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.

But seriously. I'm okay.

My car came out of storage today. To celebrate I came out to go for the first drive of the season, and glitter blew out the vents and...got in my eyes. The boys didn't know that I use cosmetic and sometimes even food-grade glitter to protect people from exactly that but there you have it. No permanent damage, life goes on, I won't accept any apologies for something they didn't know about in the first place and also I don't have to make dinner now.

It was fucking funny though. 

Yesssssss! Maple Leafs shut out the Habs 4-0! Keep it going boys! Yea!

Monsters have feelings too. I keep forgetting this part.

Caleb's having an ego day, a day where he licks his perceived fatal wounds at the decided lack of mention of him in the last post, good or bad.

It wasn't a 'Bridget's Deepest and Darkest Secrets' list, it was just a stupid flighty collection of random things about me. People like that, or so I thought and now I wake up to find that everyone is disappointed and bored. Remind me not to waste my time again. 

The only person truly happy with that list today is PJ, I think. 

Yeah, probably. I laugh.

What's amusing? 

You are. What did you want me to say about you? 

Oh, I don't know, Bridget. Maybe something about my skill or my steadfastness or my consistency in your life. Maybe something about how hard I worked to see that you and by default all of our friends have everything they'll ever need. Instead I get to read an exhaustive list of things everyone already knows.

Do your own writing then. Grandstand. Or better yet, take the advice I give to everyone who complains about my content: DON'T READ. 

Or you could make another list of all the things you love about each one of us. 

I don't see that happening. Besides, if someone has a particular feature or trait I adore I tell them to their face. I'm not shy about crowing my appreciation for my friends. 

You've never said things to me. 

You're different. My voice drops to a bare whisper. You're my monster. 

His whole face softens with grief as he nods. This is what we have to fix. I don't care what else happens. I'm not going to spend my entire life in that role for you. 

100 things (you probably didn't know).

Just because PJ still dares me to try this stuff years later and with a cash offer if I can pull it off, why wouldn't I? Besides, he'll never know what's true or false (hint: it's all true).

(I started this post in 2005 and some of it might seem off because I've moved a bit, changed a bit. You know.)

1. I hate crepes. They seem like thin soggy pancakes to me. Pancake-fails. So people dress them up and call it 'dessert'. No thank you.
2. I had the lyrics to Still Remains by Stone Temple Pilots tattooed in the center of a large cameo on my back. I had them removed (mostly) a few years back The cameo is all but empty now and I don't know what to do there. I have my wings above it now and I just don't feel like getting any more tattoos. 
3. I am addicted to affection, lip gloss and security. Blame Lochlan for all of it.
4. I'm allergic to food coloring and the sun, sunscreen, nail polish, fabric softener, shellfish, hair color and everything from LUSH, suddenly. Boo. Also cats I don't know well and my own sweat. Go figure.
5. I don't like shrimp, or fish with bones. Not big on clams but I do love biting the legs off tiny little deep fried octopi. Oysters aren't great either.
6. I grow sunflowers but the sun is a rarity and it's tough.
7. I actually don't like it here very much. Sure it's pretty. Well, some of it is. 
8. The things I miss the most about home (Nova Scotia) are the people, the donairs and oceans without tankers.
9. I still consider myself the world's most fragile mermaid. Not a great swimmer. 
10. I love to paint skulls. LOVE IT. Have dozens of them up now.
11. One of my monikers in the freakshow was Firebaby. There. Google that. No, wait, don't. Actually it's fine. Thank God for life before Internet.
12. I was a vegetarian for over twenty years but it's only been the past few that I can actually take a bite of a chicken wing without putting it on a plate and pulling the bones out first. 
13. I love turnip. Mashed turnip with real butter and salt.
14. I think I'm crazy but certain things keep me grounded enough to deal with life without flying right off or curling up like a Swedish fish: writing, running, sex, sleep and bourbon. 
15. I'm afraid of bicycles, blooming teas, undomesticated electricity and revolving doors. Escalators, elevators and morgues.
16. Sometimes I'm afraid of Christian but only because it's sort of like being accepted by the cool kid and then wondering when they're going to drop you. I don't get it, he doesn't either. 
17. I steal Daniel's shirts and then lie and blame it on Schuyler/John/Andrew, insisting they must be in the wash/wrong closet when they're in my bed. I like to sleep in them. They're warm and not as big as the others. 
18. I've grown so comfortable with black bears that when I see one I take out my phone and try and capture it's soul with the camera. Then I just shoo it away. 
19. I hate shoes. Jake, you were right.
20. I'm a raging minimalist, except for handbags and bracelets.
21. I don't actually wear a lot of jewelry considering how much I have.
22. I forgot to empty the steam cleaner last month and OH MY FUCK. GROSS.
23. I have to have knee surgery. 
24. I had adenoid surgery once.
25. Caleb has offered me plastic surgery. Whatever I want. I know what he would choose to have done on me but it varies wildly with what I would chose. 
26. I have never and would never actually have plastic surgery.
27. Batman's really freaking famous. People scream out loud when they recognize him. 
28. Ben is not so famous unless he's in his stage clothes. Surprise. You wouldn't actually recognize him unless you're a superfan or a stalker. No, he's not in Gwar.
29. Loch actually had groupies at one point. They were the other people who worked the show though. Everyone loves him.
30. We once stole the whole cash box and ran. 
31. We once slept outside on a hillside in Romania because we couldn't afford a room. With goats.
32. I used to fear being killed by gypsies. Or goats.
33. I sleep with my doors locked now but my windows open.
34. I'm astounded that you can't buy actual Marshmallow Fluff countrywide.
35. I can't each as much candy as I used to be able to because I get canker sores in my mouth when I do.
36. I slept with PJ. A few times now. He's quite a powerhouse of a guy.
37. I refused drugs for the first ten hours of labor with Ruth. On Labour Day. Thirty-seven hours from water breaking to the emergency c-section. Fun times. A week in the NICU.
38. I used to figure skate competitively in regional competitions. 
39. Batman had a painting of me hanging in his public office. He would tell people it's his late wife. 
40. Once I got so scared of the dark that I just closed my eyes and cried until Lochlan came back. I was eleven. Then I did it again when I was thirty-eight.
41. I'm a damned good aerialist.
42. I'm a better freak. 
43. My hearing aids are amazing but I'm still overwhelmed by things like clocks and wind in the trees.
44.  I think every 'caught on tape' is a staged prank but believe every conspiracy theory around. 
45. I love scarves. Big pashminas. They make me happy. Over the years they have doubled as blankets, tablecloths, bags, legwarmers and truck bed liners. 
46. I put honey on my toast. Raised by hobbyist beekeepers.
47. I still can't drink from a can and never finish a can of pop. The metal makes my teeth hurt. 
48. I sneezed in the middle of a video shoot once for a band during A Very Big Scene which involved traffic and angel wings and pyrotechnics. That sneeze cost twelve thousand dollars. They had to start over.
49. I can't sit in the back seat of a moving vehicle or I throw up within eight minutes flat.
50. My makeup routine has been condensed to mascara and lipgloss and nothing else. Fuck it. I'm done with most of that crap. Strangely enough my Sephora VIP Rouge membership is good through like 2028 thanks to the boys with long hair and all the spendy hair products and man perfumes I buy them. 
51. I spend the odd weekend with Schuyler and Daniel. We don't get out of bed. I get hooked on things like Spanish General Hospital reruns and chai tea. 
52. I eat ringalos by loading them on my fingers until I look like the Thing from Fantastic Four and then I gnaw them off my knuckles one by one. 
53. I eat onion rings the same way. It's messier though. 
54. I have no patience for shitty music production. 
55. I have a tiny Pandora bracelet addiction that took over from the Cartier bracelet one. I've been collecting charms for almost four years. I have dozens.
56.  Every professional photograph of me ever produced (except for the ones Cole took) has been missing the checkmark scar under my nose that some kind editor has airbrushed out. I send them back to have it returned to me. 
57. I'm slow to warm up. Case in point, I resisted Cormac McCarthy's writings for the first several decades of my life and now I can't get enough. 
58. Batman was the first sugar daddy and the most consistent. A long time ago he hired Cole to do some work for him and asked for me as well. It was a hell of a lot of money involved. We kept it pretty quiet. 
59. My favorite season would be thought to be summer, with its promise of no school, lax rules and warm weather but instead it's fall because everyone always disappeared from the beach and it became all mine again. 
60. I use three emojis virtually all of the time. The monkeys. The see no evil, speak no evil and hear no evil ones on the apple keyboard. 
61. I used to wear earplugs to listen to Ben's former band. Not to protect what's left of my hearing but because otherwise I would visibly flinch. They're very loud.
62. When I get up I turn on the stove first to boil water for coffee. Then I let the dog out. 
63. If a horror movie takes place in the woods then I want to see it.
64.  I will watch any horror movie though. Even bad ones.
65. My fetishes included being held down/up and hockey players in their arrival suits.
66. When I go into a really fancy restaurant I still wonder if I'm supposed to work to impress the staff and fear they might reject me as a customer because it's for adults only. 
67. Morphine has no effect on me whatsoever. Ditto valium. Disco drugs work well though.
68. I'm a narcoleptic. Hi!
69. If I'm awake after ten at night it's usually a special occasion.
70. I don't like mint anything. Even toothpaste.
71. I really really tremendously dislike the song Fairytale of New York. Someone told me if you're of Irish descent and you love Christmas it's a given. Well it's not.
72. Don't ask me about hard drugs.
73. If you say 'tats' or 'ink' with regards to tattoos I'll probably roll my eyes and correct you.
74. I let my children swear. Always have. I know. Horrible mother, right?
75. I still can't pronounce 'library' without pausing to think it through. My mouth says liberry and then just keeps on running.
76. I'm allergic to Costco. No, really, I'm sure I am. I hate it. I hate crowds. I hate bulk purchasing. I hate the very idea of the place and I had a membership once. I hated it.
77.  I have a perpetual headache and a lovely frown line that runs directly between my eyebrows because when I'm not grinning or crying I frown like the dickens. 
78. I can do the entire Thriller dance. Yes, still.
79. I would have been a Juggalette, but I'm not and I wasn't and camping at music festivals isn't my thing.
80. I can eat about eighteen thousand grapes in one sitting. Ditto McDonalds french fries. Ditto licorice. Ditto Pixy Stix. Scallops. Glasses of bourbon. I'm like a bird with rice at a wedding. You never know, I might explode.
81. I wish I had blue eyes. Always have. As much as I love my greens, I wanted blue. The grass is always greener, isn't it? Or in this case, bluer. 
82. I love the smell of hospitals, bandaids, iodine, gasoline, grass, peat and yeast. I don't know if there's a word for that. Gross, maybe?
83. I will never visit the Canadian territories thanks to 30 Days of Night. I think it was filmed in Winnipeg though. I'll check and get back to you.
84. Mosh pits make me jealous. They look like SO MUCH FUN but then violence and shoving.
85. I want to crowd surf but then I'll probably get molested and raped. What if I wore an inflatable sumo-suit? That's my answer for everything now. 
86. I'm suddenly very concerned about what tapioca pearls are made of because no one has given me a straight answer so I figure it's cadmium and/or lead.
87. My favorite bowling ball is a big-ass size '12er with three holes. I can barely lift it but it does a very good job and rolls very slowly without a twist or a slice. My bowling score remains under forty. No worries, it's even lower if I use a ball for someone my size.
88. I read four books a year. I love books. I love reading. It's fantastic but I just have to touch the cover and I fall asleep. I think books are like some sort of Pavlov's Dog experiment for me. Ditto buying movie tickets now. I pay twelve bucks for a nap.
89. August had me hooked on Kombucha. It's 16 grams of sugar and it has a host or a mother or something floating at the bottom. I didn't understand but it's like a spicy vitamin water only fancier and way more expensive.
90. If I could only have one food on a desert island it would be Keema Naan. At least this week it would. Next week it will probably been something else. (Because bird.) (POOF.)
91.  I want to spray-paint a freight train.
92. I used to be a Suicide Girl. Now I hate at least eighty percent of my tattoos.
93. Glitter is a huge part of my life. It's a decoration, a beauty routine, a sport, a prank and a weapon all rolled into one. Usually it's food-grade around here, just for safety's sake.
94. I would be a greater minimalist, miser, squeezer of coins if only they would let me. 
95. I don't like owning new cars. It's a worry with the digs and the lemons and the risk. It's much easier to me to drive an ancient yet mechanically sound piece of crap and park next to a Ferrari.
96. I burn incense constantly. Mostly nag champa or patchouli but also some christmas campfire blend I got at the Vancouver German Christmas market that everyone loves and I didn't stock up on this year so I hope I can make it last. 
97. I'm lactose intolerant but mildly so one milk product a day is fine but two will destroy me. So if I have cheese toast I can't have yogurt or ice cream later. Not a big deal. I don't run screaming from dairy but I'm amazed at what havoc it wreaks.
98. I'm double-jointed, I'm a witch. I'm a Taurus. I'm a natural redhead.
99. I grieve for him every single day, you know.
100. I finished it. PJ owes me five thousand dollars now. Oh yeah. I love to make it rain. It's been engineered once and it's about to happen again. I danced for money once. Alright it was a few times. 

Have a great day. This may not be up for long. Too much information. Not useable, just personal, I mean.

Cave periculum, quod non ultra Martias Idus proferretur.

I’m not gonna let you become a martyr
I’m not gonna let you pickup the gun
I’m gonna make this a whole lot harder
Won’t make it easy for you to run

Don’t go and blow it all, it’s bad enough baby
I don’t wanna hear you saying it’s not you, it’s me
If there’s blood on my hands, you should let me know
If you’re done with a dance, you should let me go
Oh, baby you said it all,
There’s nothing you can say to break my fall

The disasters are here, sewn into the seams of the blanket I pull over me to keep them close, sewn with double stitching, thread made of tragedy and heartbreak, material consisting of one hundred percent contempt as I turn away from you, away from the light, and suffocate myself when all I had to do was listen harder. I can't hear you. The noise inside my skull is always too loud. I always want to be somewhere else. I always want to be someone else. Just let me sleep.

Please.

No. Get up, Peanut. It's Thursday. 

What's today again? 

What do you want it to be? 

I flip the blanket right off the bed, letting contempt smother grief instead. I want it to be a happy day. 

And what would make you happy? 

Eggs BENEDICT! 

What else? 

An extra cup of coffee after the first one. Like one to wake me up and then one to savour. 

What else?

I don't want to see the Devil today. 

Easy. Okay. Let's go find that coffee. What about for the afternoon?

Let's lament the Canucks not making it into the playoffs. JUST KIDDING. We knew that would happen.

We didn't know you would be so gleeful about it. 

It's just one more chance for the Leafs, if you ask me. 

The Leafs aren't going to make it eith-

DON'T RUIN MY DAY.

Dresses as triggers.

It's Easter and I'm waiting in the driveway for my parents. We're going to church. I'm smashing at the snow that remains on the side of the pavement to melt it by breaking it up faster than the sun will do it. It's freezing cold but I'm in my thin spring coat, new spring dress and new shoes. My hair is pinned back. It's so long but since it's cold I asked my mom not to braid it like usual. Ten-year-olds have weird little autonomies they don't even recognize as such. Give them a little control and they become monsters.

Caleb comes out of his house across the street and down four. I wave but he doesn't see me. He's in dress pants, dress shoes and a shirt with buttons. His hair is combed. Cole comes out briefly, whipping a snowball at the car that Caleb just started to warm up for his parents. Caleb is eighteen now and home for Easter weekend. He gets out and sees me at last and waves, walking up the street.

Nice dress. 

Thank you! It's new for Easter. You look nice too. When do you have to go back to school? 

Monday night. 

How is it? 

Great. I have a room I share with a guy from Ontario, and we both like jazz so it's great. I'm taking law and commerce.

Good, I say. I don't know what those are. Do you miss it? 

Miss what?

Being home?

Only the people. And he smiles at me as I think what people? before he clarifies. I miss you a lot. 

Really? Why?

Because you're funny and you're always around so when you're not it's too quiet. How is grade five?

Good. I have to finish a book report on The Return of the Great Brain. 

Did you like the book?

Yes. It reminded me of Lochlan. 

Why? 

Because he's smart too. 

Caleb laughs and lights a cigarette. That's great. Your hair has gotten long. 

You're just used to seeing it braided. 

Yeah. I like it. 

Why? I am suspicious now.

It makes you look older. 

Really?

But then the door opens across the street and Lochlan comes out in a white shirt, dress pants and a jacket. He is fifteen and still not allowed to start the truck before church but he can shovel the walk. I take off running the minute I see him and forget that Caleb came over to talk to me specifically. Three-quarters of the way I remember and slow down to turn back to wave goodbye but he's already disappeared back into his house. My smooth shoes hit ice on the road and down I go.

My hands get scraped up and my knee rips a hole in my new dress. Lochlan picks me up and puts me on my feet, blowing on my hands to get rid of the grit and because they sting now. Gotta get those battle scars, Bridge. You'll be okay. I hear holey dresses are in now. 

My eyes fill but I'm brave because he's here. I nod and he looks into my eyes kindly. That's my girl. 

The approval sends me reeling with happiness. His girl. The brain's girl. Happily so even though I am lightyears from it. He kisses my hands and tells me to run inside and get fixed up and maybe we'll sit together if I'm allowed. I turn and start to run and he yells,

WALK, Bridget. Jesus. Don't fall again. But I don't hear the last part and go down again on the slippery stones of my front walk. I spring up like a jack in the box though. I don't feel a thing except the weird butterflies inside my chest.

A thousand steps to nowhere.

We sat in the waiting room, starting, stopping the conversation multiple times after what seemed like an endless silence. Not a busy place this morning as waiting rooms are wont to be, because I make appointments early so as not to have to think about things and rather get them over with. I am profoundly grateful that Caleb came with us this morning. Henry was in the exam room, just having a checkup after a minor surgery earlier last month and though Lochlan legally is Henry's father and Jacob his biological father, his de facto Dad? It's Caleb.

Why must you report on every transgression I make? I'm trying here and now you're dredging up a couple of party weekends in which we may have used some illicit drugs-

I'd like to see how you spin the rest of history, Diabhal. 

Going to detail all of it? 

What if I do? 

I'll sue you and take back everything.

From prison? 

Neamhchiontach-

How about we just leave sleeping dogs lie for now?

Because if I have to live under your threats you can live under mine. 

I already do from the random violence you still dole out to try and keep your control over me-

Is that what you think I'm doing? 

I don't think it. It's a fact.

Jesus Christ, Bridget.

We don't have a good history, Cale-

We can change it.

It's too late.

Not through love but through revenge (I don't want to do this anymore).

I told Sam this morning that I was incredibly heartened that he used the term we yesterday to describe being left here. We were left here alone. I wasn't. I have company. I have help. Sometimes Sam's words are the best words but most often they're better when he's just being himself and not a messenger from God.

Boy look at you, looking at me
I know you don't understand
You could be a bad motherfucker
But that don't make you a man
Now you're just another one of my problems
Because you got out of hand
We won't survive
We're sinking into the sand

All I wanna do is get high by the beach
Get high by the beach, get high
All I wanna do is get by by the beach
Get by baby, baby, bye, bye

The truth is I never
Bought into your bullshit
When you would pay tribute to me
'Cause I know that
All I wanted to do was get high by the beach
Get high baby, baby, bye, bye

I also found a song that I love that Caleb absolutely HATES. Glory bee, it's fun to piss him off. You'd think he'd be happy that I climbed out of my little black hole at last but no.

Turn that off, Bridget. He tightens his hands around the steering wheel.

Hell, no. I think I've found my theme song.

This isn't amusing.

Yes it is. This is great.

He reaches out and turns off the stereo. For a man who used to take eighteen-year-old me to Vegas, hold me down and shoot me full of fun (every chance he got) this is a complete surprise.

Too close to home is it?

Neamhchiontach, stop talking or I'm just going to drive off a cliff and blame my broken heart.

I text PJ. If he kills us it was intentional

PJ returns almost instantly. WTF Where are you

Who are you talking to?, Caleb orders.

PJ. 

He relaxes, visibly, and that makes me sad in a whole different way.

Grief doesn't have an Instagram filter. Sorry.

This is what real life is like sometimes. Am I supposed to apologize for it? Move on if you don't like it.

I don't belong here
I gotta move on dear
Escape from this afterlife
'Cause this time I'm right
To move on and on
Far away from here

We got to church exceedingly early, me carpooling with Sam, his favourite assistant on a day that sees everyone else magically busy. It's cold inside and nothing is ready so he drops his coat on the pew, not even taking the time to open his office and rushes off to prepare. He tells me to stay put (wonder where he gets that from) and then I can't hear whatever else he says. I don't wear my hearing aids in the hole. It's easier to keep everything muted, underwater, unintelligible.

I take his coat and pull it over me like a blanket, lying down. I close my eyes and then I hear him yell my name, alarmed, clear as day. I bolt upright and his face relaxes instantly.

I thought you left.

No, just tired.

Here. Drink this. He puts a hot cup of coffee in my hands, wrapping them around the cup for warmth. The heat should spool up now. It'll be fine in a few minutes.

Got nothing against you
And surely I'll miss you

I can't turn my brain off and so I close my eyes and the cup wobbles dangerously. Sam stares at me, his concern boring right through my face, infiltrating my brain. I don't want him in there, it's not a day for this, I don't want the memory thief taking all that I have left.

Instead he just walks around, closing doors, opening the blinds to let in the sun while he gently speaks but a born orator, he can throw his voice so I hear him perfectly. As long as I concentrate.

His words are a life raft in a sea of unwelcome waves, safety in the face of danger, and I won't even tell you what they are. He moves his coat to wrap it around my shoulders and then sits down beside me. Then he jumps back up and walks out quickly but is back in an instant, his own cup of coffee in hand. He puts an arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder.

Sometimes I really miss him, Sam. Tears squeeze out of my eyes, fall off my chin, landing in my cup.

Me, too. He wraps his arm around me tighter still, kissing the top of my head. I didn't think we'd be left here but here we are.

This place full of peace and light
And I'd hope you might
Take me back inside when the time is right

There you go. Everything's going great and then I fall into a hole and I can't get out of it. 

Sure you can. Just take my hand. Caleb's eyes glitter in the waning light and I pull my hands in against my chest instead, shaking my head. I think I'll stay where I am. 

Fine. But just remember, instead of helping you navigate life post-Preacher, August likes to keep you sick, Bridget. He's no different from the rest of us.

Hey, how long.

We've become disillusioned
So we run towards anything glimmering

Time to put the silicon obsession down
Take a look around, find a way in the silence
Lie supine away with your back to the ground
Dis- and re-connect to the resonance now
You were never an island

Working out the notes to Disillusioned as the house wakes up slowly, the sun winning the race along with me, the rest loathe to catch up. It's Friday, it's sunny and I just came home, choosing the ghosts, headphones never leaving my skull, feeding it words, any words as long as they don't have to be on my own. Flat on my back underneath history, measured breathing matching effort, hands all over, brain broken on purpose in order to block the thoughts as they barge in, unwelcome interlopers ruining everything. Unwilling to hear the accent, unwilling to look into the pale eyes, unwilling to reach out and touch the closest thing I can find to him, but needing him all the same. I want to show him this song. I want to show him this life. I want him to break up the acrimony, rip up the habits, hollow out the routines, keep the peace, find the souls and sort them back into their places instead of this. I want him to come back and hold me, come back and smile at me. I want to feel safe. I want to feel peace. I want things to change. But I don't want to be the person who says that out loud and so I just keep fucking it all up trying to kill time dead in case that's the only thing keeping him from coming back.

I'm a really good sugar baby, though.

Happy International Women's Day.

I live in a house full of men, there is zero equality here and I don't even get to stand up to pee so I'm not sure what I'm celebrating because I definitely get the short end of the st- er, dick, I guess.

(But really, no I don't.)

(Snort.)

Supposedly I am supposed to be celebrating my rights today. Let's break it down:

My right to work? Unofficially not allowed, actually (but they cover it nicely by fashioning me into a much in-demand executive assistant for both Caleb and Batman, on call twenty-four seven with lovely renumeration to boot.)

My autonomy? Ahahahaha. 

I can own property! This one works but is in direct contravention to my right to be free from sexual violence, which is...uh...how I keep the property.

My right to education: I am your friendly neighbourhood college dropout through circumstances far beyond my control (surprise!).

I have voted before though. Do I get flowers now?

Wednesday gold.

It's a crime you let it happen to me
Never mind, I'll let it happen to you
Out of mind, forget it, there's nothing to lose
But my mind and all the things I wanted

I'm singing at the top of my lungs, in a t-shirt that's slightly too small and my underwear while I stand on a chair putting longer screws into the curtain rod bracket because when I whipped the curtains open this morning the whole thing came crashing down on my head (hence the outfit). The drywall here is made of cotton candy. Put a nail in the wall and it will inch its way down in the space of a heartbeat. Put a screw in and a week later you can just pull it out with your fingers. Use a drywall anchor and that will pull out too. This house cost enough, things should stay where I put them.

Jesus have mercy. Ben says it with gusto. Think he likes the view. He could have done this without the chair but he's claiming it's for my own good, to be able to do basic repairs. It's a confidence prop, since I can already do a lot of home repair, roofing, tire and oil changes, plumbing, electrical and cosmetic, a little appliance work and anything else you can throw at me as long as it's not computer-related. I just despise it so I play the little-lady card every chance I get, stubborn and determined as I always am to be one of the boys.

It isn't working though and I put my screwdriver down. Be right back. I add pajama pants and head down and outside to the garage, back in minutes while Ben patiently waits. He's so amused. The pajama pants come off, back I go up on the chair to enact my brutal solution. Longer wood screws right into the stud that was blocking the larger anchors.

If these come out I'm giving up and taping tinfoil over the windows like Cole and I had in the bedroom of our first apartment. It faced east, which meant every morning the sun blazed into the room like a dragon breathing fire. Cole liked to sleep til noon. We had no money for curtains. God how the tides have turned.

Wouldn't toggle bolts have been better?

Do we have any left?

Good question.

Besides, the screws are covered by the brackets, hardware stays with the house if we ever sell so if you're worried about show ready condition I've still made the grade.

Can you just stay up there for a little while so I can look at you?

No. I'm done. Help me with the rod. I give a yank to the side of my underwear. The hips have rolled down and I'm dangerous close to nude home improvement here but honestly I'm more concerned that Ben will eat the screwdriver bits as a snack while he watches me.

Got it. He lifts it up over my head and sets it into the grooves on each bracket. My underwear slides down even further as I reach up to tighten the screw and Ben reaches over and pulls them down to my knees.

Now that's a look.

Boy, is it. Lochlan comes in with coffee, surprising me. I step back into thin air and drop into Ben's arms. He turns me upside down and whips the underwear up over my feet and off, holding me out to Lochlan.

First dibs? He wags me back and forth. I scream-laugh and Lochlan breaks out laughing too.

Put me down!

Okay. Ben starts to lower me to the floor headfirst. I scream again.

No! Jesus Ben, pull me up.

But he fancies himself an Olympic figure skater now and so he twirls in a circle first. The screams continue until my shirt falls, covering my face.

Great, I point out, my voice muffled.

Ben starts laughing and puts me gently down headfirst on the bed. I sit up and pull my shirt down and remind him I asked him to stop doing that. Why does he continue?

Because of him. The sound of you laughing and screaming with fun and excitement is something he's missed dearly your entire adult life.

And he points at Lochlan who is smiling with tears in his eyes.

Very cranky when I hurt.

A grade 1 abductor strain means my only chores are lots of time in the sauna and the hot tub this week. Except yeah. Not going out there, because Ransom is doing exterior carpentry (or I guess his team is, because honestly I don't believe he even knows which end of a hammer is the bonky part) and then when the weather warms a little they will begin inside.

Because I couldn't put it off forever. 

Or we could move. Gosh, I whine. I hate mess. 

Jesus, Bridge. You're going to love it. And he turns out to be the best choice for the job. Christian is here today filling in for Lochlan who. has. to. work.

There must be a thousand contractors here. The mainland is all new development. Can't we find someone-

Just keep away from him. 

I plan to. 

That lasted ten whole minutes, not even enough time for me to finish my coffee and Ransom is in my kitchen. Jesus. Can we just lock a door or something? 

Mrs. Macintosh, he smiles at me like he's waiting for me to offer him coffee. I do nothing of the kind. I don't like him at all. 

And you are? Apologies if we've met before. Watching his face fall as he realizes he's failed to charm me is better than any pain relief I've had thus far. Sometimes I get why people chose to be evil. It's weirdly utterly satisfying. 

Ransom _________. We met before Christmas? I'm overseeing the improvements to your beautiful property. 

Did we? Well it's lovely to see you again. I go back to Lochlan's ipad which he left on the counter and I don't look up again even though I know damn well PJ is biting his fist trying not to laugh, bending deep at the knees on the other side of the counter for the shit I just pulled, which is something I hardly ever do so that's when you know something isn't right.  I get up to leave, albeit slowly. If Ransom is here I don't plan to be.

Batman comes in and sees me moving gingerly. Bridge. What's up? 

Waiting on the meds to kick in. 

Are you sick? Ransom interjects. He needs to be whacked with the blunt end of a boundary here. Jesus. 

No, I've aggravated an old leg injury. I'll be fine. 

How did that happen?

Sex, obviously. Have a nice day. I turn and take the ipad and head up the steps. Fuck my life. There's nine people watching me limp slightly so I turn and glare back at them. At least Ben is upstairs sleeping still so I can curl up with him and lick my wounds. Later I'll call Caleb and ask if he can just fuck me like a normal man for once ever but he's going to laugh and tell me not in this lifetime. I know it. 

I hope Lochlan comes home soon so I don't have to burn this place down. 

Love, hate, love.

You told me I'm the only one
Sweet little angel you should have run

Some decidedly glarey, unceremonious cheese toast and the Devil has gone home at last. I think Lochlan took a day and a half to sober up and realized he had sold his soul and probably handed off mine on the weekend too and now he's done with all again, even though by early church time on Sunday morning they were shaking on their new grand plan to let the water flow under the Bridget, that what's yours is mine and mine is yours and time is too short not to love everyone the way everyone loves me.

I think Lochlan gave it a good try but if he has to be shitfaced to deal then he's going to go down a road I already went and dragged him back from once (or five times) and that's not going to happen again.

And Caleb is sober now so let's just say we'll have to live with him mean because he's on medications that shouldn't see him drinking because they react funny and he really went one for one with someone who can usually outdrink him and everyone else before and after him. That's a bad idea.

It was nice while it lasted though. I like it when they let their guards down. I like it when they're silly. When they get along. When things are good. But I'm a child waiting for approval, trying to fix things, trying to be the little peacemaker so no one is unhappy with me. I couldn't tell you no if I tried. Did I? Maybe I did. Maybe I just waited him out. Maybe I punished him. Maybe I tried to preserve myself.

Whatever way you spin it, things are different today. We left our March secrets in our quilts and our armour on the floor and we greet this new aftermath naked and brave.

A fondness, a hatred.

My soft spot is so squishy that if you touch it you'll poke a hole right through me, leaving a mark that won't heal. I'm swiss-cheese girl. The waffle. The sweetheart. The Fragile Little Miss Bee.

I'm also exhausted and was exempted from church by Jesus himself in the form of Sam, with his now-empty coffee cup, badly-knotted tie and barely combed curls who caught of glimpse of me this morning and swore, telling me to go back to bed.

That's the least restful place in this house, I told him and he frowned. He didn't even have to ask because he knows me well enough by now.

I'll do my penance another day.

Can't stay away from the Devil.

(Fuck Lent. Fuck everything.)

(Or maybe it's too late to say that.)

Caleb's issue is craving me. Mine is craving him right back.

The table reduced to three late last night, long after the words from their speeches had grown cold. Lochlan was scowling, one arm slung over the back of my chair, four whiskeys deep and up to his knees in no good. Caleb was already pie-lit by then too, I couldn't even keep track of his drinks.

Fucking yarling. She's beautiful but she's not all yours.

Happy Birthday, you bastard. Don't let your jealousy age you prematurely.

When their eyes shine and their hands are steady they connect again, best friends who remember how they started before I ruined everything. I just want to make up for that and so I brought Caleb upstairs with us and I didn't ask permission and I didn't offer apologies and Lochlan didn't need to stand before a promise he didn't even need to make in the first place.

He didn't. I should have, but I didn't either.

I was held against the door while Loch stared into the fire, hating me, hating Caleb, hating himself most of all. I pleaded with him not to (one not to put me up against the door, one not to hate everything) and they listened. Old habits die hard. Hard dyes old habits dark, staining them with the inky night and it took until the sun came up over the ocean to tame them both, to bring Lochlan back around to loving everyone, to make Caleb see that this is what he will forever have to beg me for.

Lá breithe sásta, Diabhal.

Oh, but I didn't beg, Neamhchiontach. You offered.

Stilettos all weekend. Kill me now.

Oh my God. It's almost two in the afternoon (maybe I just got up but last night was so late I contemplated staying up) and I'm hosting a birthday dinner in four hours with twenty guests. A home-cooked dinner, no less, including a birthday cake baked by me as is tradition. Caleb called me both capricious and interminable when I went over to tell him the times and I thanked him and rushed back out the door. Everyone is to arrive at six sharp for drinks and talk, dinner is at seven. It's not that difficult, actually. The cake itself will take more time to cool than to bake or decorate, and dinner is pasta with mussels and garlic, and cheese bread on the side. One of Caleb's favourite dishes that I learned to make a long time ago, requested for tonight much to my relief as I didn't want to make a big heavy pot roast (one of his other favourites).

First order is to dispatch PJ to our seafood guy and then John to the liquor store. I didn't leave it til the last minute but yesterday was uncharacteristically packed and today is almost slow-motion in comparison. And it won't be too late, usually birthday dinners wrap up in three hours or less from passing oven-warmed plates down the line at the table to the last speech (by the birthday person) and last bite of cake, then hugs all around.

In a way I'm looking forward to the dinner itself but maybe not the aftermath. It's difficult to celebrate such a sacred day when the only gift the person asked for isn't one you can freely give this time around.

Wish me luck.

On my way downtown for the evening, don't have time for this.

Questions I have right now:

1. Why do stilettos hurt so fucking much now?
2. Why does makeup feel weird these days? My face HURTS. OW. Get it off. 
3. Why do things start so late? 
4. Is there food?
5. Can I stay home?

I'm sort of kidding. I go through this in some form or another every time I leave my house.

But seriously. Half the time I want to leave and then when I have to leave I don't want to. Bridget, why are you like this?

A promise so empty it echoed when I yelled into it.

You’re fired up and you say you want it
No don’t ever lose your will to fight
Or wane when you think upon it
It’s hard work but it will be worth it
When we see smoke filling up the sky
We’ll burn it down but we’ll build upon it

When I opened my eyes this morning there was a fire already popping and crackling gently in the fireplace, there was sweet coffee in my favourite mug on the table near the bed and Lochlan's head was between my legs, arms looped up around my hips, holding my hands tightly in his own. I took a deep breath and squeezed his hands and he let go so I could anchor my fingers in his curls as I lifted my hips to meet his soft smile.

Good morning, Beautiful.

Is it ever.

He laughed. (No. No, don't talk. Not right now.) I'm already halfway to the moon and I wasn't even aware of it until he broke contact. But he doesn't make me wait and my knees flex against his shoulders so hard I think I might have sprained something important. But I didn't. I swing around the moon and catch him on the wave back and he smiles a little wider. Thought you might need a little release.

He climbs back up and drops his weight without preamble, inside me, arms tight, pulling me up close against him, dropping his head down against my shoulder, our heads pressed together as we greet the morning with muffled sounds of..of...absolute joy.

Okay, maybe it was I who needed that release.

When he let me go the second time I pinched myself. I didn't even realize I did it until he chuckled and asked if waking up like that is all it's supposed to be.

Yes. I grin back. Please do that every day for the rest of my life.

The first clouds muscle in to replace the sun in his eyes. It's come up quietly, ambient day to replace our endless blissful night. If you let me, I'd be happy to. 

I think I need to plan a birthday dinner for here, in this house. Then we can send the Devil home and keep him at arms length until he figures it out and chews my fucking arm right off in order to get to me.

Lochlan nods and I haven't even said anything out loud. Yeah. Yeah. That's what we'll do. But I won't let him get to you. Not this time.