Ripple, roar and rise.

We went to an event for the Coastal Jazz Festival last night. No big deal. Just Robert Plant. Just The Sensational Space Shifters. Just Seth Lakeman, who we're all thoroughly in love with now. Especially Lochlan, who came home at two in the morning and dug out my violin and said we've done life all wrong and the only thing we should have been that we haven't actually been were minstrels.

Well, technically we were. 

You know what I mean, Bridge. 

Last night was weird. We dressed to the nines. We ate bad 'New York' pizza on the streets of Vancouver while we strolled down from the parking lot to the Queen Elizabeth theatre, starving but without any time left for a proper dinner. I had a drink at the theatre and then had no more as I had a hard time finding energy for the show, or so I thought.

Seth Lakeman opened and I fell in love instantly with his music. We bought all of his albums when we got home.  So east coast. Celtic. Folk-rock with sometimes more of one and sometimes more of the other. A one-man show. Where has he been hiding? Incredible. Then Robert Plant played the Rain Song and I cried out loud. The songs got jammed in my head. Then I realized how late it was and the show was done and we made our way home.

Seven drunk driving roadblocks on the way. Seven. Three more in the distance on different roads. Life is strange. If you knew death as we do you wouldn't take the chance. You would live so hard. You wouldn't be stupid enough to risk throwing it away, or worse, taking it from someone else. You wouldn't-

Bridget. We know. 

I didn't think that was out loud. 

It was. 

My ears didn't ring afterwards. And last night I slept for eight hours. Hoping it's just going to keep going up and up. Still not feeling better but really thrilled to see all my boys in suit jackets and button down shirts (no ties) and it wasn't even a wedding.

Trying my hardest here.

"She thought she could have what she wanted; She thought she could see the world from above, as if it were a distant blue ball whose sorrows had nothing to do with her. She had wanted to be a bird, but now she knew, as she looked out the window to see Lewis following, that even birds are chained to earth by their needs and desires."      ~Alice Hoffman, The Rules of Magic

Woke up from a drugged sleep (seven. full. hours. Almost there.) in the arms of Lochlan, who was still in jeans and a flannel shirt and boots. He slept sitting up, almost, uncomfortably so, clutching my head against his chest. Like he was ready to fight off every angel I could find in my nightmares and every devil that exists in my waking life.

We need to stay put, Peanut. This is a good place to ride out the hard parts. 

You think it is?

I think it is. 

Okay. (Eight-year-old Bridget always, always trusted him anyway so why not?)

Let's make some breakfast. Do you want to do toast and I'll do some coffee and eggs?

No, bagels instead. Raisin ones. God. Still slurring words this morning. Still fucked up from the pills that stop everything that wants to destroy me in their tracks.

Okay. (He smiles here, because he always trusted eight-year-old Bridget. She always knew exactly what she wanted and she always stayed put when he told her to.)

We'll take today slow. (We have a big group outing tonight and I'm in no condition to go and yet we refuse to miss this.)

Yes. I'm actually feeling better. 

I'll let fuckface know. He's been bothering me nonstop. 

He's just worried. He watched me slide right into the void. 

Yeah, well, the fact that he watched and did nothing to pull you back doesn't leave me wanting to include him if he can't even recognize it happening right in front of his fucking face, Bridge. 

I know. 

You know what? Fuck Caleb. Let's have breakfast up here. I'll call him later.

Two alone.

Gasping at glimpses
Of gentle true spirit
He runs, wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of good-bye

The holy quad is this: grief, fear, wanderlust and love. They all treat the symptoms of the wrong diseases here. No wonder I'm like this. No wonder I walk in quicksand in the dark all the time. No wonder I can't find the light, can't outrun this shit, can't gain any speed.

I have today off. I have a doctor's note as I'm sort of having some sort of major depressive episode exhaustion issue going on here. Everyone's been so helpful and so kind to me and yet I can't seem to gain any traction.

Put on a song, burst into tears. Told Ben it was my favourite and he said it's too sad to be and until I can survive it without the intense reaction it doesn't count.

But I insisted. That's what makes it this way.

Don't do it, Bumblebee. 

Can't help it, it's done. 

They hid all the vehicle keys, except to the ones I can't physically drive (the big bikes and Ben's truck. He got a bigger one. The seat can be zoomed all the way up to the dash and it's still nowhere near the pedals for me so oh, well. Pretty sure this is on purpose. Where's the car key that was in my purse? Ruth doesn't have it. She looked so apologetic. It's sad when you're light years more mature than your mother. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes.

Actually I would.

I would rather have been protected by them, as she is.

Than exploited.

As I was am.

(I said I wouldn't take no for an answer but I technically already have, here, I guess as I'm not in a position to argue. I'm not in a position to operate heavy machinery so on that note, I'm going to bed.)

I am deglazing the pan for a nice light gravy for the roast and Caleb is buttering bread for garlic bread. Dinner for two. He wanted some sort of reassurance after a few long days took me to the other end of my wits and I wasn't forthcoming enough so here I am, being wined and dined and encouraged to help cook in order to prove that everything is fine.

It's fine. I'm fine. I'm okay. Whatever. I finish up and he nods his approval.

Have you decided? 

Bridget, we've talked about this-

I need a change of scenery. 

I've offered and you refuse.

Because you pick weird trips. 

And the Gathering of the whatever they were isn't weird?

No? 

We're not on the same page. 

We're not even in the same library, Cale. 

What would make my trips less...weird to you. 

If they didn't involve all inclusive everything where you just lie around and people wait on you. I hate that. If I go somewhere I want to explore. 

That just gets you into trouble. 

Right. 

So...no. 

No?

Yes, that's what I said. 

Wait. Yes or no?

No, Neamhchiontach. 

Sure you want to be the bad guy here?

I will if I must but I have a feeling I won't be the only one. 

See, I think you will be. 

Try them, Bridget, and let me know how it goes.

Whoop whoop.

The only thing I can do in between sucking up to customers and their endless jokes about 'just one slice of pie but I shouldn't har har har' while they fish for a compliment is to daydream about running away.

Briefly. I could run briefly. I have obligations here. I have a life here.

Actually I'm a little burnt today, a little turnt, even. Maybe one begets the other but I go into each day with guns blazing, super morning-person not even checked, super super super. Holy energy. It starts at a thousand and then slowly ticks down like a full charge to black screen and once again by three this afternoon, I couldn't have lifted another coffee pot if I tried, and happily handed mine over to my successor for the day. She scowled at me and I know damn well she doesn't have the same work ethic. Not like I care though.

God. It's so liberating not to care.


But I do care. I want to do well. I want to matter. I want to have a regular life.

Caleb laughs when I tell him this. That isn't a regular request. 

It's the one I have for you. 

Bridget-

Choose. 

Fine. I'll get back to you once I've thought about it.

I'll be waiting. 

The choice? Either taking me to fucking Burning Man this year or we're going to the Gathering of the Juggalos instead. Not sure if this will light a fire under them but frankly either or sounds like a blast. I will get to something this summer. Not taking no for an answer.

The lamb of Wall Street.

Come, Bridget. 

His eyes glitter, hard navy diamonds in the post-sunset dimness. He's been patient, he's been absolutive, he's been muted in his usual protests. He's been waiting me out.

I don't make him wait longer. I go to him, as instructed and he slides his hands around my waist, trying to breathe me in, exhaling all of his tension out against my skin, as he rests his head against mine. His arms slide further, until I am tightly pressed against him and then he feels right.

This. Just this and nothing else. Relaxes me to the very core. 

Your standards seem low today. 

No, precisely the opposite. They have risen. 

It's a Monday Miracle. 

Was today difficult? 

Beyond. 

Anything I can do?

This. I echo his words and his eyes soften into a lapis laze.

Delighted. But tell me the hardest part anyway. 

Talking myself out of my usual nervous panic. 

Did you succeed?

Barely. 

Then that's a milestone. 

Yeah, you're right. It is. Go me. 

Go you. 

I should go, actually. 

I wish you wouldn't. 

I really need to. 

Another time then, Neamhchiontach. 

I nod, still surprised that I got away. Without being eaten alive and all that.

Burying hatchets (in the sand)/The Four-hour Jesus lunch.

Today was Baptism Day, which means early, early morning church on the beach. Which means men in suits with rolled up pant legs and bare feet being all god-like and Sam pulling out his scuba gear under his robe and neck stole since he has to go all-in.

I didn't know most of the people being baptized personally but I handed them each their goodie bag (containing a bookmark ribbon with one of several of Sam's favorite bible quotes, a small towel with an embroidered cross in one corner, a monogrammed leather bible cover with each candidate's initials and a bunch of treats inside to fully welcome them), after Sam gave them a brand new bible once on land, before walking the next person out to be dipped in the sea.

The final candidate (and the only one I do know) is Jay. New-Jake. Jacob. He came out of the water arm-in-arm with Sam, a look on his face I've never seen before and when I passed him the bag and towel he grabbed me in a big wet hug and then proceeded to hug absolutely everyone. It was beautiful.

We came home and threw a party for him, after everyone had cleaned up. Sam had written a note on the inside cover of each bible for the candidates. Jay passed it around with pride, with tears in his eyes and everyone read it and the weepies were contagious and touching as we brought lunch outside to the patio to enjoy.

What changed? I asked Jake.

I've been given this amazing family, and I want to honor that and be the best person I can, and part of that involves letting go a bit. 

And letting God?

Yeah. It's hard to be as earnest about it. 

You can resist if you want. Look at Lochlan. 

He carries so much anger. 

He's had a hard life, Jay. 

Is it easier now? 

Yes, but he's scarred nonetheless. 

We all are. 

True. 

I want to help make this a beautiful life. 

It is already because you're here. With us. 

Thank you, Bridget. 

I didn't do it. 

Going to give God the credit? 

No, Lochlan. He's the one who brought you back even when you didn't deserve it. 

He nods. I've got to thank him. How do I do that?

Keep being a good person. 

I'll try. 

No, Jay, you have to go all in. There is no 'try'. 

You sound like Yoda. 

He was a smart little green dude. 

Does this mean you're coming to the dark side with the other nerds?

No, I'm never going to be a big Star Trek fan. Sorry.

Living on the edge.

I feel like I reached a milestone today.

We had to drive into Vancouver for an errand and on the way out of it Lochlan stopped and got me a coffee. He was in a rush and forgot to get a lid, and so he handed me an open, full paper cup of coffee when he got back to where I waited. Then he drove the whole way home with me in the passenger seat, sipping my open, super-hot coffee. I'm not sure if it was my confidence that I could manage or his trust but I didn't spill it, didn't get burned and finished it just as we got home. In spite of the short stops, potholes and distracted highway usual Vancouver shit. In spite of the fact that I can't walk and breathe at the same time and have never gotten a coffee on the go.

Because to Lochlan I will always be eight years old and needing to be taken care of, protected from hot coffees, protected from myself maybe.

So I guess I'm an adult today? Finally?

Hurrah. Coffee for everyone. No lids though, fuck it, we're grownups here.

I feel like myself when it rains.

(My list, if you're wondering, in no particular order: Parlee/Rissers/Brackley/Chapin/Queensland and more recently Chesterman/Cannon/South Edison. Google each one with beach tacked on and you'll see where I grew my soul, and to this day I still love them more in the rain.)

Before the boys, before the midway, before the circus, before Jake, before even Lochlan and Caleb and Christian and Cole there was just me.

I was always small for my age. Always running to catch up, always teetering on my tiptoes to see everything that everyone else could squarely gaze at, always jumping up to catch the ball/get in the bed of the truck/hit the pinata/reach the box of cookies on the third shelf from the top in the pantry.

Always playing alone. I didn't like Bailey's friends. I had already moved away from Andrew and everyone else teased me because I was so small, because I couldn't read things in English, because I called things by funny names, I foundered for words constantly and because when I don't smile I look perpetually like I'm going to cry, people tended to approach me with concern and then melt away when they realized everything was fine.

Was it fine? I don't know. I was too young to decide.

When it rained I would put on my red rubber boots and my red raincoat with the plastic snaps and the giant hood and I would go out into the brook where the backyards met and I would watch the water so intently. It was never a beach day when it rained. My family only went when they could bake themselves golden and me, always red and then and only then would we come home. I craved the beach when it rained, empty and barren, the drops leaving strange patterns in the sand, seagulls muted, canteen boarded up, parking lot empty. Something I saw only on the weeks where we would move to the beach to live on vacations.

The big beaches are the best ones, with miles of sand to walk on, room for everyone, and full facilities. Outdoor showers. Fast food. Ice cream. Boardwalks and cutting sea grass, dunes to lose yourself in and sandbars for days. As a child I have walked out into the part of the world where it curves and then turned only to see tiny people on the beach and not know which ones were my sister or my dad. I didn't understand why no one came calling for me, if I was out too far, if anyone even noticed I was gone.

Where are you going? Bailey smirked when I had pointed to the empty horizon.

That's France so I'm going there. Tell them I won't be home for dinner.

I scratch my shoulder, now tender and beginning to blister and turn and keep walking. I walk until the water is up to my neck and swirling strongly around my ankles far underneath, until I begin to see darker parts where seaweed grows in plants anchored into the ocean floor, not floating randomly in where the surf meets the shore and only then do I turn back and walk a straight line back to where I started. Sometimes the water is up to my knees. Sometimes it's almost dry. Seven sandbars. Eight. Nine. Eleven. Finally I'm back to the crowds and I scan the blankets and sandcastles and sunshades and then I see my grandmother's oldest quilt, my mom stretched out reading a book, my dad maybe gone off to find food, Bailey at eleven broiling herself in dark tanning oil, the older sister doing it right. I stand there and look at them and then I ask,

What happens to the ocean when it rains?

It gets more dangerous. That's why we only come here when it's sunny. 

I take off my red rubber boots and step into the brook. I've cleared the rocks and leaves and branches to make the bottom bare but it's still muddy. It squishes up between my toes and I close my ears. The wind rustles through the trees but I can barely hear it for the burbling noise of the water as it flows down through the neighborhood to come out of the big pipe by the highway, or so I imagine because I'm not old enough to follow it to the end.

No, it's not the same.

That night at dinner my dad tells us we're moving, that he's bough a house for us in a really nice neighborhood in a different town, closer to a big city, that the street we'll be living on has lots of kids, and has a path at the end that goes through the woods to a baseball field and a park, that it's really nice.

I never stepped into the brook again.

Is it closer to the beach?

Yes. But a different beach.

I never thought to ask if the kids in the neighborhood would be nicer. Or if my family would pay attention to me if I went to far just because we lived in a new house in a new neighborhood. I never asked if we could find all the plastic fish from the little fishing rod set I had for the brook that swallowed all the pieces the first day I tried it out before we leave, just in case.

I just thought to myself, when we live in the new town, I'm going to the beach when it rains. 

Instead I met the boys and everything was vastly different after that.

Light makers, light wasters.

This morning I waited out the wind, pale blue sky tinged with dark grey, chipped white paint on the fence, a cold blustery wake to begin the time of summer, now, oddly the coldest day this week.

But also the longest.

The days get shorter now-

Don't say it. 

It's a fact. 

Well, it's wrong. I remember endless summer as a child. The days grew longer and longer and only heading into back-to-school did the stars come out while kick the can and bonfires on the path in the woods were still in force. But they didn't get longer as school was ending in June. They just didn't. Summer was celebrated properly and not like this, already on a downhill slide.

You didn't have a good grasp of time when you were little. 

I don't now.

It's fine. 

No it isn't. Now I feel like I've squandered all of this...light. 

He bursts out laughing. You did have a good grasp of the dramatic. 

I wonder why. 

Summer's just beginning, Bridge. This is the first day. You haven't wasted it. It's just arriving now. It's waiting for you. It's yours to spend. 

What should I do?

Anything you want. 

Let's stay up all night. 

Seriously?

No. Remember when you would tell me we were going to and then you'd tell me it was three and then five and then six and I did it so I should go to sleep now or I'd miss everything later in the day and I believed you and it was only ten-thirty?

You knew?

Of course I knew. I could always tell when you said something to protect me. Your expression would be different. 

I was just trying to keep you safe-

Like right now. There it is. That face.

Too hot.

Thirty degrees in the shade this afternoon and Caleb is standing in my parking spot in a suit, minus the jacket but with the vest and a white shirt with french cuffs he keeps shooting which makes my knees buckle just a little still, checking his watch as if I am late or something. I leave the car in the middle of the driveway. Fuck it.

Am I? Did we have plans? 

Neamhchiontach. 

Did I forget something?

Your future plans, your manners, our agreement, I can go on but suffice it to say, yes, you forgot something. 

Can we do this tomorrow maybe? 

What's the matter?

I'm hot. 

Oh, please do another naked stroll past all three houses. Those stunts are mighty impressive. 

I was covered. 

Only by your tattoos. 

Counts. 

Doesn't. 

Does. 

Bridget. 

WHAT!?

Rock and Roll Jeopardy remains the greatest quiz show of all time to me.

Got into it with August this afternoon while floating on glitter floaties, slathered in contraband sunblock and blasting acoustic gems from the playlist I made just for him.

Operator came on and he swore up and down that it was Elton John. Swore. Tried to bet me money but I wouldn't take it. Told me I was fucking with him. Listened intently and said I was totally messing with him and finally he sat back, content in my deception even as I floated and insisted that it was Jim Croce, and he needed to do his research.

Lochlan came out and August hailed him. Who's the singer?

Lochlan stopped in his tracks and listened. Jim Croce. 

For fucks sakes. 

See? I crowed from my air mattress. I don't mess around-

With Jim?

No, with music. Ever. 

How did you get such a vast knowledge of it?

Only stuff from the seventies and eighties-

Yeah, but how?

Lochlan grins. Easy. We had some really long drives from one site to the next and the radio was always on. I quizzed her constantly. Eventually she outlearned me and now I work to keep up. 

Serious?

Very. 

It's the only thing I'm good at, I venture from the middle of the pool.

Lochlan shakes his head. I beg to differ, Bridge.

Eyes wide.

I sent out a big group message shortly before one today, warning everyone to vacate the driveway/backyard/patio and pool area at three-thirty, that I was coming home and planned to head for a swim to cool off before doing anything else, that I didn't bring my suit and wasn't planning to go all the way upstairs to change first, that they could do me this favour, since Ruth was at work and Henry stays late at school on Mondays for math help since exams are coming, and coming fast.

I got back the right number of affirmatives. They're cool with it. It's only fifteen minutes, right? (That's how long it takes me to get bored in the pool alone anyway, and Lochlan said he would bring out a book so I had actual supervision.

When I got home I parked the car and took off my shoes, kicking them toward the side door. Tights were next. Jesus Christ, who invented these things? I stepped through the gate and untied my apron that I forgot to take off before I left work, and flung it on the steps going up to the patio doors. Then I put my bag down on the chair closest to me and my name tag I unpinned and put beside it. Then I headed across to the pool, unzipping my dress, pulling it off as I went. I let it fall to the grass and by the time I reached the pool deck my camisole and underwear were fifty yards behind me. I sank into the shallow end and walked until only my nose and eyes were above the surface. Then I closed my eyes and exhaled.

So much cooler in here. They turned the heater off. I may not come out for dinner.

Also, fuckers told me they'd all be gone but I encountered every last one of them on my walk of fame. Every. last. one.

Jesus hostage.

Lochlan and I are lying in bed this morning, sun beaming in, windows wide, the sounds of distant lawn mowers and closer birds filling our ears. Lochlan stretches laugidly, like a cat.

What if we skipped church?

Then Sam would be lonely. 

What if we kidnapped him and kept him here too?

Then who would do the service? 

His co-rev. 

On short notice?

He suddenly got very sick.

Hmm. Better check with him. 

Go find him. Lochlan smiles a wicked, wicked smile.

You'd do anything to get out of church. (I said the same thing on the midway when Sunday prayers came around under the mess tent and it was mandatory if you wanted your paycheque that week and still he bristled.)

Go on. 

I head down the hall, down the steps and to the right into Sam's part of the house, knocking softly.

Come in. I step inside and Sam is in his den tying his tie. Help? He lifts his chin and puts his hands down.

I take the tie and slide it off him from around his neck. Then I tie it around his hands, making him my captive.

What are you doing? 

Making you our prisoner. You'll have to call your office. 

He grins. Grab my phone, Bridge.

Amends.

One of the hammocks is now officially a double-wide, and I went out this morning with my blanket, coffee in a travel mug and a book hoping to snooze in the shade for an hour or so, before the world gets noisy, busy and fast.

Sam was already there, a slim stainless mug of tea with a lid in one hand, Jacob's bible and a notebook in his lap.

Oh, sorry. I see I have to take a number?

It's a double, Bridge. I'll move over.

No, it's fine.

How long do you plan on avoiding me for? We've talked about this but you're still giving me the cold shoulder.

Sorry. I'm just trying to figure things out.

Let me help you.

Oh, that was a Jake remark. My heart caves in and I step closer to the hammock. His face lights up and he moves to make room. I climb on and he drops the bible and notebook and mug to the grass and puts his arm around my shoulder. I use his chest as a pillow, listening for the mild heartbeat, the open spirituality coursing through his thin frame and I remember that he isn't the enemy, he's the protege, and Jake wanted us to support each other.

We're walking conflicts of interest, objects of desire and forbidden fruit to each other, though. I don't think Jacob meant for that to happen, surely but I enjoy the thumps of Sam's heart and the righteousness of his soul nonetheless. As much as he has kept me in a certain place emotionally, he's also...well, kept me in a certain place emotionally so instead of being stunted by grief I can live almost around it. Even as I keep sliding backwards and he throws himself into the hole to catch me. If I'm not going to get very far with it he'll keep me company there.

I close my eyes and forget my coffee, my book, my Jake. I take a deep breath and I'm asleep. I guess that's the opposite of a cold shoulder, a warm heart. I know I have one, things just get hard sometimes.

White is lime, believe it or not.

The difference between me and everyone else? They'll offer you their forgiveness and I'll give you my grace.

That difference is bigger than just you or me. It's how things are.

PJ put on the new Orange Goblin album and came over to where I stood at the sink, daydreaming, looking out over the ocean while I mindlessly scrubbed water bottles. He put his chin down on my shoulder and asked if he could take over.

It's fine. I'm almost finished. 

What can I do to make this week up to you? 

He already failed to notice he doesn't even need forgiveness. It's already done, we've all moved on.

Have some ice cream with me, with a catch. 

I have to be naked?

You wish. No, the catch is that we don't actually have any ice cream so you'll need to go buy some.

I can fix that. Ever the hero, he grabs his keys and wallet from his room and heads out. I hear his jeep disappear and he is replaced with Duncan, who also wants to help with the dishes and feels awful that their laugh was at my expense.

He, too, chooses to hope for grace but doesn't expect it.

It must be earned, then. Or maybe bought. Coerced?

I'm finished here in a moment and PJ is off buying ice cream. Maybe you can scrub the bathrooms on this floor for me so we can get outside faster? 

Done. He disappears.

I take my time on the last few bits of dishes and one by one they come to lie prone at my feet to repent for their sins. I assign each one a chore that I had on my list and they're off and running.

All of them. By the end of the list I was inventing chores I had no intention of doing this year.

Dust the fishing rods for me?

Can you reorganize the books by color in the library? I just want to see what it looks like.

I don't want the red tictacs mixed with the white and blue ones. Can you make them into layers in the container?

Seriously, Bridge? Gage has his suspicions on the final, most ridiculous request and I'm almost made.

It's on the list. I implore with wide eyes.

And off he goes. To rearrange my fucking ice pop tictacs. I swear to God they would do anything for me. And they obviously do. That's why this grace is easy.

That's why grace is dangerous.

Eventually, with everything done for the day I take my grace and drown it in a fresh cup of coffee that I take outside to enjoy the sun. It's been a while since I've seen her and I needed a day off anyway.

Perfect.

That isn't grace, Bridget. Sam has me. The jig is up.

Yes, I know it isn't. Just let me have this payback. It's fun.
 

Not as I do.

Well, you know, you're never gonna change my mind
Doesn't it seem like a waste of time?
You know I'm always gonna cross that line
And I'll keep telling you, it takes all kinds

One more ripple in a big flat world
Find a little shelter, baby girl
One more ditty from the lost and found
One more step and we all fall down

In light of our discussions (which involved a lot of yelling, some tears and some glorious child-Bridget foot stomping, let me tell you), I have made an agreement with the devil and I have since struck out the offending parts of the previous post.

He pointed out I never listen.

He might be right.

I'll tell you the rest tomorrow. He is still sort of yelling. I'm still not listening.

‽ (Creating monsters).

Well, if they're going to read it, they deserve this.

Last night it started with PJ. A simple message to my phone, one character.

‽

It was supposed to be a joke, this interrobang. But as word spread of how clever it was, and how maybe the Devil has shorthand messages for booty calls or whatever they're naming it today (interrobang? SERIOUSLY. My God.) and they should make light of it by spamming my phone with that symbol.

All. fucking. day.

By the time I finished my shift my phone's battery was at 34% thanks to all of these messages, all containing the same symbol. A surprise/questioning symbol to replace the simple question Caleb had posed in our shorthard text language that is succinct, discreet. Subtle. Easy after all these years. Heck, I've had a smart phone for almost a decade. We're evolving.

What they don't realize is what they're making fun of is relentless pressure from my monster, a man who first touched me when he was already a man and I was still a child and it involved threats, a locked door, a scared little girl and a weapon and I don't know how many people are playing along but we are evolving, just into what I don't have the answer for. He's making amends, we're trying to figure out our relationship. I do all that out loud. He wants it to be more than it is, I struggle very much with my feelings for him. I could shut him down but I don't, I know. I know it's Stockholm syndrome. I know something isn't right with my relationships, particularly boundaries. I am addicted to things and people I shouldn't be. I fear things I shouldn't fear and am brave in the face of things I should run screaming from. I'm..all fucked up. I know this.

And so them making light of this relentless pressure, even as it seems like a simple text message (trust me, from Caleb nothing is ever simple) is actually a huge pile-on, a lack of support, a feeling that makes me want to cry since it's so heartless but I know they don't mean it like that. Sometimes the jokes cut in a little and make me bleed. Sometimes the testosterone-culture and camaraderie of the Collective and the fact that they're all on the same page leaves me out in the cold a little. Separated. Removed.

They aren't trying to be mean, it just comes out that way.

I'm sure of it.

"Love is the most selfish of all the passions." -Alexandre Dumas.

(He also said "Never fear quarrels but seek hazardous adventures instead" and I love that one too.)
 
Caleb was gracious about the whole thing, sending me a single character text shortly after I got home last night, my legs aching, my heart somewhat heavy at the thought of a night torn between the Devil and and the brown eyes of my dreams.

?

I didn't respond, an action that told Caleb everything he needed to know.

Ben was unrepentant, with a hungry eye towards gifting me a crazy night, though I was maybe too tired to reciprocate in the way I would have liked. I just know at some point, when I was sitting in his lap, my arms tight around his neck, either holding on for dear life or just climbing back down from the moon, I rested my head against his shoulder and he stopped short in the dark, pulling me in close and just holding me.

That was what I needed. That, and the orange juice he brought upstairs beforehand because it's the little things.

Actually, it's the big things too.

(Snort.)

At some point Lochlan slid his arms around me from beside us and we made a Bridget-sandwich and I closed my eyes and reached up to stop some invisible hand of time.

Just for a moment.

Just for this moment.

Lochlan's head comes to rest against mine and he whispers that he loves me. I think he's weirdly grateful to be in the space he's supposed to be in, maybe weirdly grateful I didn't take Ben's plans and run with them.

I mean, sometimes I do. Last night honestly I just wanted Ben and Lochlan to be in the same place at the same time. I never see Ben and he's supposed to be our third wheel, so without him around much we drag on one rim and it takes forever to get anywhere.

He promises to fix that. I don't know if he says that to be kind or he just forgets he has a family but I have his promises filed away just in case I need to pull them out and remind him.

Today I spent a hell of a lot of time leaning against the counter. Trying to batch my trips around the diner. Trying to not hurt so fucking much. I think I failed but it was more than worth it.

Not on your life. Or mine. Or even his, for that matter.

Today's visitor at the diner was Benjamin, a big surprise since he's not all that fond of going out in public, but he is a fan of having coffee with me and so he arrived just in time for my break, baseball cap making him look like he did when I met him, when we were in our twenties and full of shit and didn't have a fucking care in the world. Now here we are having our coffee with the weight of the world forcing our heads under the surface of the liquid gold in order to see us drown for it. This is the price for these minor crimes. Life continuing on.

The miles since those days leave a wake in the surface of the cups. I notice. I don't know if he does. Maybe he's already drowning. I would save him but he never lets me.

He likes to leave me in the dark.

I watch him. Watch his hands as they cover mine, watch him drink his coffee, brown eyes peering at me over the rim of his cup.

I think I hate coffee, now, Benjamin.

You don't. And I have a plan for tonight if you're up for it. 

Oh, really?

Sure. Caleb asked if we wanted to join him.

I don't-

Sure, you do. (Oh. He isn't listening.)

I gotta go back to work. See you at home. 

I'll be waiting for you, Bee.

Our house, completed.

I was stuck for time yesterday and didn't get to finish. The reason I was telling you about the house and all the changes was because we hosted a (very) large dinner last evening to thank the architects and contractors and crew for their work, their discretion (haven't found any social media yet from the inside of my house or pictures of Ben at home online yet and somehow I don't think I will) and their patience with what was a multimonth project with a couple of starts and stops and a few tiny turf wars and a lot of hard feelings, soothed over with cooler heads and lots of money, as these things are.

We did a barbecue with salads to make it easy, though I'm sure all of the people who arrived were surprised at the lack of alcohol. Instead we had large pitchers of lemonade and iced tea. There was a giant chocolate cake that had THANK YOU written in white icing and all the chicken wings and ribs they could eat.

And they did and everyone was gone by nine. That's the best part. And we had everything cleaned up by eleven, mostly because both Ransom and Emmett stayed to clean, so I had time to make some tea and thank them both for the little touches. Like putting up yards and yards of pastel rainbow bunting, and multicolored fairy lights. For the tiny dumbwaiter system on the steps down to the beach so I don't have to try and navigate the steps with my hands full of seaglass treasures. For the nonslip treads on those stairs and the reinforced railings and pilings.

 For furnishing our balcony as a place we can actually use, with a large umbrella and comfortable chaises and a rug. And plants. And more lights.

There are never enough lights. 

For fixing all of the shelves in the library that were straining under the weight of all of our books and albums.

For fixing all of the broken, previously slammed doors.

For better locks. For biometric security, which is new but fun and is easier than changing locks constantly as people lose keys (later found in out of season jacket pockets or under beds). I like thumbprint scanning. It's a riot. Especially since mine hardly works since my fingers are always so dry, cracked and split.

For the smart home control that means when I walk into a room or closet or open a cupboard lights come on! But better yet, MUSIC PLAYS.

For the suggestion of Roombas. Which are hilarious but great. I spend half my  life vacuuming white carpets in the softer areas of the house. I won't be anymore. This little round thing will fire itself up at preconfigured times and do it for me.

For the larger laundry room, now with a second washer and dryer set.

For the beautiful bookcase built-ins and hand-built bible stand in Sam's room.

For the bars in the bathroom tubs and showers. Because safety first (and sex, second, though you know me, I'm not going to say safety first if sex is on the list, right?)

For everything.

Mostly for their patience with me as I refused to engage while also trying to run everything. Changing paint colors after the paint had been purchased (it's okay, I ate the cost and donated the paint). Refusing their attempts to be kind as I thought they were trying to be forward.

I can't imagine these kinds of jobs are easy ones, as you invade someone's home with the intent on improvement and you're battling safety in familiarity. You're battling comfort. You're fighting for change.

But as I said and continue to say, they were very well compensated for their efforts and we will have them back again as required for further updates or to fix more broken, previously slammed doors.

(They also quite discreetly reinforced the walls that seem to get the most abuse, aka boys thrown into which include the one at the top of the kitchen stairs and the front hall to the left of the door.)

They thanked us for the project. I'm pretty sure they can both retire now. Everything is finally signed off on. Everything is done. Caleb wrote the last cheque. The lawyers have read it all over and the value of the updates have put the house into a assessement bracket I never thought I would see in my lifetime. Pretty sure Lochlan was rendered speechless at the value talks and still I don't take a single nail, board or bunting string for granted, the same way I don't take any of my boys for granted.

I'm so glad it's finished.

It looks beautiful. Maybe I'll post some photos. Maybe not.

Our house.

Staring at the fire
For hours and hours while I listen to you
Play your love songs all night long
For me, only for me

Come to me now
And rest your head for just five minutes
Everything is done

Jake would have loved this place. So many nooks and beautiful spaces, both inside and out in which to reflect, spend time, write, paint, think or just listen to music, like I am today, tucked into the new great room, which thankfully is in the same place as the old one, just framed in better with built-in seating around three walls, the fireplace built up with bookshelves (and now two-sided so you can see right through!) and window frames so wide you can lie on them easily. They put in stone archways and better hardwood flooring. Better lighting. More drawers. More storage. More definition to the rooms. Everything is painted white (again) or soft grey-blue. The kitchen is more usable now, with a bigger booth in the breakfast nook, a larger stone island I keep whacking my knees on with room for eight stools instead of the four we usually had before and we now have a huge eight burner stove with three ovens and a fridge that has two side-by-side doors and holds half the local grocery store. A vertical freezer stands beside it and now we have ice cream for months. The kitchen flows much better overall. It's really nice.

The steps for the entry from the driveway were opened up and I have a pantry now that is a true butler's pantry with appliance garages and cold storage too. Because of that the formal dining room is now opened up and a full wall of windows put in. We have a new table that seats sixteen and it's not bolted to the floor anymore. Between that and the glass wall I'm a little nervous.

The changes make things a little more functional for the size of the family living here. They also extended the porch so it wraps right around to the backyard on the right side of the house and has room for a full complement of seating instead of three chairs only. They made a proper front walk with landscaping and there's a gazebo now in the former wasteland between our side yard and Daniel and Schuyler's, with a path leading from our front steps to it and then from it to Daniel's. A fairytale gazebo, Victorian iron and glass with a dome roof. It reminds me of my old glass writing room at the top of the castle.

On purpose, Lochlan says softly.

The backyard patio is now covered with a fully-retractable electric roof and new seating. Gone are the big hard wooden Adirondack and mismatched zero-gravity chairs, instead cushioned chairs and couches and a rug and all of it is rainproof. The heaters are no longer the portable kind, instead there is full outdoor climate control at different points. The telescope platform and the pool area are both finished, the latter where the big round clamshell loungers are straight across to the outdoor kitchen is cohesive and gorgeously finished with stone archways that continue the design from our kitchen. The sauna looks like it belongs, finally. As well they put skylights in the stables and in our library, which now also features triple glass doors that open away to have garden access to the tiny grotto from inside.

 August has a large deck now with patio doors from his back hallway and better stairs to the loft with landings and landscaping. As well Duncan and Dalton have new glass slide-away patio doors to open up their suite into the backyard and a covered patio now thanks to the new extended porch above their ground-level walk-out.

(I did not get my spiral staircase. Everyone still asks where I would have put it and I don't have an answer but I still want one. Don't ask questions.)

I think I like the kitchen best now with it's new blend of soft pastels and stone. It's cozy. It's homey and it looks more like a warm family place to spend time rather than a cold modern west-coast McMansion.

Emmett and Ransom and their teams did a great job considering the scale of this project. I can admit that. It's more likely now that I find the bulk of the house's occupants in the common areas instead of tucked away in their personal spaces. That's the part I like best. I don't have to go digging for friends. They're all over the place. It's less of a house now and more of a home.

Everyone has demons. I'm in love with mine.

(Edit: I did indeed mention the night with Dalton SIX fucking months ago. There hasn't been another one since. Leave me alone.)

Today I can't breathe for the petrichor, the oppressive humidity, the mood of his house. Caleb sleeps uneasily, restlessly around me while I listen to music on my headphones and study his face.

It's the face I see in nightmares. Eighty percent Cole and the other twenty something else. Kindness tinged with sadism. Vulnerability tainted with absolute power. Age blended with an unwelcome, new immortality. I would have been fine had he been the one to go, oddly but of course he didn't.

(I would have been fine had he left that night at the camper when I was ten years old instead of coming inside behind me and locking the door.)

(I would have been fine.)

The music is old Switchfoot in my ears. Beautiful heartfelt Jesus-rock, soft and honest, open and worn inside out. The way Jacob preached. The way I like it. It's just there. It (and I) don't try to convince people. I don't attempt to sway them. I just do my own thing and I don't fear or fret their judgement. God's the only judge anyway, by my reckoning.

The music is too loud and I don't hear him, zoning out briefly on a staggering bridge and snapping back when he squeezes that same elbow his brother bent the wrong way when he realized Jacob took his family. I don't think I did much right in my life but I'll never ever regret leaving Cole for Jake. Even though it resulted in not one but two bottomless absences. I wouldn't do it differently. Today, anyway.

Neamhchiontach. Cole's eyes but not the same blue and my heart thumps. Flight. I choose flight. Wait. No, I can't do that. Jacob did that and he never came back.
What are you listening to?

Learning to breathe. 

Is it working? Is that a self-help podcast?

No. I refuse to engage past what I need.

Bridget, talk to me. 

I turn away without throwing him the bone of a word he so desperately wants.

Please, Neamhchiontach. 

You can't control everything all the time. Not even me anymore. 

While you're learning to breathe, I'm learning that lesson about control every moment. 

You're not learning it fast enough. Some days I still hate you.

He wasn't the only person asking that this be addressed.

Another breakfast with Joel, at a new place this time. In the wee early-morning hours before I started work so I had time to make butternauts up and down my plate, an army called to order, marching to the beats of my drummer. My drummer was Cole. He's gone now, he's in hell where he belongs. Someday Caleb's going to join him there. I won't be going there though, my crimes are so small you can hold them in one hand, and are thoroughly forgivable if you only knew me.

All of me, I mean.

Joel wants to. I see him angling from a thousand yards, talking up a storm from way back there, making sure everything is 'on the table' and that we're being 'completely honest with each other' as he attempts to rearrange my brain a little more permanently than Sam can. Joel is both a blessing and a curse as he has so much skill as a psychoanalyst but so little skill as a professional. I could have enjoyed the sexual tension with him for the rest of my life but he fucked up so hard. I wasn't in a place to choose him when I came home from the hospital way back when so he chose for me and that was a really dumb idea that ended his career and most of the trust he had built over the course of it.

But he became (or remains?) a friend and he still has years and years of education and training over the rest, and so sometimes I trust him, and sometimes (like today) I see his curiosity and I burn it to the ground.

He wants to know where Dalton stands. Dalton, my under-the-radar flyer, my Casey Affleck lookalike, my sweet sweet hippie friend. Teflon Jesus. TJ. Duncan's brother and the heartbreaker of the west coast all the way from Brevig to Baja.

I don't think you want to hear about him. 

You alluded to something in your writings but never quantified it. 

Right. 

Why is that? 

Privacy? I don't know. I got busy. Not every encounter I have gets catalogued. 

Some do. Repeatedly.

I lean forward. And a lot never get mentioned at all. 

So what happened with Dalton? 

Joel's curiosity is a hole he's about to fall into. I have a gift for making people feel welcomed, feel loved but at the same time I can make you feel so uncomfortable you'll spontaneously self-immolate.

I took a breath and told him in great detail. Detail so complicated and elaborate Joel put his cup down and never picked it up again. I told him about how Lochlan, Dalton and I were sprawled out on the sectional in the theatre room watching something and at some point I drifted off to sleep (as I do) and I woke up to Dalton sliding my pajama pants down off my hips, putting his head down against my thighs, pinning me there happily, sleepily until sleep became the last thing on my mind. He wound me out so hard I couldn't breathe and then (and only then) did he look at Lochlan for permission. Then he took us both by the hand down the hall to his room. We stayed the night, in which he continued whatever mission he had to make sure that I wasn't left wanting for anything,  fulfilled ten times over and very graphically now relayed to Joel who is sinking into his collar, wishing he hadn't asked, titillating curiosity having now given way to graphic shock.

I kept talking. The servers stopped coming over. I had to go and find someone so we could pay the bill. And then finally we're in Joel's car.

Anything else you want to know? 

Joel just shook his head numbly. Pretty sure there's nothing left to say even if he hadn't asked. What's your end game now?

Same as always. Soothing the savage beast that lives inside my skull with almost zero healthy skill in knowing exactly how to do it. 

Is it working? He breathes.

Of course not. 

But you stop sometimes.

Love is distracting-

Ah, good-

So is war, Joel. We pulls up beside my restaurant and I get out. Thanks for breakfast. 

When we last saw our hero-

Caleb knocked softly on the side door around nine. I would have missed it save for the fact that I was there making tea with honey for Ben. I only had the stove light and the fairy lights on, the house is locked up for the night otherwise, everyone having scattered to the wind. Lochlan is downstairs talking with Ben while they wait for me.

(Dalton and Duncan so graciously made dinner last evening while I burned off the end of my buzz. Once I had a full meal in me I felt like myself again. They barbecued the chicken breasts and laid them over fettuccine with spinach, garlic and tomatoes. It was amazing.)

Bridget.

My name is used. It's a peace offering. It takes me by surprise and keeps me there. Cale. I mirror his formality. It must be for an important reason.

Is Lochlan nearby?

Of course. 

I didn't mean it the way you think. I meant I'd like to speak with him. 

Go find him. He's down with Ben. 

You sure?

Yes. I nod to the kettle I'm waiting on.

Caleb heads downstairs. I relock the side door in case he stays but before I finish organizing a tray they all come upstairs.

Caleb crosses to me, planting a hard kiss on my forehead. Sweet dreams, Neamhchiontach. He lets himself out and for a third time tonight, I lock the door. I look at Lochlan but he is poker-faced. Ben fetches the tray, gives me a kiss on the cheek in thanks and promises he'll be up with us before pumpkin-hour.

We head upstairs a little while later and I wait until the door is closed behind us.

What did he want?

Lochlan shrugs. He said he didn't plan to openly defy my wishes today, that he made an executive decision as you looked like you had a tough day. He reminded me to spoil you a bit. Make sure you don't get run down. 

That's weirdly paren-

Parental? I know. That's all I worry about with you sometimes and he thinks I need reminders?

He's trying to keep you on the same page. 

Jesus, Bridge. He isn't even reading the same book. His is horror. Ours is an epic love story. 

Can't believe that just flew out of your mouth like that. Unscripted. I wasn't even sitting down. 

He smiles and says nothing.

It was horror though. We've since had an exorcism. 

Who was cast out?

Cole. 

He nods. I'm trying to give you this but it's hard.

Going to go to work hungover tomorrow or whatever.

You've been trying my patience,
trying hard to make sense of
things we've gone and messed up,
things we've gone and made so wrong.

But maybe we can mend it,
Baby, this tremendous love.

I was met in the driveway at my car by Caleb today, who said Lochlan was due back shortly and that he was to furnish me with peanut butter cookies and cranberry juice. But that he didn't have organic cranberry juice so apparently Lochlan told him to cut it half and half with water to curb the sugar.

Caleb waited until Lochlan left and laughed as he mixed a pitcher of vodka cranberry instead, because if you can't raise them right, you can at least get them somewhat drunk before dinner.

So that's where we are now. I was going to make stuffed chicken. I brought home a lemon blueberry custard pie for dessert. I had all kinds of plans but I can't feel my legs but that's actually a blessing since the last time I could feel them they hurt. so. much.

I have to go. It's my night to cook. 

PJ can do it. 

He's been doing it. Thanks for the drinks.

A beep from the driveway signals Lochlan's return as he locks his truck.

Told you.

I'm thoroughly disappointed. 

I blush. Maybe you can come up later.

Clear it with your dad. 

WOW. 

How many husbands dictate what their wife eats?

Wait. How many husbands have I had? Three? Wait. Four. God. No more vodka.

PEANUT!

That's my cue. I stumble as I step out the door and swing off the knob and hey, there's Lochlan, up the steps, glaring at Caleb.

What'd you have, Bridge?

Vodka butter cookies and peanut punch. I mean-

Christ. Good job, Pedo. 

Anytime, Pyro. See you tonight, Neamhchiontach. 

Tonight? Lochlan looks so disappointed.

It was a maybe, baby. I smile up at him. At least we're all disappointed so we all know how each other really feels.

Christ, thanks for getting her trashed. 

Anytime. Caleb returns my wave as I'm led away. Bye, Beautiful. 

That's right. I am. I twist around to look at Lochlan face-on. I'm really hungry too. Someone needs to stuff the chicken. 

Is that a euphemism?

No, silly. It's a recipe!

I wrote this for you.

That’s what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin. Sometimes I forget.”
                                     ~Iain Thomas

Fun fact: I don't like to be touched when I'm eating.

I found this out as Lochlan brought up breakfast in bed so early I was sure I must be eating it in my sleep.

He did this to make the day good. I hate Mondays. They seem to run long.

It takes me longer to eat, even though on the Midway we learned to wolf food down. There was never time for a leisurely meal. On the circus there was never a meal for our leisure time so there you have it. Lean and mean is an apt description here but as I was embarking on the second half of my bagel he was getting affectionate, trying to rub my legs, shoulders, trying to start something he would definitely finish and I couldn't do it.

Get away! I cried and he laughed.

What's wrong?

I can't eat if you're touching me. 

He laughed. Well, there's a first. 

I'm pretty sure you'll never see a porn movie where someone leans over and picks up a fork while they're being fucked and has a little snack. 

But rule 34!

What is that again?

If it exists, there is porn of it. 

Right, but this one thing doesn't exist. 

What about whipped cream and chocolate syrup?

That's not food. I'm talking toast or cereal or....a roast beef dinner. 

We could be famous again, Bridge.

Not gonna happen.

Helplessly hoping.

Wordlessly watching he waits by the window and wonders
At the empty place inside
Heartlessly helping himself to her bad dreams he worries
Did he hear a goodbye?
Or even hello?

They are one person
They are two alone
They are three together
They are for each other

Stand by the stairway you'll see something certain to tell you
Confusion has its cost
Love isn't lying it's loose in a lady who lingers
Saying she is lost
And choking on hello

Lochlan is transparent, direct. Hopeful and commanding all at once. Leave Batman alone and I'll bring back your memory thief. 

I don't want him to take anymore. I don't want him to give me mixed messages.

What do you want of him, then?

His friendship. His steadfast spirituality and righteousness on behalf of the rest of us who fumble around for it. His affection. Sometimes he's the best substitute when you're not here.

I'm here now. 

Was the best substitute, I mean. 

I'm sorry I wasn't here, Peanut. 

I'm sorry about Batman, Locket. 

Are you? 

I don't know. He left a lot of money for me for any hardship. 

Send it back. 

No point. 

Caleb has that covered though?

You always told me if I can to double down. So I did.

And he laughs out loud. Now I'm starting to worry that you did listen to everything I say. If I told you to jump off a cliff-

I do it every time. The water's cold but I go. 

Why?

Because you say so. 

I wanted it both ways, Bridge. 

What do you mean?

I wanted you to be independent, to be able to be free of me and able to hold your own and at the same time I wanted you to need me. 

I am but at the same time, I do. I say it softly.

Sam is safe, Bridget. 

I don't think he is. 

No. You know what? I see the way you look at him. 

I don't mean to-

And it's not the same way you look at me. He leans way in for a long kiss. We know each other's faces. Hearts. Minds. He can come back. Let's have some peace here for once. 

Sunday. Of all days. 

Seems right.

***

Hey, Little Stranger. 

Hey Preacher. 

Is it safe to swoop in for a hug?

It is.

Dizzying night.

I chose a midnight walk with all of my boys on our beach, merlot in hand for those who wanted it, coffee or tea for those who didn't. It was dark and freezing and full of stars and I wouldn't have changed a thing, except for my tiredness, which took over and threatened to upend the whole evening, or maybe it was the merlot, since I'm not good at wine, am hideously allergic to the tannins in red wines and also prone to becoming quickly drunk off a typical glass, as I am maybe ninety or ninety-five pounds soaking wet, and only if I've filled up on bread first (but not dangerously enough to explode, like a bird, into a beautiful silent fluff of feathers and glitter).

So I needed a little help coming back up. The steps are treacherous and steep in bright sober sunshine, and here it was dark and drunk instead. Lochlan tucked his arm around my waist and brought me up, laughing quietly against my head as he was vaguely drunk as well. Ben and Duncan came up behind us, I'm sure ready to catch us if we stumbled or stopped. We managed fine and went straight to the camper for a mildly drunken bonfire and a little more wine before rediscovering exactly what we like about each other when he's not parenting me, and I'm not rebelling against that. Level ground, inhibitions and emotions gone in the bliss of a lit fire and a lack of tension, an intoxication brought on by the perfect combination of stars, saltwater and moonlight, brought on by the complexity of long-time love and by the proximity of everyone I care about it.

He put out the fire when my eyes got heavy and the ghosts of Bridget Past tried to crowd back in to the smoke-tinged darkness.

No, I protested. I love it. Leave it.

Time for sleep, Lochlan says, taking my hands, pulling me to my feet. He brings me inside the camper, closing and locking the door, pulling his shirt off and mine too, pushing my jeans down over my hips, dropping his own pants, arms around me, my hands on his face, kisses raining everywhere, tasting smoky skin and merlot and exhaustion. We're cooling off, goosebumps rising, limbs tucking into warmth made from within and without and we remembered who we are in that beautiful night, and who we want to be, separate and together and everything else was erased by the sunless sky.

This morning we woke up in 1986, thick as thieves, fresh as new lovers, eager to start over together as one. He made coffee for us in the campfire and then we returned to civilization to try and reintegrate into normie life.

It's tough but so are we.

This is how I thought it would play out when I was ten.

(And here we are, at long last.)

Last customer, sitting at a booth in the corner for so long, menu held up to block out the world I wondered if he was going to last past the end of my shift. A few attempts to offer coffee or the special (roast turkey on an open-faced sourdough bun, cranberry dressing and mashed on the side) were met with silence. I kept cleaning, loading dishes and redrawing the menu board. I reorganized the spoons and filled vinegar and ketchup and salt and pepper too. I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter finally, with my back to the booths. Not my problem.

Obviously it's Lochlan.

Not sure how he didn't realize that I would see that his ring matches mine. Or recognize his clothes. Or that I would know his hands, his posture, his presence anywhere, immediately. I always feel him before I see him, but I think he thought he could blend in until the three-o'clock mark.

I think I'm ready now. He folds the menu onto the table and smiles at me.

What'll it be? 

One Bridget. To go, please. 

To go where? 

Anywhere you want to go, Little Lady.