Hard reign.

I was pulled out of my dreams this morning, up into Ben's lap, arms around his neck, his hands pulling me into him over and over, driving like the rain in the darkness as I bit down against his shoulder just hard enough to leave tiny teeth prints in his tattooed skin that lasted through the morning and into lunchtime before fading back to nothing.

I was pulled out of my warm house this morning, into the driving rain with memories of Ben's arms soaking through my church clothes, thoughts that lasted through the morning and into lunchtime before fading back into nothing, teeth clenched against the word of God, intrusive guilt taking the place of pleasure in the darkness.

I was pulled out of the truck roughly this morning, when we returned home, into Caleb's arms, his hands pulling me close against his chest, gritting his teeth against the betrayal of a promise broken, to spend the darkened rainy Sunday with him instead of with his ever-intrusive God, just enough to soak through the relaxation before fading back to tension and upheaval, back to fear. Back to memories of the way I would grit my teeth when he touched me.

God didn't have much to say today. Sometimes the rhetoric brings the sleep and I tune Sam out and let my mind wander right out the front door of the church and disappear into the morning rain, thoughts that touch on Lochlan, not here right now with me, and then Ben in turn, with me but head bowed as he works hard to do right by himself first and then all of us around him and then Caleb, also not here and I remember I promised him I would be over before getting swept along in the Sunday routine and here I am, here instead of there.

I remember.

Oh, I remember.

I should have stayed in bed with Ben, but then again, he was the one who wanted to attend services so here we are and now I'm headed inside to spend the afternoon with Caleb, maybe watching a movie, in his private den with a good whiskey and some lunch. He bought a large wooden tray in order to cook in the kitchen but have some lovely private meals in his 'quarters' as he calls his little warren of rooms. It works. I don't know if the tray works yet, this will be the first time I've joined him at all.

Bring me the storm and let me feast on it.

No calendar. I won't be ruled by the dark changing into the light. I won't be mindful of the numbered days, labeled with the season, forcing me into a timeline not of my own choosing. Instead I will be ruled by my heart, fierce protective queen that she is, stumbling through the hours, reigning over minutes at a time as best she can.

That's what I'll be ruled by.

Fine, Sam says and washes his hands of it all, dirt running in rivulets, streams passing through his fingers, an attempt at salvation made and at once rejected.

Fine, Caleb says, licking the grievous wounds of his ego, bluster and swagger drowned in his own blood, running dark red like wine over my tongue.

Fine, Lochlan smiles, bobbing to the surface of the blood of his enemy, buoyed with the hope of his faith in me, in us.

The day is dark, rain washing away the blood, the dirt, the hurt feelings of the past two days, replacing it with new beginnings.

Today is the first day of the rest of your li-

Yeah yeah. I know.

Reluctant polyamorous therapy for three people who hate each others' guts but refuse to give up or in as directed by a completely unimpartial and thoroughly overwhelmed third party, told by a tightrope walker who hasn't walked a wire since 1996.

(Alternate title: The Gentlemen's Collective.)

Do we censor? Do we flow?
Are we drunk on the chemicals?
Every feeling in my bones tells me to lash out
Tell you to fuck off
You got my heart and I’ve got your soul
But are we better off alone?
With every battle we lose a little more
Remember everything that we die for
You are everything that I die for

I had to run some errands last evening and take Henry to work and when I came back Caleb has Lochlan facedown on the front walk, arms pinned behind his back, leaning on him hard, shouting at him I'm not going to take her from you over and over until Lochlan stopped struggling and gave up. Which is about the time I walked up. Caleb leans down and kisses Lochlan's cheek and Lochlan hollers his protest before Caleb lets him go and Ben hauls them both to their feet.

The hard part here is no one wants to give anything up. Caleb's got a foot in the door, so he thinks that means he's entitled to whatever he wants, and Lochlan just got back to the place he's supposed to be and he's not going to give up a moment, whether he's busy or not, whether we're getting along or not.

Not to Caleb, anyway.

This is going to be hard.

Sam thinks he can help us find common ground. Apparently it's the front yard and Lochlan's going to eat it or something. I sit near Sam, away from the rest, arms crossed over my chest, bottom lip out in silent protest.

Sam proposes a calendar. For fairness.

Seriously?

Do we feel safe
Do we feel safe
Do we feel safe
Do you feel safe

Sooner or later it came to an end.

(Don't worry about the title, for it's a lyric, guys.)

It was never my intention to get you
Wrapped up in a hot sun beach haze
When you made me crazy
We were not afraid
Just star-crossed runaways
No looking back now

Last evening Caleb broke the cardinal rule and I don't know if he did on purpose (he says he didn't) but then again he was smiling when he said it, albeit a mea culpa kind of unabashed embarrassed smile, so I can't tell you if he was lying or not. Eventually he will tell us. Or maybe he just won't.

(Also the whole house is sick to death of my endless KJ Wallen playlist and I DON'T CARE.)

The cardinal rule?

(Don't turn off my KJ Wallen playli-)

I mean, it's not even carved in stone but the real rule is if Lochlan is around and actually wants to spend time with me (heh. Do we get along? Depends) no one infringes on that. No one. Not saying it's rare because it isn't but Lochlan likes projects and he likes to be useful and when he stops moving for ten minutes or an hour and comes looking for me and you actively try to get in the way of that? Expect a problem.

Caleb? Sometimes a big problem. What did they last before coming to blows?

Four days.

Only this time due to my sheer brilliance there was no way to send them off to their respective corners to cool off and so the moment they were no longer blocked from getting to each other they went back at it.

Put that fist fight to the soundtrack of Summer Sunday and I pretty much have the opening credits of the movie of my life. Even though I didn't get to see it because while PJ and Duncan went back in to save them from each other, Dalton had to physically carry me out because I wanted to break them up too.

So I didn't get to write yesterday. Mainly because my laptop was in the way when they went into each other and it went crashing off the countertop and then it just wouldn't light up but Lochlan said he could fix it. I pointed out what happens if I stop lighting up and he just looked at me and then kept taking screws out of the back of it and placing them methodically onto the table in a little pile.

We'll get you a new one, Caleb reassures me from the other side of the kitchen where he sits with an ice pack against his eye. He's bigger and stronger but Lord, is Lochlan ever fast and also committed. In the time most people take to think about whether on not they really want to get into it Lochlan already has you on your back and you find yourself losing.

I can fix it. Lochlan growls at him.

JESUS SORRY I TRIED TO MOVE IN ON YOUR PLANS. If I want to buy her a replacement for her ten-year-old laptop I will and you don't get to weigh in.

Lochlan stops talking altogether, but so does Caleb so I'm going to call it a win.

Also Lochlan did fix the laptop, though it's got a dent now. It's okay. So do we.

Duh.

The poet is in the hammock this afternoon when I come out with my lemonade and he won't budge. He won't vacate it or slide over, telling me I'm too small and he wants to relax, not remain tense that he might inadvertently crush me or somehow squish me. He tells me to find a different space and so I head inside and go straight downstairs to his room. I place my lemonade on his nightstand and crawl into his bed, asleep in seconds, maybe less.

An hour later he arrives and offers to trade places and he laughs because waking up seems insurmountable right now for me as I struggle to respond when I just want to sleep. He gives up quickly enough and when I wake up next, my throat exceedingly sore again, nose running, and feverish from what I thought was a cold but is probably the first flu of the season, Duncan is gone and Caleb is in his place, leaning over me in concern.

That's why I'm here, Neamhchiontach. To make sure you're okay. And let's face it, you're far from okay right now. 

I'm fine. 

The ghosts are back. 

Think they ever left? I roll away from him and burrow into Duncan's blankets. After a minute or two, Caleb leaves. Not like he can't find me later.

What's wrong with my head.

I went out to the garage this morning to get a big bag of hash browns and the pot roast to thaw for tomorrow night's dinner and Jacob was already there, leaning up against the steps, arms crossed. His face was grim but determined, that facial expression that said everything he didn't need to say, the one that showed me I was fucking up and fucking up hard.

What have you done, Princess? 

I step around him, open the freezer and reach in to collect what I need. When my arms are full I stand up, close the top and head back around him, stopping directly in front of him and looking up at him. The sun beaming in through the top of the garage doors goes right through him, as do the dust motes I have disturbed .

What a beautiful face. I miss it so much.

Turn the lights out when you leave, Jake.

This post feels really fourth-wall in explanations but I'm leaving it the way it is.

Did I mention one of the pros of this Collective is if you need some heavy furniture moved it can be done exceedingly quickly and without complaint? Such was most of yesterday afternoon as all of Sam's bedroom and den furniture made the trip down the driveway and most of Caleb's things came this way, save for his kitchen barstools and the huge white leather couch.

Now Sam's old rooms looks strangely modern and cool and the boathouse looks very cozy and rustic. It works perfectly. I even switched their bedroom window coverings, as Sam is up with the sun and sleeps early and doesn't like to cover the windows at all while Caleb loves his blackout curtains.

Caleb's only request was that we furnish this house with a Breville as he had one and left it for Sam to enjoy and August has one and really we should have one here as well. I shrugged and said as long as someone puts a lock on the thing so I can't make myself an afternoon espresso and be up all night it's fine so he made a call and one is on the way tomorrow.

Caleb even had a cleaning company come in and scrub the whole boathouse before the furniture was put into place. He wanted Sam to have the best of everything. He even said he may make use of Sam's repeated, ardent offers of a talk, if ever Caleb wanted to make use of Sam's services.

Maybe just now if I look up, instead of geese, pigs are flying again.

Henry is also weirdly thrilled to have Caleb in-house. They're still close and will always be so for him it's extra comfort. His face was pure joy as he helped carry records and boxes across with the boys. He's bigger than some of them so he does his share of the heavy lifting now and Caleb noted his enthusiasm and was deeply touched by it. When I came downstairs this morning they were having breakfast together. It wasn't early or late but I didn't hear Sam getting ready to leave for church so I missed waking up on time, since the alarm didn't chime as the door was opened as it usually does.

Which means only Sam went to church. I will go over and see him later but I suspect he will be here somewhere reading, still spending his solitary time close by. Frankly he can spend all his time here and only head across the drive to sleep, or even not, as far as I'm concerned but I will wait and let it play out without my influence.

(Or I'll try, anyway.)

Last night wasn't weird but I had a headache and Lochlan was exhausted. Ben was holed up back in his studio after emerging long enough to hoist a bedframe up the steps singlehandedly and so after struggling through the latest episode of American Horror Story: Apocalypse (honestly I can't tell if I love it or hate it yet) we gave up and went to bed and actually slept hard last night. Which was so needed, let me tell you.

So today is the first day of the rest of our lives, as it is every day, I suppose, and I can't wait to see if this works or if the whole thing finally implodes.

I have a feeling it's going to work perfectly and I didn't expect that.

"Sometimes the Devil is a gentleman."-Percy Bysshe Shelley.

When I woke up this morning, Lochlan had started without me, hands around my hips, head above my shoulder, mouth against my temple, driving against me hard enough to pull me straight from sound sleep to fear, albeit briefly and then I pulled my legs up so I could hold on properly and turned my face into his.

Good morning to you too. 

But he doesn't say anything. He's on a mission to make as much love as he can in this moment to back up our infinite stores. In case we need them. In case we lose some? I don't know but he's the only one unhappy this morning and if my body can fix it, well then he can have it.

Last night's family meeting was kind of fucked up in that instead of running hot, erupting into violence and ending with hurt feelings it flowed smooth like a river around and under us.

And it's done.

It's a three or six month trial (depending on who you ask). Caleb will be moving into Sam's suite here, on the top floor of the house, just down the hall from our rooms and down a few steps. It's a beautiful cozy suite of rooms. A den, ensuite bathroom, walk-in closet and large bedroom overlooking the woods. Most of the bedrooms in the house have a den and bathroom and big closet so it's not like he's losing a lot of space overall. He cooks here half the time anyway and loves the company of anyone who is around, mostly especially the kids.

Sam is moving again (I swear at this point he's lived in every room of this house sometimes), and is still ever grateful to be a part of this collective to the point where we could put him in a cage in the basement and he would thank us, pray for us but this gives him a little more room and as such he can hold his counseling meetings at the boathouse and have his men's groups there and bible study and he won't always have to be on the highway driving to church which isn't all that close to us, frankly. So he is thrilled. Absolutely thrilled.

The way things have been lately no one really objected. If we have a plan we make sure everyone is informed and baring any glaring issues we haven't addressed or maybe thought of, the best way to run a group of this size is to keep things open and transparent. And to be so mindful of everyone's feelings. So mindful.

No glaring issues, huh. Lochlan remains the lone dissenter.

It'll be easier for you to keep tabs on him here. 

You mean it'll be easier for me to keep tabs on you here. 

He says the only reason he's doing this is for Sam. You see what he means, right?

Sam will have more space to spread out his ministry-

And it removes Sam from our immediate vicinity. 

It doesn't though. 

Lochlan looks at me. It doesn't, does it?

Nope. 

Maybe Caleb finds it too isolating there. And it is perfect for Sam. 

I think Caleb is still capable of doing good. He's always had the best interests of the Collective at heart. 

What if you're wrong about that, Bridge? 

Then we won't have to go too far to ask him. 

He finally lets go of me this morning, finishing his silent onslaught against his own fears and lies beside me, pulling me tight against him. Sorry I woke you. 

Don't be, I'm not. 

I don't know if I want him here, Bridge. I don't know if I'm ready for this. 

We'll take it slow. 

But we're not. They're switching the bedroom furniture as soon as the rain lets up a little.

Contingency (Confession).

I think we need to make a sea change, and I've been considering the options for a while now. The Devil walks a slow circle around the night, pausing here and there to push back the shapes in the dark, the ones I can't see clearly, the ones that see me, clear as day.

What kind of change. I am still slow with sleep, thick with dreams and exhaustion, so unwilling to climb out of this bed and go home right this moment, instead ready to fall back asleep under the skylights and their canopy of rain-drenched hemlocks. Options for? 

I think Sam should take this space and I can take over his rooms. 

And be just down the hall. 

Yes. 

In the big house. 

Yes. Then I'm closer to you and the children and Sam gets the breathing room he needs to work plus it legitimizes his tenancy here in the eyes of the church. He could even entertain without questions. 

I'm awake now, his pejorative tone keeping me from dozing. What brought this on, besides the obvious? 

Time. We've talked about this. I'd like to be closer. For both your and my own benefit.

Your end game is the problem-

He sighs for what feels like an eternity. Talk to them. 

You should have called a family meeti-

They'll only consider it if it comes from you, Bridget. 

So I have to take this to them?

Depends. Do you want me in the house?

I freeze, a deer in the lights. He sits down, pulling me into his lap until we are eye to eye and he holds my head so I can't look away.

Neamhchiontach. Do you?

I'm willing to do a trial. But there's no privacy like there is here. 

There's enough. So will you take it to the house? If it comes from you it will work. They will understand. 

The sun comes up in tandem with his hopes and my throat goes dry as I wonder how in the hell I'm supposed to make this sound as if it was my idea all along.

But. Pajamas. Yeah. Those pajamas.

I woke up in my traditional, habitual position. Holding on to Lochlan for dear life, arms tight around his neck, foreheads pressed together, breathless from the lack of oxygen as he runs hot in perpetuity, such as he is, the fire eater, thrower, juggler, maker.

The moment I breathe weird he is awake, jolted out of his dream-filled sleep into whatever moment he thinks he needs to save.

Hey. Hey. It's okay. He's calming me down, I'm just trying to catch up on air here so I don't say much and then he decides I'm hyperventilating and we're sitting up now, waking up Ben, being overly concerned about nothing. It takes a few minutes, I've been sick, after all, and then I'm good.

You'd be gasping for air too if you had your face in someone's mouth all night. Ben doesn't like to be woken up by Lochlan's wolf cries. Ben has had probably two hours sleep.

I didn't-aw, for fucks sake. Lochlan doesn't argue. We've been told this before. We sleep like sea otters. Hamsters. Kittens. We curl up together as close as we can get and we don't move. At all. Ever. It comes from summers sleeping in the camper in the tiny cot, without heat, without any sort of comforts at all save for each other and the radio.

We head downstairs for breakfast, Loch in his old pajama pants that now border on indecent but also I can't look away, and me in yesterday's leggings and Ben's super-huge Goatwhore (heh) hoodie because it's roughly in the same condition of worn-ness as Lochlan's pants. Softer is better when it comes to clothes. And who doesn't like comfort?

Ah yes, here he comes now.

Caleb whisks into the kitchen, looking at us with mild disdain as though we're supposed to be ready or something. It's six in the morning. Why the hell is he up and bright? Did I forget something?

I just came to borrow some eggs until I can get out and replace them.

Just put them on the list-

And give you more to do? Speaking of which, we need to have a discussion.

Lochlan rolls his eyes. His voice is scratchy. Can I please have my coffee first?

It doesn't include you so sure, go ahead. Caleb has little patience for Lochlan's little patience. They'll forever be posturing greasers. He turns back to me. We need to talk about a little break for you.

I just got home and I don't want to go anywhere.

Yes and you also didn't have the rest and relaxation you desperately needed before and now you're so far overdue for it you've given up on it and I'm here to fix that.

Not going to hap-

SHUT UP LOCH. Caleb turns on him finally, going from annoyed to angry.

Loch puts his mug down and steps in front of me. Oh shit. She's staying put.

She decides.

She wants me to decide.

Caleb looks around Lochlan at me. You want him to decide you can suffer here for all eternity or do you want to get on a plane and go rest somewhere warm?

 I am warm. And I've had rest.

You're waking up holding your breath again. That's not the trait of someone who is relaxed. Bridget-

Not now, Diabhal. Please.

Good job, Dóiteáin. Make her suffer for your rules. Good job. Bridget, I want you at the boathouse at eight sharp tonight. If he isn't going to spoil you, I will look after it. 

He does! You just can't-

That's the point. I can.

I always loved my shadow (it was bigger than me).

Joel came over tonight. We fed him McDonalds (fries and Big Macs for everyone because Bridget is fucking tired, okay?) and then he and I settled in to watch the Leafs trounce the Sens 4-1. I don't care if it's preseason, I'm ready with my bets and I'm already winning along with my team.

After the game we took our tea outside in the back yard, settling into the big hammock, our feet in each other's faces, side by side but heads at opposite ends, tea mugs set on the stones below. The sun set a little while ago. Half the lights on the point are on. It's beautiful tonight. The calm before the storm.

Think they'll keep Nylander? Joel asks. I note the exhaustion in his voice.

Yes, I nod. I'm sure of it. He's a jewel in the NHL. The Leaf crown needs a full set this year and Ennis is a wildcard. 

(Wait. Do you even care what I think about hockey? Well, too bad.)

True. Joel settles back and tucks his hands under his arms, closing his eyes.

You should go. 

Talk a little first. 

About? 

You and your work situation. 

What about it?

It's great. 

Oh, is it? 

Yes. It wears you out, keeps your brain busy. You don't have to time to slide into a depressive episode-

You mean I don't have time to think about Jake and then later I'm too tired to think about him.

Yes. 

How healthy is it to not address my emotions? Or allow myself to feel these things? 

That's not what I- 

I know what you mean. Everyone's so happy now. It's been almost six months since I got the job and look how fucking functional.  It's a house of cards, Joely. 

What if it's not?

Explain it to me. But fast. It's time to go. We climb out of the hammock awkwardly but without embarrassment and pick up our teacups, bringing them in through the patio into the kitchen and then I walk Joel to the front hall to collect his things. I walk him out to his car. He turns after opening the door, bends in to kiss my temple like that's normal for him (Jesus, it's not) and then smiled in the dark.

What if it's a sea change of sorts? 

Oh it isn't. Jacob is larger than this life. He casts a shadow on the sun. 

How do you know it's his? 

What do you mean?

Did you ever stop to consider the fact that maybe you're seeing your shadow and not his? Maybe Bridget is larger than life. Maybe you're investing in the wrong central character here, of your story. Think about it. He smiles kindly, sweetly. The Joel I remember before things went to hell and he closes the door and drives away. I stand there for so long staring at the point where the driveway is swallowed by the woods thinking about his words that I don't notice PJ come out and when he speaks I jump out of my skin.

I thought you left with him. 

I turn and stare at him. Why would I do that?

You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost. 

I did. It looked just like me. 

And I turn and head inside, leaving PJ wondering what I meant, looking up toward the woods curiously. 
 

One foot in the past, and one in the now.

What do you want to do today, Princess?

Drink hot chocolate. Build a fire. Maybe go for a long walk. Have a nap. 

I meant after I finish up my work. 

How much time we talkin', here, Jake?

Maybe enough for building the fire after dinner. 

If you have to work all day why did you ask me what I wanted to do?

I'm curious. 

But we can't make plans. 

Sure we can. I won't be all day. 

See, I think you will. 

Why?

You hole up in the study with your bible and your books and forget the time. 

Can you blame me? I'm just trying to come up with things that people-

-People haven't heard before. Sam and I repeat the same sentence as he explains why he won't be present for supper tonight.

I understand, I tell him. I'll leave a plate in the fridge for you. 

You're patient. 

I did this before. Knock them over with a feather on Sunday, Sam. 

I plan to try, anyway. 

If only kevlar were see-through, I'd be almost there.

I'm having a hard time keeping my chin up today but I'm doing it anyway. Lochlan always said I need to learn toughness, need to work harder to control my environment, not let things get to me and not let it show that it has, if it does anyway.

So I didn't cry at work today.

Though, I wanted to.

And I didn't cry at home (yet).

Though, I'd like to.

But we're making a chicken and potato casserole and running the washer endless and trying to keep up because it's Monday and that's what one does, right?

On the bright side (is there one today? On a Monday? Truly?), my paycheck seems to be straightening out, it isn't pouring rain and did I mention? There's a chicken and potato casserole in the oven right now which means no one can complain about being hungry for the next twelve hours or so.

Also? Be nice to the people who pour your coffee. Seriously. Motherfuckers.

Pink & Blue.

When you don't give me love (You gave me pale shelter)
You don't give me love (you give me cold hands)
And I can't operate on this failure
When all I want to be is
Completely in command

Lochlan looks at me quizzically. What's that you're singing?

A new Tears for Fears song that just came out on the radio.

Oh. Sounds sad.

Oh, it is!

Do you understand it? He asks me that a lot. As if a twelve year old can't grasp life, or the simple concept of an anti-love song.

Yes. I get it. It's an accusatory song about someone who doesn't support someone else enough for their liking.

I'll have to hear it.

You just did.

I mean the recording. On the radio.

Next time it comes on I'll point it out. It sounds different from when I was just singing it. More clashy... more guitars.

He laughs. Time to get ready.

For?

Dinner. Wash up and lets go. 

Over dinner Lochlan stares at me while I eat my fries with gravy on the side. The gravy is a special treat. It costs extra at thirty cents but he's gotten a raise just for coming back to the Midway for the second year. So I get gravy and he gets pickles and sauerkraut on his sandwich as we are celebrating. Usually we have just malt vinegar, just cheese. Those are free.

So it's a special night.

On the way home in the truck that song comes on the radio.

I asked for more and more
How can I be sure
I've been here before
There is no why, no need to try
I thought you had it all
I'm calling you, I'm calling you
I ask for more and more
How can I be sure

Lochlan looks at me. It's not accusatory. 

It's not?

No, he feels helpless watching his own relationship slip through his fingers. 

Oh it's even sadder than I thought. 

He nods. That's what radio is based on though. 

What do you mean? 

Songwriters are fueled by heartbreak. 

I wouldn't want to be one then. 

Bridget, heartbreak is a fact of life. 

I hope it never happens to me. 

It will. 

I just stare at him with wide eyes. Not by me. I mean if you don't get a job you want someday or your dog dies. 

My dog died last year. 

Right so that's heartbreak too. 

Oh, I thought you just meant romantic heartbreak. 

It comes in degrees, so romantic is the worst, most painful kind. 

That's the kind I hope I never have. 

Me, too. 

Well then if either one of us feels like the other has cold hands we have to speak up and stop it. 

I don't think it works like that. 

Well then how do we prevent it?

We stick together. Like we do now. I told you I wouldn't leave you behind and so you're on your second tour too now. Here's your raise. He pulls an envelope out of his pocket heavy with change.

Oh YES! 

What are you going to spend it on. 

Cotton candy every single day.

You already have that. 

Yes but now I can have it in both colors!

Also Pallbearer covered Run like Hell and Lochlan squealed when I played it for him. LOL

A checkup this morning (gotta love surprise house calls on a Saturday morning, thank you Caleb for setting that up) leaves me with the all-clear. My lungs sound good finally. My post-nasal drip is gone and the lingering shortness of breath is easily remedied for a few hours at a time with my inhaler.

So....yay me, I think. Progress is good. Healing is wonderful.

Not a plug or a sponsored anything, I hate that shit but I lay in bed this morning playing on the #selfcare app. It's soothing visually and audibly but in a weird way it distracts me from my emotions because it's glitchy. Like I end up picking up the clothes over and over again and have to restart multiple times and then stop touching the clothes for it to work but I like it.

And I'm not into apps as means to fix what ails my broken head and heart. I rely on talking, drugs and mindless repetitive forced rethinking. Joel had a name for it. Changing how I deal with things. I don't remember what it was called but I still do it because if I can grab something out of the ether I can do okay. When I stop moving and turn inward I fall in those holes. Life is a minefield already tripped and I twist my ankles as I go.

For my reward Caleb took me out for eggs Benedict and hash browns and then asked if he could stick around for the day. He worries something fierce but not as much as Lochlan, who collected me on the way back into the house and said no. We have plans. We're taking Ruth to finish getting her supplies and textbooks for her school year and then we're hopefully going to finish Ozark because I'm anxious to see how it ends before it gets spoiled for me somehow. We started American Horror Story: Apocalypse last night and it's SO GOOD. So I could happily spend the rest of this rainy Saturday watching TV and continuing to get better. I'll never finish picking up my laundry in #selfcare though. Please email me if you've tried it and tell me what I'm doing wrong.

(A dreamer of pictures, I run in the night.)

Good morning, Peanut.

He's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wide-awake and ready to roll. Coffee is on a tray in front of him. Two cups. I smell Baileys. Also on the tray are two of the cinnamon rolls I made a couple of days ago. I thought they were all gone.

They are, I hid these ones beforehand.

You've been planning breakfast in bed?

I don't know. I've been doing something though. While you've been slinging mud, half-asleep.

I'm sorry, Locket.

If I don't give you something that helps you sleep you won't sleep at all and then it's like you're a tennis ball, bouncing all over the place, smacking into the hard walls all around you and you wind up bruised and demoralized and I'm just trying to stop that beforehard. Trying to get you better from this stupid infection that I practically gave you myself taking you to a place you never should have be-

Ping-pong ball.

How's that?

The description is always a ping-pong ball.

Right. Does it matter, Bridge?

No.

Eat. He points at my plate. You could use something decent.

My own baking?

Better than what PJ said you were eating yesterday while you were out in the yard.

I was just feeling lazy. He's making it into a big deal. 

You sitting in the dark barely interacting with life or even the basics is a big deal and you know it. 

I'm okay.

I'd like you to be more than that. He smiles.

Then move this tray. 

His smile went away and then came back bigger than ever as he understood what I meant.

I was wrong. PJ is my spirit animal.

I was eating when PJ came home from his appointment and he found me sitting on the couch (we're not allowed to eat on the couch) in the great room off the kitchen by a cold woodstove. Alone.

What are those? He looks horrified.

Chicken strips.

How did you cook them?

Microwave.

Bridget, what the fuck? You're supposed to bake those.

I didn't want to wait.

This is like the good old days when you lived on Special K and packaged ramen. 

(What do you know? I still do. Now I just put truffle oil on it and wash it all down with champagne.)

(No, I don't.

I don't know what truffle oil tastes like if I've had it and we ran out of champagne so I added water to a half gatorade I found in the fridge. I'm calling it 'electrolytes with a hint of orange'.)

So? I'm in a Seroquel haze and every mere mention or hint of autumn has me thinking of Jake. I'm cranky and fragile and not in the mood for anyone to critique my delicious, if a wee bit soggy chicken fingers.

He smiles gently. Kind of obvious I'm not having an in-charge kind of day. It's one-thirty and I'm still in my pajamas too. Want me to make you something?

This is fine. I'm almost done. 

Where's Lochlan? 

Probably went to visit his dealer. I'm a little angry. I guess he figured I'd sleep all day. Nope. I just have the mild shakes. He keeps giving me sleeping pills. 

You've been a zomb-

I'm fine. 

It's melatonin. 

What?

He goes to the cupboard and gets out a bottle I've never seen before. Melatonin. Harmless here and there. Works a little bit but definitely not to the sinister level you're picturing. And he didn't skip out hoping you'd sleep all day. He's out in the garden with Ben helping to winterize your plants and put in the pathway markers. 

Oh. 

Oh? Geez, Bridge. Maybe you should go back to bed. Or look out the window or something.

I don't want to. The leaves are changing and it's windy and dark and all the Halloween shit is coming out and I just-

Want to sit in the dark in your pajamas eating crap food and staring off into space?

Yeah.

Okay. You can have today. But tomorrow you're going to do something else. Clear?

You sound like Loch.

I'll take that as a compliment.

Guess I'm getting a new phone. Maybe a 512GB model so I can stop curating my music.

Compromise. We all (Ben, Lochlan, Caleb and I) had some chowder. Then Caleb sent them packing and we watched a movie. I drank too much wine and woke up to credits and Lochlan standing in the doorway saying my name softly. Caleb is dozy-light beside me but startles when Lochlan speaks. He sits up and looks down at me.

Let her sleep, Dóiteán.

I was planning on it. In her own bed though.

Caleb nods, defeated but politely-so and I sleepily stand and sway.

G'night, Diabhal. Thank you.

He kisses my forehead. No, thank you. It was nice to just relax for a bit. Then he kisses my lips. Sleep well, Neamhchiontach.

I nod and Lochlan pulls me out the door. I trip and stumble, half-awake, across to our house and then we are home and the lights are dim and the house is quiet.

I wasn't-

Just keeping the peace, he says.

Your peace of mind, I remind him.

I didn't specify.

Trickery.

Common sense, Bridge!

I know. I smile at him and my eyes close.

Narcohaptic.

Yes. That's what it can be!

Sleep, Peanut.

Been trying to.

(But it comes out Buntrwintoo! and this morning there was one simple message on my phone. I love you. Lochlan picks up my phone and whips it at the door where it hits and then lands on the floor.

I stare at him.

Whoops, he says. It must have slipped out of my hand. Sorry.

Forever's going to start...another day, I guess.

I was having a blast, singing along with Bonnie Tyler. Alone with sixty-seven minutes with which to do a load of laundry (work clothes), print out everything Henry needs for his new job, organize the house, make some lunches and wonder where the heck everyone is and how my chores became compressed into a puck the size of an hour when he appeared behind me and my heart stopped.

(Turn around)
But every now and then
I know you'll always be the only boy
Who wanted me the way that I am

(Turn around)
Every now and then
I know there's no one in the universe
As magical and wondrous as yo-FUCK!

Have I interrupted something?

My song, for one. Now I have to start it over!

Don't let me stop you.

What do you need, Diabhal?

I was wondering if I could have you for dinner.

They said I'd be all gristle and sugar-

Bridget.

What?

You know what I mean.

Whatcha making?

Maybe some clam chowder and fresh bread?

Oh, hellllll yes. Lochlan loves chowder-

He's...not invited this time.

Oh. You should tell him that.

I figured he wouldn't mind. So nothing has truly changed here, has it?

Depends on who you ask.

Too. Tired. to. move.

Sorry.

Run for your life with me.

Last night we made the trip downtown to see the Foo Fighters. It was so good! Even better then the last one we caught, which when I looked was over a decade ago. I jumped up and down the whole time, wore myself to smithereens and drank expensive drinks until Lochlan caught up and cut me off. I had a ball. I would do that every night, closing my eyes, feeling the music thundering right through me, except that I am not operating at one hundred percent and am really tired today.

Only four of us went and PJ kept leaving to rat out people smoking drugs to security which I love him for but is also part and parcel of a rock show and somehow I equate it with coming home and lighting incense. Besides, the smoke only bothers me if it's really heavy and this wasn't so bad, honestly.

(PJ is PJ. He used to be that guy. Now he's that guy's dad.)

They figured I should be a little more concerned as I currently have a lung infection but I reminded them that tweaking my antibiotics and adding steroids have helped so much and I felt good enough to go.


But today is tough. Today I'm maybe a little more than just tired and I can see they're biting back the I-told-you-so's and god bless them for it. We skipped church again but Sam did not. He said a prayer against my head on the way out the door then one against Lochlan's and Ben's too.

Caleb came over and made lunch for us. We ate inside. The heat is on. The tiny lights are on. The house is cozy in the rain, and suddenly, just like that, it's fall.

Small things.

I took Ben a hot chocolate last evening. He's escaped back into his studio at last, back to work, back to creating beautiful things, back to being all but absent, mostly thundering through the house to make sure I'm happy and check in, check in with the kids and with the other boys and then he's gone again.

Just what I wanted, he smiles at me.

A hot drink?

A hot wife. He grabs me and pulls me into his lap and that's it. For the next two hours we remember our own brand of love and when he finally lets go and I can put back on every piece of clothing he had removed, he takes a sip of his now-tepid hot chocolate and proclaims it perfect.

Like you, I tell him.

Far from it, Bee. 

Not to me. I don't bring treats to people who don't deserve it. 

True. True. 

Come upstairs. 

I will in a bit. 

But he won't. He'll work all night and if that happens I'll bring down eggs and toast for him in the morning and then convince him to go nap for a little while, at least.

The most welcome distractions.

How are you feeling? Lochlan wanders past the door every fifteen minutes or less. I can set my watch by it this morning. I'm lying on my back on the floor of the front porch just on the other side of the door. If someone rushes out without looking they're going to crush me but everyone's mostly out today anyway.

I'm kind of worried. 

He drops what he's doing and pushes the screen door open, stepping over me and sitting down on the other side. What's wrong? 

Preseason begins in a week and Bieksa is still a free agent. 

Lochlan laughs out loud. That's the day's tragedy? 

Well...YEAH. It's just like in elementary school when everyone picked their teams for Red Rover and I'd always be the last person left that neither team wanted. I know how he must feel.

It's because your size made you a liability. No one wanted to be the criminal who knocked you down and made you cry. 

Imagine how he must feel then. He's so much bigger. There's no excuse for this travesty. 

I'm sure he's happily kicking back at his house in California, halfway into a welcome early retirement.

If that's what he wants. 

Call him and ask. 

Do you think..WAIT. I wonder if Caleb can pull some strings. 

And find his number? 

No, get him signed! 

To whom?

The Canucks! Jesus, they need all the help they can get this year. 

It'll probably happen. 

Oh. Did you already ask Caleb to do it?

So nothing's actually wrong, then? Because I've got some work to do. 

Your sensitivity is noted. 

He isn't even your favorite player anymore! 

He might be again if he had the right team! 
 

Love you to Death.

You know when you find out that one of your favorite bands are fans of one of your other favorite bands? Right. So Starset just covered Type O Negative and I think I'm so done. It's so AWESOME. Kill me, please.

Prednisone princess.

Sorry I've been away. I got a lot sicker, to the point that more than one boy is sleeping fully-clothed and within arm's reach ready to whisk me off to Emergency as I attempt to breathe at all. The smoke is back in the air and my so-called sinus infection is morphing down into my lungs. Caleb actually yelled at the doctor today to try and make him magically fix me and I had to turn and stare quietly at him, my disapproval all over my face until he tried to justify it as worry, stress and fear.

I'm not going to die. I sound about eight degrees lower than normal, and instantly started coughing.

He ignored my promise and instead wondered out loud if he should fly in someone better.

Give this a few days to work and if it doesn't kick in soon we'll maybe admit her.

No! I croak. No way. No more hospitals. Jesus. It's been a long summer already. Then I cough some more.

I did survive the birthday party for Lochlan, though my speech is on hold until I do feel better and Caleb's been bunking with us two nights straight out of sheer worry. I think Ben is kind of annoyed but Lochlan seems fine with it. He and Caleb are getting along so well I'm in wonderment instead of misery as it is so let's just keep this rolling. If I feel better in a few days and they go back to being at war with each other then I'll have it all figured out. In the meantime I wish I felt well enough to enjoy the extra attention.

I'll try to post more though. I've mostly been sleeping.

Bee's knees (no, literally).

I went back to work today. After being off for almost a month, a couple of trips, a lot of auxiliary landscaping and a round trip to Vegas and Burning Man and now that's over and reality hits.

Hard. It hits like a suckerpunch from out of nowhere, knocking you halfway down into a stagger, as blood drips from your teeth.

Gone are the heavy black platform loafers, changed for light slipproof sneakers that are safety shoes, waterproof and super cushiony because I cried at the thought of running plates and coffee pots after such a break and wondered how much my legs would hurt.

My customers were all different. My boss already fucked up my paycheck and by my lunchbreak I was ready to cash in all the bets and quit but by the time I left I had it under control.

Because that's what adults do, or so Lochlan reminded me with a grim expression today, loathe to force me to be an adult any more than I already force myself.

I won the day, in the end. I also hated to have to do any of it, as it was Ruth's nineteenth birthday, but we celebrated last night so today was almost the bonus-birthday, in that we went out for dinner tonight and she ordered a drink with her meal. An alcoholic drink.  They asked her for her identification while my head nodded into my plate during this most important rite of passage but I'm hoping no one noticed.

She said later she noticed but she understands.

Here's hoping for Wednesday night's party (Lochlan's birthday) I can stay awake.

What an exciting week. So much happening. Back to school. Birthdays. More birthdays. Caleb and the rest should be home in the morning.  Lochlan's weirdly calm, relieved in a way that tells me he really didn't want to take me to Nevada and is really freaking happy we are home none the worse for wear. Or maybe he's just really happy I said no when he asked if I was missing Caleb.

It's not like I've had time to, yet.

Handoff.

One of the joys of the Collective is the ability to move seamlessly from one boy to another, without losing focus.

I'm kidding. Of course I lose focus. I realize abruptly that the red curls are gone and they've been replaced by caramel or brown or blonde ones, and that the hands are softer/larger/less rough. The voice is deeper or the hold is less fierce, more relaxed or more hesitant. Or even tighter, if that were possible.

Yeah.

Sigh.

We didn't go to church this morning, Sam included, though I sat up and threw a pillow at his head as he snoozed on into the daylight insolently. Think he missed us? Hell, yes he missed us. And I am so happy to be home I never want to leave the point again. I'm already looking at having groceries delivered, and maybe we can have a biweekly champagne one as well.

I'm sure there's a minimum, Caleb says as I talk to him on the phone this morning. They're heading home tomorrow morning, barring any unforseen issues. Direct charter flight. Maybe a stop in Oregon. I don't know. I'll see them when they get here. I'm just happy he and August are still getting along or he and Batman, for that matter, or even he and Schuyler. Daniel gets along with everyone, so I don't have to worry about him.

We'll figure it out, I agree. If we can, we will. If we don't, we don't.

You're agreeable today. Good sleep? 

The best. 

They let you rest?

No, I laugh. Sam was exceedingly lonely when we got home. 

He'll live, Caleb promises, hoping I left Sam be.

Of course. Still agreeable, as ever. Still unapologetic, as always.
 

Wear the heart.

Home. I'm always surprised by that word, which still feels so new when talking about the point. Back to my fur blankets and my Maple Leafs one too (the season is a month away!), back to PJ and Sam and Duncan and Dalton too. Back to my children who didn't even miss me, trash-talking me for missing the burn itself, which takes place in five hours.

Sigh.

But onward.

(Onward and upward, Princess. Jacob's voice still narrates every internal peptalk I give myself.)

Lochlan, Ben and I were plucked out of the sky by Sam, who may have missed us badly and lead a surprisingly moving group hug and gratitude prayer over my head once we made it inside the front hall. He was choking up more than I expected and I've come to find out all of the encouragement and excitement before we left, from everyone, including Lochlan and Ben, was manufactured.

Forced.

Faked. 

And that no one wanted me to go.

Somehow they knew up front that this wasn't the place for me and my own hesitations were mirrored and magnified ten fold in themselves and the relief and joyfulness is something I can poke and it leaves a dent when I remove my finger.
 
They found a way to pull it off in a way that let them sleep at night, bless them all.  Caleb and the rest went back to finish what they started because now that I'm gone then can actually relax and have fun.

Oh.

Geez.

But things are different here too. Ruth is suddenly a peer with firm opinions about where I should be and who I should be with. PJ is a hand-wringing parent who knew better. Lochlan isn't saying much past his pledge to let me venture out to the ends of his fingertips but no further and he'll never be further away from that. Ben is adaptable as always but underneath it his relief is the biggest of all for reasons that stretch into his recovery, that isn't ever as strong as August's and to that end he is happy to be home as well.

I'm about to have a long hot bath (head above the surface, don't worry) and then PJ is making a pork roast and potatoes, carrots and asparagus for dinner. Henry said all they ate all week was pizza and chicken and he doesn't want asparagus on his plate if that's okay. 

Pizza and chicken? I look at PJ.

And peas and beans and cantaloupe and pineapple. And milk and eggs. Yeesh. Love how he conveniently forgets that he tried to pay me off so I would let him not have to eat the peas. Christ, kid. 

Henry laughs.

I'm so happy to be home. Did I mention that?