It's moving day and someone with a death wish woke me up at six this morning. On a Saturday. When it was only twelve degrees, foggy and rainy outside. Without tea being ready or anything so I shrugged into jeans and a hoodie and went all the way downstairs and woke up Dalton and Duncan but Duncan swore and didn't get up so I shrugged and crawled in with and twenty minutes later Lochlan is plucking me out of the warmth and comfort and asking me very sweetly if I can put on the teapot before he skins me alive. Duncan laughs and tells him I make a good hot water bottle and Lochlan agrees and asks him if he'll very kindly get a move on because we have a very busy day.
The very busy day took precisely sixty-six minutes with this many full-size men moving four rooms of furniture and we were done and three of them went to McDonalds and got breakfast for everyone and I've since had five invitations to 'go back to bed' because I'm still sleepy and they wouldn't let me do all that much except the stupid nitpicky things like plug in lamps and reset clocks and remake beds.
Dalton and Duncan kind of love their new space though. More room for them both and they're close anyway as brothers plus they have a separate entrance and a kitchen now so it will mean more independence and privacy though they both promise to still be upstairs most of the time. They both claim they'll be homesick otherwise.
And Sam finally had to show his face to the rest of the world. He hasn't had any more to drink since that night. He hasn't said why he drank that night and he hasn't expressed any interest in God, leaving the house or joining us at the table for any meals yet either. He did however, express profound gratefulness for the return to the main part of the house from the apartment, saying that it feels good to leave the memories behind (I think I know what he means now) and start over, and that he wondered if he should throw a little room-warming party.
Not with Bridget, Loch said, and pulled me in against him.
Sam chuckled but his face didn't share the sound at all.
I'm going to bake a cake and we'll have a house-rearranging party tonight. Part of being a collective is being flexible enough to shift things around as required, and this was definitely required. It brings Sam out of the past and closer to the people who can help him most, and it puts more space between the Poet and the Poem.
I hope they don't mind helping with the laundry as much as Sam did, because it's perpetual.
