: Hotel have brought me back around. It's good now, finally. The serial-killer dinner party was by far the worst thing I've ever seen so really they had to work hard to keep me interested. Otherwise I'll just continue with Sons of Anarchy. I just started it and it's really good, save for the cheesy intro. Ben and I keep making jokes about our tattoos flying off our bodies and doing other things while we stand stoically behind them.

It's good though. I want to binge-watch it but there's just too much other stuff to do. Namely dance.

I still love you.

In my defence what is there to say
All the mistakes we made must be faced today
It's not easy now knowing where to start
While the world we love tears itself apart
I'm just a singer with a song
How can I try to right the wrong
For just a singer with a melody
I'm caught in between
With a fading dream

I wake up alone this morning. PJ is back in full force and has the kids off to school on time, affording me an extra hour of sleep. He sent Ben off to his meeting, taking Duncan with him (they are inseparable sometimes) and runs interference for me with Caleb.

Caleb can be very bossy.

When I come downstairs, Lochlan is sitting at the piano playing and singing. In My Defence. Freddie Mercury. He shares his birth date and his love of showmanship but there's no audience today. Just me with my teacup in the doorway watching his shoulders move with his hands, the sunlight hitting the sleepy curls on the back of his neck and the fuzziness of a soft t-shirt and pajama pants. He was waiting for me to get up and didn't go far, I guess.

He tilts his head sideways indicating a place for me to sit beside him on the bench so he can finish the song and I do. He smiles sideways and pulls out all the stops. A performance just for me. It kind of makes me cry except I'm not awake and I'm always more anxious about him hitting a high note when he sings than I ever have been when he's lighting me or himself on fire.

Oh here he goes.

Yup. Got it. My insides turn all mushy and my eyes threaten to overspill. He smiles when he sings the last part which changes it completely and then he ends with a sweet little flourish on the keys. He taught himself to play piano in the first circus we worked for, in the kitchen on Sunday mornings while everyone else was at church under the big top because he said he only worshipped me and the almighty dollar but he was just being a shit back then.

Wait, he's still a shit now so never mind that but he can be romantic when he wants to be, even at ten a.m. on a Tuesday in pajamas.

(Si me ven, si me ven, voy camino de Belen.)

Today I sit in the Doctor's office for an extra, unnecessary hour after my appointment time has passed, trapped by endless commercial-free Christmas music, texting with both Batman and Caleb while I wait. While my brain screams from the unwelcome assault of tinny, crappily-recorded questionably-Christmasy songs.

Half of them are in Spanish.

All of them are too soon.

Caleb wants to know if there is going to be any recidivism on PJ's part. I reminded him there's been no punishment, only swift disapproval and that this whole matter is none of Caleb's business.

Batman wants to know if Caleb is minding his own business and if I need anything. Anything at all.

I need my appointments to be on time. I need to blare the Christmas music to everyone else so that I don't have to listen to it anymore. I need Monday to be over. I need to learn to be a better parker. I just lost my grocery shopping time sitting here listening to El Burrito Sabanero and I vow to put my headphones in my purse so that I never have to do this again.

I text Ben and ask if he will save me. He texts back that that is Sam's job and he is merely an angel of the lord Samuel.

They made up and he's being cheeky. That's good.

Oh God. Rodolfo El Reno. This one makes my ears bleed. I text Lochlan and ask if he will save me. He doesn't reply. He's building a network for Batman somewhere. I hate computers. I don't know how to use them much save for someone planting me in front of a game of Half Life 2:  Deathmatch over the weekend, where I won a game and then got learned hard. It's like Quake 3: Arena only you can throw objects and set trip mines and the maps are more detailed.

Otherwise it's precisely the same and I love it.

Wish I had a gravity gun right now, I'd pick up Christmas and move it back to after American Thanksgiving, instead of before, at the very least. To buy myself a few extra weeks of Christmas-free existence instead of having it shove right in after Halloween disappears, leaving a space behind in the calendar that Christmas is determined to fill, Latin donkeys and all.

Oh, they just called my name. Bye.

Closures.

Ben and PJ had it out on the lawn this morning while Sam (on his final Sunday off for the year because advent begins next week) stood there supervising them from the safety of the patio steps.

With paintball guns and day-glow orange paintballs.

Oh, and PJ wasn't armed and may have been running away. Because cold paintballs hurt like fuck and PJ may have made the mistake of losing his patience with the endless comments about how he was just like every other man here except possibly more desperate and he told the wrong person to fuck right off already and Ben looked at him quite crossly and put down his coffee and said,

Run. 

Padraig isn't actually stupid so he did. It took Ben a couple minutes to load up and then he was off after PJ, faster than you would think for someone so big and now I have another outfit to soak in the set tub in the laundry room for a few days. Pointlessly, as the paint never comes out completely.

Once PJ made it to the pool Sam suggested to Ben that he give up and maybe try using words instead of paintballs so Ben turned around and shot him in the chest.

(Another outfit to soak. Christ, boys.)

Sam swore at him and Ben cut him off, saying it would be no different had it been Sam in the hotseat and Sam said something about wishing he could be so lucky so Ben shot him in the mouth.

Oh, stop it. He was far enough away. I've eaten many a paintball in my life. Granted, through a mask. With a lot of scared-sounding apologies afterward (Sorry, Bridget! Oh my God! Are you okay? That was supposed to go over your head!)

Sam swore again and turned and went inside. I passed him and went outside to take the gun from Ben (Give me that and maybe you should run before I shoot you too.) and then put the gun in a place they won't find for a bit (no one looks down low) and messaged PJ with an apology for Ben's attack and Sam's apparent initial blindness that morphed into regret.

PJ said it was okay, that he already told Ben he was sorry even though he isn't actually sorry.

I laughed. In spite of myself, I laughed. PJ is human. I'm flattered but also highly aware of the balance of our closeness and the distance that necessitates to succeed. As is he. Now more than ever. Sam? Well, he's a different story. He said some uncharacteristic, inflammatory things, but I'll have to deal with him later when he's in a better mood. Maybe at the end of the paintball gun again, though I prefer the pressure washer. It's messier and sends a message that holds no ambiguity whatsoever. It screams I'm drowning and out of control, instead of Ha, I left a neato color on you! It demands to be dealt with rather than being diffused by moving out of the line of sight. 3000 psi trumps 300 any day of the week.

Sam will agree with me once he is soaked to the skin.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

A little over a month after the acrylic nail tips experiment and my nails are still peeling, thin and weak. My fingertips itch and my hands look like those of a child. Sigh. Daniel said no more nail polish so I dug out the cuticle oil and am religiously using it two or three times a day. This is akin to winters in the prairies when my fingertips would crack and bleed as they dried out in the cold, no matter what I did. Lesson learned. You can try to be perfect looking but if you're Bridget, it's never going to work.

I can distract with cuteness because I am clearly never going to be one of those tall leggy sexy super model type women.

I need to be okay with this and every time I think I am I get waylaid by some weird beauty trend that they all seem to pull off that I can't even remotely navigate, let alone maintain long term.

Like eyelash extensions. Fake nails. Stilettos. Waxing. Running. Very long hair. Diets. Bras. Hosiery. Lace. Body conscious clothing. I don't know. Pick something. I was raised by wolves. I don't know how to be a girl. The only reason I know I'm a girl is that I have an undying love of handbags and everyone always wants to get into my pants.

Narnia, dryer edition.

We woke up to winter today as the usual sandwich made of L&B&B (much to the relief of the whole collective, for whom it is none of their business), to a world of white-frosted everything. My car went away on Monday, as I held out to the very last second with it's riduclous summer tires and lowerable (or maybe that's raisable) wing. It isn't a winter car so it will be stored offsite. I don't think the R8 is either but Caleb persists with it to keep up his Christian Grey vibe or whatever.

It is a hot car. If I could have sex with a car, well, wait a minute, it would be a bright-green Dodge Super Bee with a 440 six pack.

I'm not dumb.

They raised me better than my stories would have you believe, actually and finicky American muscle somehow will always trump reliable German engineering for the cool factor, in the same way FrankenBen trumps everyone else with the sheer expanse of morning wood he wakes up with.

It was not frosted over from the cold. No, it's probably the warmest part of Ben, if I recall, except I don't have to recall, he reminds me right away. Tout de suite. Post haste. He's still mad at me for waking up in PJ's bed, though that's not exactly my fault so it's semi-hate sex which is sadly my favorite kind.

Then he's gone to shower and find Duncan for a meeting and then he's actually going to finish working for the year. His work is akin to self-directed grade school in that they give him a final timeline and he can either do it regularly or wait and get it all done at the end. He waits. He wasn't a good student in school but really none of us were, I don't think, except for Caleb who got good grades to get into law school, and Christian, who's a word nerd like me but he's different because he cares for grammar and doesn't get lost in these crazy run-on sentences like I always seem to because it was always easier for me to write instead of talk.

I was a dreamer in school, which makes sense because I'm a dreamer in life. Instead of focusing on chores I'm looking for the magical worlds past the clothes in the dryer. Instead of paying attention at meetings I'm conjuring stories about the people pouring coffee at the sideboard, or the elevator attendant or maybe the girl I passed walking down the street with her old robin's egg blue wool swing coat on paired with a pretty new pearl-white Dior bag.

Then I realized she was me and I look kind of cute and a little vintage and not very warm in all honesty and probably about to get into trouble because instead of taking this gift back I went and put all my stuff in it and planned a week's worth of outfits around it and decided since it cost around a quarter of what that last bracelet from Tiffany cost I could probably just keep it and soothe the Devil a little bit and everyone's happy.

Well, the Devil is happy because he made a good choice and I didn't take it back and I'm happy because...well, duh. Dior.

But mostly I was happy because I have only three presents left to buy now and then I'm done Christmas shopping. The decorating is coming along. I have my menu plans and wrapping schedule all done and I have set a record in comparison to every other year when I wait too long and then rush around. An old Irish neighbor yelled at me years ago that It's the same feckin' day each year! You know the date! What's the rush?! and she was absolutely right and we've lived by that ever since.

Best of 2015.

When I open my eyes it's to the waning dark, as hints of coral and lavender begin to infiltrate the sky to signify morning and the trees crowd close outside the windows. Yellow walls. A soft pastel shade I chose myself and it's been a long time since I woke up in this room. I can't hear a sound. I close my eyes and almost fall asleep again as his arms tighten around me, pulling me back in close from where his hold had loosened in his sleep.

He ducks his head down against the back of my neck, his lips press against my skin and his breath is cool. He chuckles softly and my eyes fly open.

Oh, fuck, PJ. What time is it?

Time to go back to sleep. Until you hear noise on this level you don't have to get up. 

There will be a witch hunt for me. 

They know where you are. Go back to sleep, Bridget. 

What did you tell them?

Uhh..I told them what happened? That you fell asleep watching Chef's Table with me because pretension makes you groggy and I was going to keep you here until you woke up on your own. Because really, between the pills Loch puts in your food and the ones Caleb puts in your drinks it's a wonder you can ever walk a straight line.

I pull the covers up over my head. This is embarrassing. And also deeply comforting. PJ is a giant teddy bear with his long heavy metal hair, big shoulders and kind eyes. He's the figurative alpha. Absolutely no one ever crosses him or has even tried. Not Caleb, not Cole. Not Jacob. Not Loch. No one fucks with PJ, he's earned our respect a thousand times over.

This might change that though.

What actually happened? 

What the fuck do you mean?

PJ. I'm trying for casual offhandedness and it comes out bewildered. Strangled. Panicky. I point to the chair in the corner by the closet. Those are my clothes, right? Over there? Not actually on me? 

Oh, that.

He gets up (at least SOMEONE remained dressed) and goes over to the chair, picks everything up and tosses it all on the bottom of the bed. I'm going to go start some coffee. You can stay as long as you like. He winks and shoots an imaginary gun at me and turns to leave.

PJ. You leave this room and I'm never speaking to you again! 

Aw, come on, Bridge. I just remembered that you don't like clothes on when you sleep so I figured you'd be more comfortable without them. I should have put a shirt or something on you. I didn't think it was a big deal. Well, I didn't. Until I saw..Uh. Want coffee? 

Saw what?

Nothing. You've ah...got a lot more tattoos since we had our weekend together. 

That was seven years ago, Peej. And you've seen me in a bathing suit since then. Multiple times.

Yep. That's a long time. I mean...up close.

Almost a decade, I suppose.

Almost, Bridget. 

Padraig?

Yes?

Did you cop any feels?

Yes, ma'am. I couldn't help myself.

Which ones?

All of them. You think Ben or Lochlan will kill me first, before the other resurrects me to kill me again?

They won't mind. It's you. 

Huh?

You can get away with things no one else can. You're untouchable. Invaluable. 

Oh, you tell me that NOW. Would have been nice to know that yesterday. 

Wow.

I know. I'm grossing myself out right now. Get out of my bed and dressed. It's your turn to make scrambled eggs. And I can't believe I just said that. Who tells you to get out of their bed? I must be unwell. Maybe you should make the coffee too. Or just stay here. Don't leave. We'll order out.

To drive home his point he pushes all my clothes off the bed onto the floor where I can't reach them.

PJ, give me those. 

You can get them. 

I'm not getting out of this bed with you here.

Then I have won the day. 

(Update: Internet outrage continues on. Christ, people. Stop emailing me to yell about PJ now. I told you a decade ago that the affection levels in my house are neither appropriate nor normal. Kind of like me. That's why no one here on the point is surprised, but everyone off the point is.)

Or you could just come back to me. 

He has his hands in his pockets, facing the window so I can't read his expression.

You're so busy sizing up your next conquests you don't even see the obvious solution. It doesn't have to be public. It wasn't, once upon a time. Let them think they know everything, let them think they can find out whatever secrets they assume I have and meanwhile we can pick up where we last left off. 

He finally turns to look at me and I'm somehow immune to his Jeffrey-Dean gaze.

He points at me and nods. Oh, you're only immune because you're tired and because they drug your food. 

Diabhal-

Neamhchiontach, DON'T. Don't come in here and be sweet and innocent and act like the world is such a wonderful place. It isn't. Humans aren't Good People, Baby, they're miserable, selfish fucks and if you can make this spinning blue ball a little less miserable for me and get something out of it for yourself then what's the harm in it? Where's the harm? He resumes his gaze out the window.

You're such a romantic. 

I'm allowed precious little time to practice it, but I think you would be impressed these days. 

Another time, Diabhal. 

I know. I'm thinking New Year's, hopefully sooner. You're a little ticking time-bomb and I'm no longer the big bad wolf. I'm just a lonely guy with a lot of assets. He chuckles and comes over to me. Indulge an old man in a shared drink? 

I have to check. 

With whom? 

August. 

Oh, well, then I guess that's a no if you're still waiting for permission from the closest thing you can get to Jake. 

I bite my lip while he stares and make a decision I will just pay for later. Not like going anywhere else for company will make the day better, may as well stick with the familiar.

Okay, one drink. Then I need to go. 

Or what, Princess?

Or Loch will get mad. 

He'll turn red, catch fire and then melt like wax the minute you turn those eyes on him. I wouldn't worry about breaking his rules if he's not going to have a suitable punishment. 

I'm a grown woman, there is no punishment. 

You're a child to him. He'll ground you, maybe take away your computer and then you'll charm him back in out of the cold and we'll go around in circles again. 

Or maybe he'll kill you. 

I'm not worried about that, Bridget. His bark was always worse than his bite. He doesn't like conflict. He just wants a simple life with you, on the beach near the fair. 

And I gave him the circus instead. 

That's what he gets for trying to kick it up a notch, doesn't he? 

With very few exceptions.

(Cravings are stupid. That's why three is such a magic number. Without including myself, I mean. Hey, you wanted honesty, well, that's why I write the way I do. I could make myself look good but that wouldn't be fair OR true.)

It's a new day, right? That's what Ben says almost every single morning. So far PJ refused to take me for a walk on the beach even though I got up and put on lined jeans and a big sweater and made a thermos of tea, Lochlan got bombarded with work contracts and one very surprising side gig, Ben took Duncan and Sam to a meeting because Sam is fucking losing it and I had a window of opportunity that allowed me to present myself in Batman's front hall at nine sharp.

Where New-Jake wandered in in pajama pants and I kind of almost bit my tongue to poker-face myself into the expressionless championships. So what does he do? Stands there asking me what I'm up to.

(Obviously not working out like you are, I'm thinking but Batman saves me. He makes New-Jake look like a forbidden teenager and FUCK I'm a cougar here but Batman ratchets me easily back into handsome sugar-daddy territory simply by shooting a cuff to check his watch.

Early for you, isn't it? I'm happy to see you. Join me for coffee?

But the fledgling outrage is already rolling through me and I'm not in the mood. Early? What the fuck, I get up at five or six seven days a week. 

Oh, I wasn't aware. 

Yeah, you were. Pure carny belligerence is taking over. I always forget I'm a lady because it's usually hard to pretend. Thanks for the coffee invite but I can't today. 

Plans?

Lockdown. I just needed to know what's up.

New-Jake is standing there smiling innocently at me. Was he always this good-looking? Someone shoot me, please. Batman stares at him too. Probably not with the same ideas in mind and New-Jake is slow to clue in. Oh. Hey, I gotta go get ready. See you later, Bridget. He grins and disappears down the hall.

Batman looks at me and smiles like a cat who has caught his canary.

What are you thinking, Princess?

I'm curious about your message. 

Oh. It's not for you to worry about quite yet. 

I didn't ask you to dig around under Caleb. 

It's something I would have done anyway. I don't need any un-audited surprises in my life. 

Caleb operates above board. 

Professionally..

It's none of your business to be poking into his private life right now.

Sure it is. I have an interest in seeing that he doesn't pull anything when it comes to you. And since his business interests are closely tied to his arrangements with you it's inevitable that the two paths will cross. 

I didn't ask you for this! 

You don't have to. We look out for you. If you think I'm the only one-

Who else?

I get a list. Half surprises, half confirmations. I don't say anything.

He is well aware that he is closely monitored. It's not as if we're sneaking around, but I have some concerns that will eventually be confirmed, I think. 

Is this something I need to worry about?

As I said, not yet. 

Then for Gods' sakes keep it to yourself. I'm trying to keep from drowning here. 

Then consider me the lifeguard on duty. You sure I can't convince you to join me for a quick breakfast? I know how you like big breakfasts. 

I already ate. (LIES) But thank you. 

How are you going to spend your morning? 

I dunno. (Oh, thank God he CAN'T read my mind at all. It's a traitorous monster right now and I have just enough shame to be offended by my own thoughts about his housemate.) Probably going to go home and take a shower. 

To warm up?

To cool off, actually. 

Oh he knows. He's laughing at me with his eyes. Nice. And I bet if I asked New-Jake would go for a walk on the beach with me. Hell, with a word he would do whatever I asked him to, but like I said I'm a lady so I'd better keep my distance for now.

My mailman has recovered from his nervous breakdown and other Monday tales.

I'm bigger than my body
I'm colder than this home
I'm meaner than my demons
I'm bigger than these bones

My mailman HATES me. After I decided he was inept and unprofessional (no uniform, no badge, nothing, driving a filthy little sedan that seemed to be full of garbage and practically snarling at me every time a package was brought to the house), he disappeared for most of the fall and surfaced today, driving a clean sedan, in uniform and with a smile on his face, as he greeted me and chit-chatted about the shitty weather while he tried to get the packages to scan.

Rehab? Fell in love, maybe? I have no idea. It's just great to get packages again without having to pull them from a snarling void.

We get a lot of mail. This is important.

Caleb also seemed to recover from what seemed to be a panic attack last evening. He got very pale and short of breath and it occurred right in the middle of a fresh tear-down with Ben, who jumped in with both feet after Caleb lobbed a shitty comment at Lochlan about not being able to afford a real trip and Lochlan said something awful in return that I won't even repeat and Ben said it was nice to get away and be in the present without any history in the way.

Or any future, Caleb interjected, because it's not like you two are going to have one with her.

Cue a shoving match, a freshly cracked glass door and maybe I should be the one having a nervous breakdown.

But he gave in so fast and sat down on the back steps and just asked everyone to stop.

That's my cue to lose my mind but he swore he was fine, just tired. Didn't sleep with me away. Worried about my safety and my psychological comfort.

Man, they don't like it when I travel with anyone other than whoever is worrying, do they?

Well, you can rest easy now. I'm home and I'm fine. 

I guess I don't have to worry about any more trips in your future, as it will take Pyro another decade to save for one. 

Don't be an asshole. 

Why not?! He is! 

Wow. You sounded sixteen for a minute there. 

I certainly don't feel it these days, that's for certain. 

***

Five gifts left to buy and I'm fucking DONE Christmas shopping. Done and done.

So happy. Been at it since Labour Day.

Don't act offended, there are only thirty-eight days left!

(I only have eighteen thousand things coming in the mail though, that's why I was so happy to see that my mailman got his shit together finally. Last year I was too afraid to order much of anything at all.)

***

Neat cryptic message from Batman over the weekend as well, and I still can't get ahold of him to find out what it means. Digging. Good news. Someone's full of shit. No worries.

I hate it when people say No worries. It's artificial and flippant. It's usually reserved for stupid things like if I apologize after I ask for an extra topping on a pizza I just ordered that's already been rung through or if we can move tables after being seated in a high-traffic area at a restaurant. As if they have nothing at stake and are trying to talk me off the ledge but they don't actually care. I fucking hate it. Say it to me and I'm liable to rip your face off and shove it down the hole I just made.

Can't wait to see him, in other words.  No worries, indeed.

Pancakes for everyone.

Home too late for church but Sam said he would lecture me later, as he had his hands full with the children all weekend, not that he minded, exactly. That's a long story for tomorrow, for today I'm still on a cloud.

The best moment of the whole thing was when Ben held up his glass of orange juice (because he didn't want the fake champagne because that's like a vegetarian eating wannabe-weiners, he said) and said simply Happy four years. You guys make me so happy. His face held nothing but joy and both Lochlan and I felt our eyes welling up and then my nose started to run and my words left my brain. Because yeah. If Ben is happy it seems like everybody is happy. If he is happy the world is good.

I held up my glass and looked at Ben and said simply, I love you. Then I looked at Lochlan and said I love you and I watched as their eyes misted over something fierce and they returned my words to me so I can keep them forever.

We clinked our glasses again and then Lochlan said about seven hundred words in a mix of Romanian and Gaelic and I had no idea what he said but his eyes were red and streaming by the end of it and he wiped the back of his hand under his nose and looked at the floor and I understood his words without knowing what they were and Ben put his hand out on Loch's shoulder and drew him closer and we stayed like that for a long time with me in the middle but not. All threequal. Even. You know what I mean.

This weekend was sorely needed, a respite from routine and from people too. Not saying the boys aren't very respectful of space and time but sometimes you just....need to sleep until five o'clock without people gingerly knocking on the door asking you if you want anything, if you're okay. Sometimes you want to wander into the kitchen in your cashmere underpants that fit so perfectly it might be criminal and hold the fridge door open to see what might be good without someone yelling at you to close the door, already. Or Put on some clothes!

(The kitchen was very well-appointed if we wanted to cook for ourselves. We didn't, but I got admiring looks for standing in front of that fridge door anyway. Ben asked why I didn't do that at home and I just stared at him with horror until I dissolved into laughter because he never did understand why, even after being reminded that the three of us share our house with eight other people. He was still sweet about it though. So? he said and smiled at me widely.)

Lochlan asked me what I wanted for dinner and I was quick to answer. Pizza! Pizza for everyone. Pizza in bed. He laughed too and asked what it is about pizza I love so much when I'm away from home and I never know the answer to that other than it's always different and always good and I'm not irrational or elitist but very down to earth and easy to please. (The other dinner was pancakes because that's what we had for our wedding dinner. Because..oh my God. Pancakes. I don't have to explain. They're delicious.)

Wonder where I got that from? I poke him and he laughs. He is relaxed away from the Devil. Calm and pragmatic and silly all at the same time. He slept well over both nights (when I let him) and there didn't seem to be any jealousy issues. They took turns. They were affectionate with each other. They talked a lot but they also kept the conversation in the moment. We didn't bring up the past. We didn't plot into the future. We just focused on right-now, right-then.

But mostly we slept.

And it was probably to keep up our strength and fortify our resources for the next round of whatever's coming. Which is probably a good thing because one never wants to go through a rough period OR a war already exhausted and weakened. It's better this way.

You want to be strong.

You want to be ready. 

Four for three in two because one.

The trip for our anniversary has indeed been rescheduled and we're leaving in a couple of hours (!), just as soon as we get the children settled in for their weekend of pizza, video games and movies with Caleb, who has his turn anyway this weekend to choose activities and Henry likes camping at Dad's house. Ruth loves that she can watch any horror movie she wants and stay up as late as she wants.

I want to tell her that's how the Devil operates, he gives you anything you want in exchange for your soul, but really that isn't what he's doing, he already has the soul he wants, he just wants to be the 'fun' dad with all the lax rules where Lochlan is still prone to yell Eat your vegetables! across the table when the dinner noise reaches full throttle and she attempts to be excused with half a plate left in front of her.

No one's going to miss us, in other words, not even PJ, who is looking forward to an extended break. The only one I worry about is Sam, who doesn't really cook or eat anymore unless you put something directly in front of him and is on shaky ground as of late with Matt gone but Duncan and August both promised to draw him out and at least keep an eye on him.

Otherwise every last one of them was all smiles and encouragement. Go. Have fun. Get rest. Reconnect. Enjoy! The same words over and over.

We do need this. We get lost. We pick sides. We forget that it isn't two or twenty or the past or the future. It's three and it's now. It's us. It's this. I'm so excited I could burst. I've seen some pictures of where we're going and it's somehow cozy and incredibly luxurious at the same time. I hope it's nice.

Happy fourth to us. We packed non-alcoholic champagne and sparklers. And hardly any clothes.

Snort.

(Schuyler and Daniel are going to see Matthew Good this weekend in place of Caleb and I. That works out a little better than our original plans, in all honesty and they are really looking forward to it while Lochlan breathes a big long sigh of relief. He didn't plan it this way though, the resort had a cancellation and called to offer us the weekend on short notice so we said hell, yeah and here we go. Storm and all.)

A world covered in bees.

I see you returned the bracelet. I got an email for the credit to my account and you aren't wearing it so I supposed this is a lesson learned. 

The lesson being not to buy expensive jewelry for other people's wives?

No, I should have gotten it engraved. Then you wouldn't have been able to return it. 

I think I have enough monogrammed things. 

An army, if I recall correctly. 

I do actually. He's not being generous. Most of the boys have a B tattooed somewhere. It's like playing Where's Waldo? (Maybe that's Where's Bridget?) when I find it tucked into the design on inked sleeves or worn brazenly on the chest like a shield. Gage wears his coyly, in his knuckle tattoos that, when held together, spells B-I-G-B-R O-T-H-E-R which is sweet (he is Schuyler's older brother) but also hilarious because his left hand, when held alone, says OTHER. I always tell him he didn't think it through, though he says it's fine. (The boys call him their 'other' brother, a nod to Neil Gaiman's Other Mother character in Coraline.)

The Devil sighs and puts his hand out for mine, lifting it up and putting it in his coat pocket, still holding it, so I'll be warm. I didn't think I would need gloves for this early Remembrance Day ceremony but it's freezing. My ears are red from the cold and he squeezes my fingers and says we'll go get breakfast once this is over. He was invited to this, one of a long list of local business people. I'm the assistant today, the plus-one. And yet he doesn't seem to care that people near to us are openly staring at the fact that he is holding his assistant's hand. He will pass it off as his freezing sister-in-law. What a great excuse.

When the silence ends he lets my hand go and we head to a favorite brunch place. It's exceedingly busy yet they find a table for two in the back, probably paid for with a fifty or maybe even more, I ignore these things and wait in line unless he is here. The table is quiet and sunny but not glaring and he quickly orders plates for each of us and hot coffee. Not just coffee but hot coffee as if there is a difference.

While I wonder what he ordered for me, he wonders how I plan to keep him close exactly. How long I'll hold out on him. How long I might use him by stringing him along telling him he isn't banished from my heart exactly until I figure out my next move or simply wait him out.

Henry will be eighteen in a little over 1300 days.

Maybe I can wait that long. Or, you know, maybe not.

The food arrives just as he's reading my mind, his face fighting to remain neutral in expression. He ordered matching Monte Cristos and fruit. God, sometimes he gets everything right though. Feed Bridget and she's yours.

At least until the next meal.

It's complicated.

I tried to fire Claus but he refused and said he'll be reachable when I decide to summon him again. God bless that man. He tried.

Where's the good in goodbye?
Where's the nice in nice try?
Where's the us in trust gone?
Where's the soul in soldier on?
Now I'm the low in lonely
'Cause I don't own you only
I can take this mistake
But I can't take the ache from heartbreak

The family meeting this morning after the kids set off for school was adjourned quickly on account of everyone ganging up on Caleb, who then started shoving back, catching Sam off guard. He landed on his ass. Lochlan got a good shove too but he recovered easily because he's smaller, more nimble and a fucking former acrobat so really, no big deal.

I helped Sam up and asked them to stop fighting and just talk but apparently that won't be happening today. Sam walked out dragging his pride behind him. Caleb asked if anyone else wanted to go to the floor or could they just honor the choices Bridget makes without adding to the pressure.

When I said I wasn't giving anyone else up ( and really the longer I live in this freaky 'after' life that Jake isn't a part of any more, the less inclined I am to write people off) I meant that we still have to strike a very fine balance with each other with regards to Henry, first and foremost, and then all the other stuff secondarily. Like my finances are pretty much tangled in his octopus reach, our histories are equally interlaced and frankly we have some goddamned serious issues between us with regards to sex and permission and brainwashing that I don't think Claus will live long enough to fix and even if he could I won't share ninety percent of the details with him because he would judge me or run away horrified.

Everyone judges me, which is why I'm so up front with certain details that seem provocative but are just my own attempt at transparency. But not all the details, because...yeah. No one needs to read that.

And as angry as Lochlan gets he feels as helpless as I do sometimes, in that Ruth and Henry are mostly inseparable and she goes where he goes, so if Caleb takes Henry away for a weekend, he takes Ruth too. And I know Caleb would never harm them. He's a very good father. But he still runs legal roughshod over me and if he decided to be less nice about things he could make my life as a mother pretty fucking difficult.

So, yeah. It's a dance that I only know half the steps to. It's a dance I'm going to continue to learn, and if anyone is surprised that I crawl into people's beds to have important conversations with them about important things than you don't know me very well at all. What I did was not give up and resume a sexual relationship with Caleb, instead I merely left the door open in case it comes to that again. Sometimes it's easier to give the Devil what he wants than try and be as powerful as he is. Something I am clearly not. I'm just a well-indoctrinated little clown.

And I don't see that changing any time soon.

So if you see his name mentioned in my posts, hold your cries of hyprocite! and consider the permanent damage instead. Sometimes it's too severe and people can't be saved, no matter how hard Lochlan tries.

I've put on the makeup before in public. It's liberating and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, okay?

Lochlan said that last picture wasn't so happy after all and so he did this:

*POOF! pic removed*

It looks more like I usually appear. You little fucking clown, as he said.

Damn right I am. :)

Photobombed by death.

I don't know how long I'll leave this post up because I hate looking at my own little head but here's an amazingly morbid shot of me attempting to hide behind Halloween decorations that we are finally putting away, when Lochlan said there are no pictures of the pixie cut I alternately love and despise and took a shot.

(I have similar photos with actual people who were living when we took them but I guess now they're not so it's possibly kind of fitting.)

Actual post later when we're done, unless I just take this guy and go curl up in a corner somewhere. Loch will probably set it on fire before I can do that because he's the one who gave me the title for the post when it flew out of his mouth before he realized that...yeah...and now he feels like shit.

But I'm smiling in this picture, and that hardly ever happens anymore.

*POOF* {picture removed}

On Sundays we're a cult.

Looking at horse auctions in church and dead silence eventually overtook me and I looked up to find Sam staring at me. He made a curt reminder to put phones and devices away, that we might be the better for it if we were engaged and in the moment more instead of virtually parking our brains.

Yes, Dad.

Loch nudges me hard and holds out his hand. I surrender my phone and sigh, settling back to listen to the pre-pre-pre advent service in which we are reminded to find the spirit early and hold on to it tightly in the midst of a psychological war to appeal to our consumerist, excessive sides. A reminder to exist within our means but fully explore them with God in mind.

A real hell of a fundy sermon for Sam this morning, who is still kind of losing it here. I'm not sure if it's relief because Matt is gone or sheer panic because..well, he's gone. Every time I try to talk to Sam he flips the conversation around and tries to make it all about me and we get nowhere.

Batman leans in toward my right ear and asks What kind of church this is again? 

Roman Catholic, I say while staring straight ahead. Loch stifles a huge laugh on my left and PJ kicks our feet under the pew from behind. If I start giggling now we'll all be goners and Sam will be even more weird so instead in my mind I formulate a plan on how I'm going to spend the afternoon once lunch is cleaned up. New Jake invited me to go for one final ride on the Sunbeam before he takes it apart and stores it for winter but instead I think I'll take the other bottle of Laphroaig and lie on the garage floor and talk to ghosts for the rest of the day.

I bend my head forward and look down toward the end of the pew on the right and there's Caleb looking back. He shakes his head once to the side to indicate No, you won't and I slouch down further in my seat and try and focus on Sam, who's now heading into Baptist territory. He likes to make everyone comfortable (even people who aren't even held hostage by him today, people out in the rain) and so he takes his own advice to explore all aspects of the Christian faith, whether we want to join him or not. Choose your own adventure, he says to warm laughter.

I pick Lochan's pocket and he grins as I go back to looking at horse auctions. It's better than listening to patchwork religion, frankly. I think Sam's pinwheeling for answers and it's so obvious it's rather painful to watch today.

Three steps forward, seven back. Today is Jake's birthday and he's in the copper box on the shelf.

Ten in the morning and it's pouring rain and I find Lochlan on the beach. He's in a sweater and a raincoat and boots and he's got his best friend whiskey with him. He doesn't acknowledge me until I slip on the rock I try to step up on to stand beside him and he reaches out an arm to steady me.

I'm sorry. We didn't speak much the rest of yesterday.

Maybe Caleb's right and I'm a fool.

I'm the fool.

No one's debating that today, Peanut. 

Then what are we doing? 

Toasting the one who didn't make it to his birthday, maybe. 

I thought you didn't care. 

What I care about is that the person I adore most in the world had someone pretty important to her pass away and it fucked her up good and so I'm going to mark the day with respect and then get on with my life. He's gone. I'm still here and I love you. 

Any bitchy assholerish false composure I had just drowned itself into the sea. I love you. I just feel weird and abandoned and betrayed. And I miss him. He was big here. Like so big he blocked out the sun. 

What happens if you put it away? You think somehow that will dishonor his memory? 

Maybe. I don't know.

I get that I failed you and then I ran but I came back. He failed and ran and never came back. So he gets hero status and I get pummeled into the ground? I don't get it. 

You're a safe place to take it out on. All my fears. Everything stupid. You never told me it was dumb or blew it off. 

So I'm not safe but then I'm safe? 

It's an easy event to use against you in an argument. That's all. 

I get it. But I'm not going to live in the shadow of a coward. He couldn't love you the way I can. No one can but me. 

But I'm an asshole. How can you love an asshole?

No, you let things get to you and had an asshole moment. If I thought you were an asshole for wearing your grief so transparently then I would be the asshole, now, wouldn't I? 

How did you get so smart?

I'm not. I just had to grow up fast. I had you asking questions all the time. I had to be ready with answers, you know?

So can I ask you something?

Bridget, he's not coming back. He's gone. I'm sorry but the men in front of you who put up with you, we're the ones who love you. We're going in circles here. We need to stop doing this. I love you. Just stop.

I nod. He's right. I'm lucky. And at the same time I can't handle this outpouring of support that I somehow push away. Claus isn't working. Sam isn't. Not Joel. Christ. No, he's not working either. Help me, please. I'm drowning in the sea I made.

Loch is still staring at me. What about Caleb?

I take the bottle from him and take a long burning swallow and then pour the rest out on the rocks. Happy Birthday, Jacob. Forty-five. What a milestone. What a waste.

I should be planning a forty-fifth birthday instead of this.

(Eight years today and this doesn't hurt any less and everyone's a liar.)

The ache of regret and dread woke me up early and I made my way downstairs to see Sam, after telling Loch that I was going to get juice, that I'd be right back.

What if the letters had instructions on where to meet Jake in the future? Maybe he just needed some time and now he'll be waiting forever? We made a big mistake burning them. I shouldn't listen to you. Maybe I just need to keep listening to myself on this subject and not let you all steer me in the wrong direction. 

Bridget, stay here for a bit. Let's talk about-

I need to go. 

He lunges for me but I've already gone back up. Loch and Ben are dozing still, the house is dark and quiet and I go see Dalton next.

He puts his arm up with the quilts over it and I crawl in beside him. He brings his arm down and pulls me close.

Any other day I'd be drawn and quartered for this. 

Would I be a bad person if I keep Caleb? 

Depends. What's the motive?

Not losing anyone else. There's too many empty places at the table as it is. 

And you think you can fill those holes by sleeping with the Devil? 

No, but I feel less alone. 

If you still feel alone between Loch and Ben then I would say nothing's going to help you and maybe you should keep the Devil on ice until you figure this out. 

I say nothing but kiss him on the cheek and slide out of his bed. I put on my docs at the side door and head across the driveway to the boathouse. I look back once because I think I hear PJ call me but it's the wind so I keep going. The boathouse is dark too and the Devil is in his dreams so I guess I'm already there.

I slide under the furs beside him and his arm comes around me as he wakes up.

You okay? He says, in a voice thick with sleep.

I shake my head against his arms but say nothing.

I don't think Loch can be the man of your dreams if you wake up missing someone else, Neamhchiontach. 

Keep Loch out of this. 

He's in it, though. Fighting a ghost. It's the only thing that helps me sleep at night, knowing that he knows he'll never be number one to you. 

Do you need to do this now? 

Forgive me. It's hard to wake up triumphantly and triumphant to wake up hard because there's a Bridget in my bed. 

I'm not going to give you up. 

Music to my ears, Baby Doll. 

I can't lose anyone else.

You never lost me, even when you asked me to step aside. I don't think it matters what you do. I'll be here until the end. He kisses me on the forehead but doesn't let me go right away and I don't try to leave. It's warm. Secure. Safe.

I leave him reluctantly and head back across the driveway, where PJ opens the door before I can turn the knob and frowns at me. How long were you there? 

Five minutes. You going to lecture me? 

If I must. 

For the record I'm going to manage my own affairs from now on. 

How does Loch feel about it? 

Feel about what? There's Lochlan now. Awake and ready for a fight.

Bridget's going to use her grief as a shield to deflect any criticism she faces for continuing to sleep with everyone. (Thanks, PJ for picking sides today of all days.)

I shrug. You don't have to be assholes about it. 

Neither do you, Loch tells me. His eyes are flashing with tired rage.

This is what you signed up for. Maybe you shouldn't have walked out when things got tough. 

I came back. All in, Bridget. You have my heart. 

I'm not all in. So I don't know what I have for you. 

Look, just ride out the day and tomorrow things will seem better. 

Why? Is he coming back?

Who? 

Who do you think?!

The day before.

Sycophants on velvet sofas
Lavish mansions, vintage wine
I am so much more than Royal
Snatch your chain and mace your eyes
If it feels good, tastes good
It must be mine
Heroes always get remembered
But you know legends never die

An old familiar face slides up beside me as I hurry to run a couple of errands downtown before we head home. Batman took me out for breakfast to pick my brain on gifts for people he isn't especially close to and I'm great at corporate gift-giving. Vintage ornaments and modern music boxes for all.

Whiskey for those without problems. Alcohol is a loaded gift these days. You never know.

So while he fetches the whiskey I need to return some things, gifts sent unsolicited from my Devil. I'm so out of time and then I look up and the brown hippie curls of Skateboard Jesus frame the face staring back at me.

If you change for them, what happens to you?

I...change.

How long can you be someone else? Why do they get to demand this when they realize they aren't special?

Maybe they are special and I'm the one who's ordinary. 

That's not how this works. Why would you want to be someone else?

A fresh start. 

You've already done that a few times over. Does it work? 

Not hardly. 

Then stop changing and stop apologizing and be who you are. Onwards and upwards, Princess.

I looked up into his face and see Jacob's blue eyes and freeze. When I blink they're brown again and Batman is beside me saying my name. Asking me if this man is bothering me. Trying to get information from me but I can't. I can't talk. I can't do this.

Who are you? He finally asks directly.

An old friend, Jesus says, and glides away.

It wasn't anything I could control. I just needed it and I didn't care that everyone was still sleeping. I turned over and pressed myself into Ben, putting my arms up around his neck, kissing under his jaw. He woke up instantly, His hands sliding down over my back, pulling me in tight. I felt Loch begin to turn away in his sleep and I flung my right hand out and grabbed his arm.

Stay. I pulled him closer too as he woke up slowly. All of it now. I need you now. Ben's eyes are black and he pulls himself up to the headboard, sitting up, lifting me up tight into his arms and bringing me back down slowly. Agonizingly. I feel Loch's chest against my back and then his arms around me, holding me up. I'm their puppet in the dark. This show is all me. Loch's arms wrap around my neck as Ben's hands slide down under my thighs. I put my hands on Ben's shoulders and he holds his breath. Naw, Bridge, he says and he lifts me up as he gets up on his knees and then puts me down on my back again, threading my legs up to frame his hips. I feel Loch's fingers leave my hair and then his hand takes mine and squeezes it as Ben begins to move. So harsh. So warm. He touches different places with his mouth as he grinds into me and I cry out with every point of contact. I may explode. I don't know. I tell them to be ready if I do. It'll be like sex confetti and you can just pick up the pieces and make me whole again some other time. 

Lochlan laughs when I say this but it isn't his Scottish braying donkey laugh, it's this smoldering low chuckle that means he's amused but too far gone to do anything about it. Ben's lips are back on my face and he kisses my eyelashes and drops me into the arms of the juggler, by surprise. Lochlan wastes no time keying me right up into the stars and then I decide I can no longer lift a finger but I have enough strength left to reach out and touch Ben's face. He laughs and tells me he knows where that hand has been and I would laugh but I'm almost crying instead. Lochlan sits up, pulling the blanket up around my back but we're sitting on it so it's the perfect leverage for him to use to wind me out so hard I beg him to be like this all the time. He's not even breaking a sweat and I've turned so slippery if he didn't have the blanket around me I'd probably be on the floor.

But no one cares. Because this right here is one of those serendipitous moments that makes all the tough ones fade out of our memories.

Ben's hands are on my shoulders and he pulls me until I'm on my back again and he leans down and kisses me thoroughly, upside-down. I can feel Lochlan's fingers digging into my hip bones as he finds the sweet spot in his efforts and then Ben lets go and I am pulled back up into space, resuming my orbit around Lochlan. He swears when he hits the stratosphere and pulls me tightly against him, his lips coming to rest against my throat, and he tells me this is what will save our lives, and it's never changed. And then he lets go and tells Ben it's time to finish me off and then I am lifted right off the bed and Ben carries me to the door where he pins me against the cool wood and I forget my name and what month it actually is and how to breathe because I don't need to anymore. He's going to do it for me. He's surprising gentle considering I'm being fully controlled and by the time he follows us into outer space he's got one hand underneath me and the other holding me up by my neck. I can't see the floor, only the ceiling and as I watch the glow-in-the-dark stars melt together into one shining light they give way completely into a silent but deep shuddering crescendo that blows my little fucking mind.

Twins.

The replies to Sam's little power play weren't the ones he was hoping for. A unanimous chorus of WTFs, with a few hell nopes scattered throughout and punctuated with a lovely paragraph from the Devil spelling it out quite clearly.

If anything, we've gained another Bridget to look after in a trying period. Don't kid yourself, Samuel. When you're done strutting like a peacock you're going to collapse like a house of cards. If I were you I would camp on August's doorstep for the foreseeable future. Rather than dismissing him I think you'll most likely need him to save your life. 

Stowaway.

Matt left for the UK this morning for his contract there until Christmas and Sam up and ran roughshod over Lochlan, August, Claus, and PJ in attempting to assert his place as the penultimate expert on me, and said he would look after things. That he has the time and the skill and everyone else could go back to whatever they were doing.

Sam's heart somehow became stuck on me and I didn't realize I was carrying it. I didn't realize I would become his pet project. I didn't realize he would use me to ease his pain and hurt Matt in the process but it seems like he's going to, right off the bat without even foreplay here. His announcement came via our family SMS message group and the 911 group as well. One is used for stupid shit like reminders to stop loading the dishwasher steak-knife blades up and the other is for emergencies, like someone needs CPR or to have a truck lifted off their chest.

I got it too. Ten minutes after I saw his car pull into the driveway from taking Matt to the airport.

I found him downstairs in his kitchen making coffee. The table is piled with notebooks and books from the library. There's a stack on the chair and two books on the floor too. Just like Jake. Sigh.

My phone is blowing up in my pocket, on vibrate but I need to deal with him first and then I'll put out the fires across the rest of the point.

Samuel. 

Bridget. Did you sleep?

Yes. Did Matt get out okay?

Of course. He's a good traveler. 

Why didn't you go, Sam? 

It came at the worst time of year for you. 

For me. What about you?

I'm not leaving you right now. 

I'm not yours to be left. 

He made that horrible face when he's trying not to show any emotion and then resumed making his coffee with his back to me. Between Caleb probably about to come barging up here with ultimatums for you, Ben's recent recovery glitch and Jake's anniversary I know where I need to be. 

Yeah. With your husband. 

I don't know how long that label is going to hold, Bridget. He says my involvement is fairweather at best and maybe he's right. I don't have enough room for everything. 

So then what's the matter with you? I yell at him and turn him around so he'll look at me and not miss. You need to pick the most important thing and everything else will be okay!

I did.

Dancing on the ashes of a love that never ends.

(Maybe we're all working that last nerve today. It's going to be such a tough week in more ways than one.)

I kind of got into it with Matt this morning. I don't even know how we got to the point that we did but it's amazing to find out the dynamic of how we interact isn't how I thought it was.

I got up at six, did all the chores, drove the kids to school and then came back and traded off with PJ, who took over because I'm still not at full capacity and so I took my headphones and my phone and crawled into his bed with the curtains drawn and the lights out because his bed is warm, usually unmade and smells like Irish Spring and spilled whiskey.

I had a blissful nap, emerging around ten. PJ asked what I thought of the new album and I smiled big. It's just like Hysteria, I said.

Matt is off this morning, packing for London (here we go again) and was pouring himself a cup of coffee. Def Leppard? You going to make a new pole-dancing playlist?

I don't know if I could even fault him. My very brief attempt to pay the rent stripping (why the hell not? I'm used to being on stage. I'm used to having my clothes off) is rather legendary. I danced to half the songs on Hysteria. Matt wasn't there. He's only heard the stories. Maybe that's why he doesn't get to make jokes about it. It was so brief I don't even know if I have the right to be offended but I am. My face must have said it all.

Oh, Bridget. I didn't mean...I'm sorry. You've led such an extraordinary life and done so many crazy things, I was just trying to..I don't know what I was trying to do. Be too familiar, probably. I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you.

You didn't exactly. I don't even know why it stung. Facts are facts. Let's forget about it.

I just keep my feet in my mouth these days. I didn't mean for you to be a victim of that as well.

How are things?

Tense.

I can well imagine.

Why won't he join me?

Loyalties.

Hoes before bros? Wait. Too soon?

Jesus, Matt. Get on the plane before I rip your face right off, okay?

Samhain until sundown.

Took Sam vintage shopping last evening, and he bought himself a corduroy blazer. If it had been green I would have burst into flames but it's caramel-colored like his hair. It suits him to a tee. I cried anyway because yeah. Don't go there, Samuel. I know it's been eight years but I'm not ready for preachers in corduroy blazers just yet.

I saw a Prada bag at the vintage store too. Three Louis Vuittons, a lot of Michael Kors, one very lovely pink Chanel, and enough Fendis to fill the trunk of my car. I bought nothing.

I should have bought something but Sam kind of blindsided me. Then we did our grocery shop for the food bank and the halloween treat shopping for the church and then we came home and battened down the hatches like in The Purge movie where all crime is legal from sunset to sunrise.

It's kind of hilarious. I donate the candy now instead of giving it out because then I don't feel bad but both Ruth and Henry were at parties and really I still am not at a hundred percent and now I see why fancy stores have big overstuffed chairs to sit in. I used to call them 'husband chairs' because husbands hate shopping but it seems they should be wife chairs. Because I hate shopping sometimes.

***

This morning I got to see the jacket in action at the Samhain service, and Sam did a lovely All Souls Eve/Druid/Unitarian/Wicca mashup that left everyone a little breathless and spooked. He's good at roping in everyone, even the absolutes (as he calls them, people with closed minds. A lot of them read my blog and send me shitty emails) and today was no exception. I came home and lit every candle in the house and then blew them all out again hoping for that same goosebumpy feeling.

It'll come. It's probably still in the garage, preparing for its grand entrance later this week.