Absolutely nothing.

I survived work today (it was bonkers at times, and perfect at others) and after working my ass off they let me leave a little early, so I had time to come home, message Ruth, who is already out for the evening, and hear of Henry's first-ever New Years Eve plans (going to a friend's house, has a ride home for 12:30 am from the parents of a different friend who is also going) and am now making spaghetti for eight, as there are eight of us with no plans.

Tomorrow is going to be a tiring day, that's for sure, as I tend to panic if I'm still awake at eleven at night now if I must get up early.

I brought home another pie, as we had too many and since the restaurant is actually closing early anyway (it's not the kind of place you book for NYE) it would have gone to waste.

Tomorrow is such a normal day, except at over twenty dollars an hour. I won't leave early even if they offer.

Batman cancelled our big formal plans at the last minute, and so Caleb has been edging around me, trying to find out what new plans I have in mind for between spaghetti-thirty and eleven, or twelve-thirty, I guess, for as much as PJ tells me he will wait up for Henry, I feel like I should, as Henry is my son and it's not fair to PJ to shoulder that responsibility. I will probably bend to a port or a martini with Caleb and then maybe some of that prosecco (wouldn't you know it's already been transferred from Batman's house to ours, and New Jake is now one of the eight for dinner) at midnight and then I'll slap myself silly to try and stay awake to see everyone safely in. Except I'll probably fall asleep against Lochlan's shoulder and he will see everyone in but since I'm technically there, I'll take credit.

Last day of Christmas vacation and I'm sad as fuck about that.

Trying to have a best day ever once again because I work tomorrow and I don't know if it's going to be crazy-busy or not. I work New Year's morning too and I don't know what to expect then, either.

In the meantime I'm tracing my finger down Lochlan's face and every time he twitches in response he comes close to waking up but not quite and it's become a game to touch his eyelids/nose/cheek as lightly as possible.

Sometimes I don't sleep. Sometimes I can't sleep and there's nothing else to do. I can't reach my headphones  from here, they're on the night table on the other side of Ben Mountain, and my phone is on the dresser on the other side of the room anyway. If my feet touch the floor I'm going to wake everyone up so instead I poked at Lochlan until he sat up, wild curls and tattoos everywhere and suggested I go have coffee and read. That's the adult equivalent of making cold cereal and watching cartoons, I think, and so here I am.

The coffee is kind of boring and I don't feel like reading. Sam wandered through in search of sugar (they were out) and suggested I write my resolutions but I don't know what I'm hoping to change or better about myself for 2019.

I'd like to read more, worry less, murder my sweet tooth in favour of more fruits and vegetables. I'd like to cook more, but different, adventurous things. I'd like to go out for noodles more and maybe go out for dessert but without dinner first. I want to finish listening to Demon Hunter's discography before the new double album drops this spring and I'd like to watch more foreign films, with subtitles. I want to go back to dressing weird, losing the black, bringing back the rainbows and I want to not cut my hair ever again. It's to my chin at last and I'm not even cutting it to clean it up at this point. I just want it to grow.

I could make a whole heaping pile of resolutions that have to do with my boys or I could just leave well enough alone.

Oh and when my work-pay account reaches five figures (excluding tips) I'm quitting in order to find something better.

Best. Day. Ever. (and I've only been up for two hours.)

Slept in til ten-thirty.

Ben bathed the dog.

Ruth is making pretzels from the Warcraft cookbook.

It's raining and windy and cozy. There's a fire in the fireplace and sleepy, quiet boys everywhere. We're caught up on Outlander (finally) and maybe will watch the Black Mirror movie later, but maybe we'll watch something else. Who knows? We have turkey soup, leftover turkey and gravy for sandwiches and I'm not going to change from my pajamas because I have zero reason to.

The failed but predictable Group B army recon.

Ha. Between being so sick this year so far and the holidays and the wedding (and..the...the...fist fights) I figured I'd forget to pay all of the bills this month, since I pay them during the last week. Hydro, natural gas, insurance on all of the vehicles and buildings, credit cards, internet, phones, etc. etc. It takes a couple of hours for me to pay everything, do transfers and then enter everything into the big Collective spreadsheet that we have for keeping track.

I'm so caught up I'm actually ahead now, however and I'm happy to report that I plan to not sweat falling behind on everything else as a result. And so I agreed to go on a New Year's Eve supply run with Batman, who also hates crowds but sometimes must venture out into them for a purpose.

Just a Prosecco run, sweetheart. If your monkeys will let you out of their sight. 

Olives too? 

If you like. Batman smiles thoughtfully. He's having a little thing on New Year's Eve. I'll be asleep in my plate face down, as I go back to work that day and then have to go to Batman's for dinner and drinks and then back to work early on New Year's Day. I've been threatening to quit but for some reason knowing I can means I haven't yet, and will soldier on until I can't stand it anymore at all.

Only if they're garlic-stuffed. 

Only for you. He laughs. So picky. 

Not picky. They're the best. 

I prefer pimentos. 

Well, get those then. Don't worry about me. 

Someone has to spoil you. He winks. I shake my head. I try not to be spoiled but it's inevitable.

Okay then we'll get both. I offer a compromise.

That's a good plan. 

Indeed. 

You know what else would be a good plan? 

Olives stuffed with pearl onions!

No, you staying New Years Eve. 

Not a chance. 

Not even a small one? 

Nope. About the same as finding olives stuffed with pearl onions. 

We didn't find any. We spent the rest of the shopping trip in an unfamiliar (but still comfortable) silence.

Caleb hates weddings.

Seven hours of sleep, coffee that is more Baileys than coffee itself (thank God) and a fifteen minute blistering morning sauna followed by an hour-long drunken soak in the hot tub with Caleb and I'm sure I can tick off my self-care regimen and my visitation requirements with the Devil all in this Thursday morning before the snow comes.

And then I'm free.

He's crushing me under the weight of his psychic pain, his need. He hates weddings, mentally planning his own, loathe to celebrate any others until he gets what he wants so desperately and what he'll never ever have.

We can all feel it, he wears it outwardly, an arm-band of black for mourning, and we avoid looking directly at it even as I consent to a little extra time with him over Christmas, because he'd really like to have that time, he needs that time, he wants it in a way he wants it but tenfold, physically painful, inwardly destructive.

So here I am, half-drunk on a Thursday morning at Christmas, bangs stuck to my forehead from the heat, letting the jets roll over my muscles and bones, bringing me back to life only so he can destroy me again at will. It's a resurrection game, a breath-holding, voice-caught kind of urgency at this point but I'm playing along here from rock-bottom, safety net not all that far away honestly so I'm not concerned. It's a stage. A phase. A momentary lapse. A weakness uncontent to be shoved down any more, bubbling up to the surface and boiling over. It's a curse, is what it is, and we'll get through it just like we get through everyone's personality quirks and bad habits and temporary insanities. I would say we're more fucked up then the average bears but I would also say it's probably a crime to live without this level of intensity, truth be told.

Can't get close enough.

It's getting better baby
No one can better this
Still holding on
You're still the one

The beach looked so beautiful. Driftwood tangled in candle holders by the hundreds, custom-blown in smoked teal glass, long tables set like a woodland fairy seaside Christmas (as it is!), set with thick brown runners and copper utensils, dress code well-adhered to, as everyone was asked to wear black. And everyone did, except for Andrew and Schuyler, who wore morning suits in complimentary shades of teal and tan, and they looked incredible. Don't think I've ever seen Andrew with a fresh haircut, in all my years, and don't think I've ever seen Christian let his guard down even for a moment, until he stepped up in front of Andrew before Sam and said his vows, vows I never heard but the look on his face was enough. Who needs words when someone looks at you like that?

We had the clouds, the spring tide and the love of an entire army out in full force and we had everything we needed. We danced on the beach. We cried. We had a moment when we realized how tough these are, these moments in which you choose, and you don't look back and we had our fill of champagne, sparkling water and wedding cake.

We had some incredibly elderly folks make it down to the shore and back with the help of everyone but mainly John who took it upon himself to personally escort those who needed assistance as required. Bless him.

We had the whole point cleared of people by seven in the evening, as it was Christmas Eve and the deal was we will bring you here at no expense to you but you'll also be home before it's time to put out cookies and milk for Santa.

We need no other gifts this Christmas. This was everything. Seeing Chris and Andrew find each other, watching them fall deeper in love and watching them make it permanent, make it real through marriage, before all of our warm gazes and before God was everything we will ever need and Christmas became an afterthought, an oh, yeah, it's Christmas, isn't it?

Caleb offered them a honeymoon as his gift but they didn't want to leave. Batman tried to sweeten the pot along with Caleb and they insist they have everything right here.

Here.

I know what they mean.

Something blue Christmas.

Andrew and Christian got their wish of sunshine and will shortly get their wish of a seaside wedding followed by an early brunch on the beach, complete with:

One server who's entire job is to ensure that all of the candles remain lit, and as they burn down, replace them with new lit candles.

(Sounds like the best job of the day, frankly. Though only because it isn't supposed to be windy.)

People will be arriving soon, and I'm not ready. I've already cried like five times today because this is all so beautiful and I'll be able to describe it one I have a little more free time, and the next time a holiday wedding morphs from New Years Eve to Christmas Eve someone please remind me that it's a little bit much and move it to some random date in June, okay? At least it's happening early on, as we have tons of family who flew in last night and will fly out tonight.

Sam is ready and wandering around calming people down and even sprinting out to the driveway to greet people as they arrive.

I can't even believe that this is happening to two of my oldest and dearest friends. Wish them luck along with me, would you?

Never leave me home alone again.

Everyone is home at last and Ben wants a do-over of my night, having loved facetiming me at the absolute pinnacle of my disco party when I collapsed on my bed in my rollerskates and glitter and nothing else. The music was still loud and he laughed and laughed and pointed out that there was glitter on the dog, even.

Oh my God. So much glitter.

Everyone kept sending me sweet pictures. They went for a huge steak dinner. Then they saw a magic show. Then they went to another place for dessert and then...they shopped and everyone kept sending me photos of Lochlan standing near doorways looking vaguely supportive but like he'd rather be anywhere else and then at nine this morning they were back on the plane and home in the house by noon with a lot of fun and neat wedding presents and souvenirs and it's probably the least typical Vegas trip ever embarked on by twelve grown men but it was a bonding experience. I think they all enjoyed a night off from looking after each other on the point and they loved my solo Saturday night chronicles, which consisted of close-up, haphazard photos with flash for full effect.

I'm so glad they're home. Not even one of them is a Vegas-people, and yet it's good they marked this next step in life with concrete traditions, as brothers should.

They brought me vintage matchbooks from jazz clubs I didn't know existed and Lochlan found me the most beautiful tiny clutch evening bag. Strange mementos from an even stranger weekend.

Housepet disco.

Eleven brusque kisses on the forehead and one prolonged one (Lochlan) and the boys are off to Vegas for a night for a last-minute bachelor party, thanks to Caleb who grabbed a plane and booked a room at a nice restaurant for dinner and a block of hotel rooms and they're going to see a show and do the town and then they will fly home in the morning, though probably not in time for church.

Everyone over five-foot-nine was invited. Caleb's such a dick. Henry laughed and asked if he needed to bring his wallet (Henry leaves his wallet home all the time. I swear he gets his grifting charm from me) and Caleb gently told him not this time around, that someone had to stay behind and look after mom.

Sam demurred and Matt along with him. Sam said to me later, I don't think Vegas is for me. 

Vegas isn't for anyone, honestly. It's like Disneyland for sad people. 

He laughed but he remained somewhat unsettled. Not at having to stay behind, but mostly because of my description. He's content in the fact that no matter how much glue he is to hold this Collective together, no one invites the minister along to their bachelor party.

Which one is going to be the bachelor? I texted Christian enroute. They left so early. I ran out of things to do by noon.

We'll make it up as we go XO. Christian is tired of my jokes but he also rolls with it nicely.

Have fun and be safe, I text and I hear nothing back.

It's now five o'clock and Sam and Matt took me for my first visit to Popeyes Louisiana Fried Chicken (which is a fast food place way the fuck out in the valley but we were all bored and hungry so road trip) and it was delicious but then they disappeared when we came home and now I'm on my own.

 I'm plotting to haul out my roller skates, all of my body glitter and my Bee Gees Greatest Hits album because that's what this princess does when faced with a night all to herself. 

Neo-orthodox Unitarianism at it's finest.

One of the biggest tenets of AA is to begin by admitting you were powerless in the face of your addictions. It's a way to bring you to your knees, of course but I always thought it was a crock of shit. Start over, sure but the only person you have to blame is yourself and stating stupid things like alcohol controlled me or I was weak is weak in of itself and shifts the blame right off of where it belongs.

On you.

I struggle with this and I'm not the alcoholic. Never have been. Sam says I interpret it wrong. Ben just laughs and tells me I'm so stubborn he can see Youngest Child Syndrome from space. I agree, mind you but I also don't like blame suddenly shifting from I'm an asshole to It was the drink talking/acting/screwing up my life. No it wasn't, Matt.

It was you.

This is your fault.

And Sam is a fucking saint for letting you back into his life/heart/home. I don't even want to place bets on this save for the New Year will feature yet another broken heart and I know from experience they get harder and harder to put back together as time goes on.

Sam tells me to have an open heart and mind. That it's Christmas and this Christmas we're celebrating love all around us. And I know I'm supposed to allow Matt to begin again. We get endless chances to be good humans, even when we sometimes don't truly deserve them.

But love? We'll see. Right now, I'm celebrating germs and I'm cranky from not sleeping from this weird endless sinus headache so I'm definitely coasting on the good graces of God, his children and my army lately and that's fine too. I blew my nose to try and ease the pressure in my left eye and my matching ear exploded in pain. Christ already. It's been a long year and suddenly we're at the day I hate more than anything. Almost. Winter solstice, AKA first day of winter, AKA the shortest day of the year with the absolute minimum of daylight. Caleb always picks this night to spend with me because he knows how much I hate it but honestly I think I'd rather spend it fighting indoctrination. Fighting surrender. Fighting any more change and any more staying the same too.

Oh glorious wind!

This week's wedding planner is working underneath, and in spite of, the weather.

Monday is going to be rainy and four degrees and that romantic son of a bitch Andrew still maintains the wedding dinner will take place on the beach.

With...tents?

No tents.

Umbrellas and portable heaters, then? 

No. It'll be fine, Bridge. 

Oh, honey. It won't be fine and yet he refuses to make contingency plans, all the while I work around him organizing a multitude of contingency plans for every little thing, including backup tents stored in the garage where he can't see them, our portable space heaters and plans to still have dinner outside, just on the patio if it comes to that.

No one wants to eat if they're cold. No one wants to try and eat a wedding feast in the rain.

Sure they do, Andrew says dreamily.

You're the worst bride I've ever dealt with, I remind him. Let's plan for the best and prepare for the worst. Also you need to go and pick up the tents you don't need. I've reserved them already. 

You've managed to weaponize logistics, Bridget. He gives me a kiss on the cheek.

Someone had to, I tell him, and cough in his face.

Short and sweet, or maybe that's short and drippy.

I feel like I've become such a lightweight but work is cancelled for the week and I guess I'm officially on Christmas break? Though I keep sitting down and drifting off because I can't breathe and my face hurts. 

On the upside, Lochlan remains handy to cuddle with and we watched Krampus. Not even two stars bad. More like one of the greatest Christmas movies ever made. 

Single-digits rotten.

Today is crisp and beautiful pre-storm and I'm not at work.

The headache took over and is still here this morning and so I called in because a brightly-lit, noisy, busy restaurant is no place for someone in pain. I will hang out here in leggings and a big sweater and move slowly and quietly, drinking tea and watching Christmas movies on Netflix with PJ and Duncan, neither of whom enjoy cheesy Christmas movies but both of whom will coddle me until the cows come home. Maybe I'll try a wrap a couple of presents but maybe not, too. Lochlan is worried about my health and my sleeping and has instructed me to do nothing and for his sake I'm really going to try. Otherwise I'm happy it happened now and not next Monday because next Monday is going to be a little busy with the wedding and all.

I had a white flag waved in my face and Lochlan has agreed to the cheesy Christmas movies. But only the ones with two stars or less because he says if they're going to bad they may as well be the worst. I think a new tradition has been born. 

Twenty hours of work left before Santa.

No church today, though I would have loved to see the candle lit and hear Ben sing again without guitars burying his voice, but I have a huge headache from a renewed bout of coughing and I'm not pushing myself. Physically this week I already went too hard and now I have to pay the price, I suppose, so I had some coffee and cold pizza and I plan to just live quietly today, and hopefully this week overall.

This is Lochlan's lecture to me this morning as I insist I should go to church and he suggests I maybe just stay in, stopping short of outright ordering and instead trying to influence gently.

Which is nice. He doesn't want to the bad guy, even though he has every right to be and he is smarter than I, so I'll go with his observations and try and take it easy today. I work three days this coming week and then I'm off until New Year's Eve. Which is good because we're having a Christmas eve wedding here and it's getting really busy suddenly. So I checked my list, pulled Ben's big Goatwhore hoodie over my head and plan to do very little, though I do have presents to wrap and I am so behind.

I'll do a bunch of it Thursday maybe. Hopefully, or maybe a little later today. We'll get it done. Just not today. 

Fairytale of Horseshoe Bay.

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

I woke up with that song in my head. Maybe it's growing on me as I age and make mistakes and live far from home. Far from people who break into chorus and dance steps on a sticky wooden floor and far from the snowy wonderland of trying to drive cars uphill on ice and the ever-present conundrum of how to cook a turkey when the power's been out for hours.

It upset me, that song and so I buried my face against Caleb's chest. He isn't awake yet. He tends to sleep until close to eight most days, though he will arrive in the kitchen showered and dressed, ready for the day almost at eight sharp before checking for coffee and any change in the stock market overnight.

His arms tighten around me and I squeak a little. My shoulder is sore from his teeth pressed against it, my arms weak from his hands holding them down and my legs ache mightily from being tense for hours. He wasn't traditionally rough but he still goes hard and I still need a little cautionary handling the next day as I move slower.

He's been romantic though. He had a fire in the fireplace and hot buttered rum drinks waiting when I arrived and he didn't put me up against the wall or pin to the bed by my neck. He was gentle and sweet and he said he wanted me to have my Christmas present early but a week is way too early and so he agreed to wait a little bit longer, and I agreed not to leave last night, to stick around and go to sleep and he found such comfort in that it made me want to cry. He's touched that I wear his ring every day, no matter what and not all that angry about PJ as he is learning to live in the main house and he's learning to put his temper away and that's nice too.

I always expect everything to be so temporary. He's nice today? Only a matter of time. I didn't cough all morning? I will tonight. The car started with no issues in the cold? What if it doesn't tomorrow?

(I'm never comfortable in my own skin, let alone in someone else's.)

It's not a matter of time. This is where I needed to be. He reassures me without trying to convince me. That's helping, too.

Something has to change, Diabhal.

It is, Neamhchiontach. It is.

Then can you help me get this song out of my head?

Let's try. He found his phone, hooked up to a neat little bluetooth speaker on the shelf and played Coldplay's Christmas Lights instead. And it worked on the first try.

Slower than slow learners.

A new daydream today involves Ryan Clark and Benjamin Burnley doing a duet. A girl can dream, can't she?

I watched the new Tourniquet video first thing, with coffee. I don't know why I did that. I think it's part three of a set that began with Red Cold River. It's uh..very metal. The song is amazing but sometimes I think musicians should stop with making videos. Even as they've been my bread and butter, they generally suck, honestly. Even some of the ones I've been in. Some are fucking breathtaking, but then again, that's rare. I used to hate live concert video compilations and now I think that's the way to go.

I pre-ordered the new War and Peace albums this morning from Demon Hunter. Now I have two more songs, though I can't seem to take Carry Me Down (the piano version) off today's pedestal, on repeat in the rain as I conclude that I have used up all of my nine lives as a curious cat and I now wish to be a fly on the wall, hearing everything or nothing at all as PJ holds his ground against whatever kind but menacing discussion he and Caleb are having.

Leave it, Lochlan orders. He's distracted, up to his neck in Henry's computer, optimizing the motherboard or something. Henry is learning as much as Lochlan knows as fast as Lochlan can teach him. Together they figured out they missed a step when they built the machine and I still can't figure out how to turn on the monitor.

As long as I can figure out how to get to my music I'm fine. This annoys Caleb to no end, who, against Ben's express instructions, tried to teach me to use Spotify. Spotify is a heated topic in this house. Very precious few people have it as the pricing on the back end is detrimental to the artists you're listening to. I balk at renting my music besides that. Fuck that noise. I need to own it.

PJ is back in a few minutes.

What body part has he threatened to take from you in the night and sell on the black market? I bet I can guess. 

PJ makes a face. What? No. He just wanted to know where I am in this new hierarchy. 

Below me, obvs. 

Well, obvs. He just wants to make sure I'm below him. 

And what did you say? 

You don't want me to repeat it. 

Hell, yes I do. 

I asked him when the last time he had good pussy was. 

Okay, yeah, I don't want to know. Never mind. I hate that word. 

I needed to be crass to make a point with him. 

Which was? 

You call the shots. Not him. 

And from deep inside the computer case, now up to his shoulders, Lochlan laughed. 

Nanny state.

I made it through the year and I did not even collapse
Gotta say, "Thank God, for that"
I'm torn between what keeps me whole and what tears me in half
I'll fall apart or stay intact

With tired eyes I stumble back to bed
I need to realize my sorry life's not hanging by a thread
At least not yet

So look at me now
Its finally Christmas and I'm home
Head indoors, to get out of this weather
And I don't know how
But the closest friends I've ever known are all inside
Singing together
Singing merry Christmas, here's to many more/i>

It's quickly becoming my all-time favourite Christmastime song, though they all are, if I'm being honest (Just kidding! It's still and always will be Type O Negative's Red Water). I love Christmas. I love falling asleep in the big chair in the living room in my uniform after coming home from work from a really busy day and waking up to PJ running interference between Caleb and Lochlan, both of whom have vastly different but the exact same ideals when it comes to how best to deal with this pathetic state of affairs.

Jesus, I just sat down for a second. I fall asleep whenever I stop moving and suddenly it's a job con?

PJ ordered both of them out of the room. No more arguments, no more ultimatums just get the fuck out and let her sleep and he'll wake me up later and send me off to bed.

He didn't clarify which bed and Merry Christmas to both of us because guess where I woke up? I still haven't found my work uniform. I think PJ was hoping I would stay forever in his room if I couldn't leave with decorum but he doesn't know me as well as I hoped, I guess. I got up and started to walk out and he was suddenly full of shit.

Okay, okay. Here's your clothes. 

Gee, thanks, Padraig. 

No, thank you, Bridge. Best Christmas gift I never asked for. 

Ah. Too decadent?

Wrong size. 

Motherfucker!

Indeed. 

Weirdly proud.

I got a Christmas bonus today. Cash in a Christmas card from the owners of the restaurant. It is the equivalent of a half day's pay but it touches me all the same as I work my ass off to see that people like their meal and that they come back. I mopped twice today. I'm so tired I could cry and I came home and opened my card while Dalton looked on. This is something because it's the first bonus I've earned myself in twenty years that wasn't related to doing work for Caleb or Batman. It's the first one that's all mine. No strings. No expectations. Nothing but joy and generosity.

I feel a little bad for lecturing the manager today on the most efficient way to clean the windows.

But only a little. Maybe he put extra cash in afterwards because he knew I was right.

Postfamous.

And I feel so much depends on the weather
So is it raining in your bedroom?
And I see that these are the eyes of disarray
Would you even care?

And I feel it
And she feels it

I have the remote in a deathgrip, heart locked down, brain switched off as Jacob's swagger of a third incarnation (after God. After Bridget.) fills the screen in the theatre. Matt is rapt, watching Jacob sing in his STP cover band, watching him work the crowd, watching him find the camera and then address it. Watching him rake his hand through his hair, lean way out over the crowd and act so not-preacher-like it's almost as if he was someone else completely.

It was a test, if you can believe it. Matt's heard the stories, Matt's been here through someone of my worst after-flight moments, but never have I offered to show him the recordings, the videos of Jacob's band belting out Stone Temple Pilots hits while the townsfolk positively screamed for more. Jacob has always been just a name to Matt until today. But right now I feel like I could and so I did and I didn't implode or anything.

Matt sits back, sinking in the couch, his eyes wide. Wow, he whispers, looking at me.

I don't look back, I can't take my eyes from the screen. I know, right?

Deep end, shallow end, meet me in-between.

Matt pulled me in close to a hug this morning when we arrived at cold, rainy church and the seats were all saved because we get there early anyway.

Can I request a plot near the telescope? The orchard seems so far from the beautiful view. 

No. It's already dug and everything. Don't make me use it, Matthew. 

I won't be. It's for keeps this time, Bridget. Sam is the greatest thing about my life and I've fucked it up enough. He's got tears in his eyes. Great, now I do too.

I hold up my pinkie and Matt wraps his own little finger around mine, whispering Swear before we take our seats. The litmus test will be when I show up to the boathouse, however. Then we'll know for sure.

***

I kind of fell off a cliff reading Yrsa Daley-Ward's poetry late this morning, after church was over, only to find out she has an upcoming collaboration with Valentino early this spring with her poetry on the Garavani bags. Looks like I'll be fighting for one of the four hundred available and I don't even like the bags. Just the words. As usual.

I'll get you one, the Devil assures. Because of course he will.

Or maybe the book he's reading is boring but I doubt it (It's called The Great Zoo of China).

It's raining and warmer today, everything is a lush, soaked green, a dim, muted rainforest weekend day meant for doubling down on snuggles and holding out for nothing short of extreme comfort. My hot chocolate was spiked with Irish cream, my boys have multiplied and the library is dark and quiet.

Lochlan dozes lightly beside me. He was reading, but his glasses keep slipping down his nose as his eyes close. Then he jerks awake, his arm tightening around me only to realize he is safe and then he goes to sleep again.

I like watching it happen. He was never one for blackout curtains or dark rooms and I would always watch him lose his grip on the day slowly and then all at once, his whole face going slack from where before his expression would be coiled and tense.

He falls asleep like no one else I know.

Every time someone pokes their head in the door I hold a hand up in warning. Then they fumble for their phone and text me their question/offer/request and then they go away again.

I said yes to the hot chocolate though, and I'll say yes to the leftover Friday-night pizza if it comes to that. I just don't want to move right now. He's so content. I'm so content.

AWD for Christmas is you..

The tree is up! It's lit and decorated and wrapped with miles and miles of vintage wired embroidered ribbon. It's a very forties-looking tree to that end, and every single ornament has a story. Everyone is very happy but no one is as happy as the cats, who parked underneath it and haven't budged since.

All the presents are bought. I just honestly need some time to wrap them and a moment to run out and lug home the turkeys for dinner but other than that the spirit is here and we're set. This weekend is for egg nog and making tourtière pies and maybe watching Krampus. Maybe sleeping in a tiny bit. Maybe coughing less, I hope (rolls eyes). Maybe not eating the entire dish of Hershey kisses that's on the table in the hallway.

I'm sort of car-shopping as well, while I'm at it. While I'm off, I guess. I've finally had it with the way giant pickup trucks treat me on the highway, as if I'm a nuisance, in their way. I'm tired of their headlights shining directly into my eyes. I'm tired of hoping Henry hasn't grown again when I give him driving lessons, as he actually doesn't fit in this car at all, as a passenger never mind as a driver, and I don't like the little knocks and fits it has when it torques around corners and such. It's been a fun couple of years but I think I'm going to buy a Jeep. I like PJ's and he says it's a good vehicle so why the heck not?

I have time to shop. I'm a car salesman's worst nightmare though. You would think the boys do all the talking but they don't say a word. 

A single moment on a Thursday in early December, 2018.

Watching: Kodaline's almost-short film, in the form of two music videos, All I Want (Part 1) and All I Want (Part 2). Came for the nice guy, stayed for the dog (who looks a lot like my dog). It's ten minutes of wonderful, simple storytelling with a lovely song. I'm not crying, you're crying.

Listening to: Cary Brothers CHRISTMAS MUSIC (Takes me forever to find these things, sorry. Yes I know). Still love him. It's been fifteen years. 

Eating: Had Pad Kee Mao for lunch. I'm spoiled rotten. Now I'm drinking hot chocolate. Dinner will be late, I think. Or nonexistent, maybe, as PJ already sent out a FFY warning (fend for yourself).

Wearing: Leggings and a huge sweater, gold hoop earrings, wedding rings + boyfriend ring. Lip gloss. Mascara. (Why do people constantly ask for this? Who cares?)

Plotting: To put up the tree this weekend. It's time! I held out forever and it's time. Also the dog needs a bath. Badly. I don't know what he got into, maybe just the garden beds near the garage but he's grungy. 

Working on: self-care. I don't think I'm doing it right, still, though I remembered to put on hand cream last night before bed and I'm drinking the hot chocolate as a treat. Right? Right????

Ordering: Henry's graduation photos. Many, many copies for everyone. The proofs look amazing, he's a stupidly photogenic human. Like his father. Now I have to wait a month or more for them to arrive and we're in the home stretch of high school forever. I can't even believe it. 

(Actual content tomorrow. Currently busy referring a standoff between Duncan and August over something dumb. August thinks he's going to toss Duncan off the cliff. In this weather. They're teasing but I'm making sure no one goes in the water when it's this cold. It's not safe.)

The pie thief.

I went over to check on how things were going at the boathouse only because I like to be a good hostess and because it's Wednesday and on Wednesdays my restaurant sends home any full leftover pies for the Reverend and today was a positive bounty in that I knocked on the door with three. Strawberry, pumpkin and a key lime. Sam kept the pumpkin but asked me to share the wealth with the others and so Schuyler and Duncan took the key lime and Batman and New Jake took the strawberry. Everyone is happy. Our house doesn't need pie, trust me. We're cake people anyway.

Matt wasn't even home. He was at a meeting with Ben. I would have known that but I went to the boathouse first because of the pies, you see. Sam said things are going well, that he didn't realize all of Matt's confidence came from a bottle and I gently reminded him he should have, for that's how it generally works.

How about you come back late tonight with Ben for dessert? We can have some tea and some pie and Matt can work to get back on your good side. 

I don't have a bad side, Sam. I'm just protective of you. 

And my gratitude for that is bottomless, Bridget, but it's something Matt wants to do. 

Let's give him space to settle in. I'm going to give him a little time first. He doesn't need me breathing down his neck. He can ride to church with us on Sunday. I'll check with him on Saturday. Until then I just want him to feel at home. 

Bottomless, Bridge-

I already dug a hole in the orchard for him, Sam. 

People can change, Bridget.

Yes, and it's only for that reason that I haven't put him in it yet. 

I did tell him if he hurts Sam a third time his body will be buried in the orchard.

Matt arrived this morning with his pride under his tongue and flowers in his hand. One bouquet for Sam, and the other for...

Ben.

Ben is Matt's sponsor, but only after hours (weeks, months, actually) of conversation in which Matt has agreed to get some help for his issues (drinking too much, levelling ultimatums and dealbreakers and names called at Sam, at me, at all of us and so we cast him out and yet Sam was still in love.

Sam's in love with everything. God, me, Matt, Ben, Lochlan, the evening sky and the cold empty beaches too so when someone is that open with their heart they tend to get stomped on. And since Matt and Sam have had two magnificent go-arounds already, you can see we're a little hesitant to open our home and our hearts once again. The last time Matt burned every bridge to this island and then he came back and threw sharks in the water just to finish the job. Sam on the other hand, hesitated for less than the space of a heartbeat and jumped right back in with both feet.

He's getting help. Remember when Ben went through this? 

Oh. Don't compare apples to oranges, Samuel.

But we have agreed to give Matt a chance. As long as he sticks to the program.

He has his three-month milestone so far, ninety days sober and he's already like a different man from what I've seen. Gone is the quiet confidence, the understated ego and in it's place remains a frailty, an honesty I always wished for from him. Sam emerges as the newly confident, the sure-stepping, direct and positive force and Matt is buckling down to work at last. I wondered if it was alcohol but he hid it well.

Matt also seems more comfortable with Sam being in the boathouse. There's more privacy and he seems to feel as if maybe we haven't brainwashed Sam after all, that clearly he's free to detach slightly, to move out of the main house and be ever so slightly apart from the Collective as a whole. That's not to say that them living downstairs doomed their marriage, but that a little breathing room is never a bad thing and Sam's move has done wonders to reassure Matt.

Or maybe he's lonely for the holidays and feeding us a tale.

I don't know. I'm a little suspicious and I'm not alone. But he asked Sam if I spend time there (at the boathouse) and Sam told Matt, if you can believe this, that it's none of his business.

And Matt said he deserved that.

And Sam said it doesn't change his answer.

And Matt said he can accept it.

Because you have to, Sam told him.

And Matt nodded.

And there was a lot more to the conversation and all of it turned me back around from a blackened, wizened cynic into a champion of true love once again and that's how it came to be that Matt has moved into the boathouse with Sam and has given notice on his rental.

(None of this happened today except for the actual move.)

Ugg boots were made for people who walk all damn day and thank God for that.

Tonight the dryer runs in tandem with the furnace, as the temperatures dip down below zero and the sun pulls a blanket of darkness up over its head, the hemlocks crowding in close to lift up the moon and point to the stars overhead.

It's a good night for spicy french fries stolen from over broad shoulders and for egg nog, nutmeg and whiskey. It's a good night to pour over Henry's graduation picture proofs. It's a good night to finalize the Christmas shopping list (I'm down to a spare handful of things left to pick up) and it's a good night to go to bed early, as I really fought myself to go out the door this morning, where it was so cold I've added a cardigan to my uniform dress and the car never did fully defrost by the time I made it to work. PJ didn't start the car for me. Neither did Ben. Mondays are for being a big girl, I guess.

I'm always glad when Mondays are over, even though I armed my brain to the teeth with things to think about when I was in danger of being overwhelmed. That helps too.

Drunk Sundays.

I was woken up in the best possible way this morning, a sleepy tug of war to remove my pajamas while I tried to keep them on, and then an attempt to put me on my face when I sleep best flat on my back, believe it or not but eventually I woke up enough to understand what was going on and then I helped out, pulling things off, not fighting anymore, and I might have pulled on a few curls in my rush to be so close to Lochlan I might have been behind him by the time we were finished with each other.

Then church, because it was frosty and there are songs to be sung, by Ben no less, who has been recruited to lead hymns for the entire month and oddly he accepted, so everyone gets a treat and the ones who don't think the words match the picture, well they will be won over soon enough, as always. 

I've only coughed half as much as usual this morning, too, but someone made me a second cup of coffee (from a slippery slope, no less) and then Lochlan poured a couple good shots of Baileys into it and put it in a travel mug for me to drink during the service and we piled into Ben's truck and I may have dozed off a couple of times because Sam sometimes gets boring when I get really cold but then we got to the good stuff and candles are lit and Ben's voice soars overhead into the heavens, so high I'm sure that even Jacob could hear him. It brought tears to my eyes. It brought tears to a lot of people's eyes, looking around. 

After church we came home to now make a few dozen grilled cheese sandwiches and a big pot of soup and get ahead on some chores. I realize it's hardly even December but with work and being sick and everything else one of my fondest desires right now is to do as much as I can while I feel well enough and then over Christmas week (since every. single. person on the point now has it off because Christmas. because WEDDING!!)I can do what I want to do, instead of what I need to do, I can relax and I can enjoy a dwindling childhood in which even the children asked for such practical things, and I know these years are now numbered. 

The waiting game.

Twenty-four hours and I might feel maybe five percent better, at least with a cough I can hear things in, instead of that dry, breathless cough I've had since labour day, or thereabouts.

Since I felt so great, I figured I should join Caleb for his first annual (fourth? Seventh?) Christmas shopping trip and so off we went. I finished my shopping and he finished his. We had a quick breakfast on the go, in which for the second time in a single season I walked and drank my coffee without spilling any or burning my tongue or pouring the whole thing into my purse/onto my phone/clothes/boyfriend and I even managed to finish it and find a recycling bin for the cup.

So yeah. Success. Then when we got home we pitched in to hang up the rest of the lights and did a few other chores and I feel caught up. I feel productive. I feel tired because we walked a whole lot and I saw things and remarked on things I'm sure I'll find under the tree in a few short weeks because Caleb is incorrigible, stubborn and predictable.

A little like me, I guess.

I hope I can tack on another five percent of health every day for the next three weeks and be at one hundred percent for Christmas.

Lochlan finally caught up with me when Caleb graciously offered me back to him and he kissed me which I returned heartily before coughing right in his face and told him about my coffee success. And the donut I ate. And the weird things I saw. And the feeling that I got a lot accomplished but I missed him something fierce.

Well, we'll get coffee on the way to church tomorrow then, he smiles. I think he missed me too. Advent starts tomorrow.

I always like it when the big wreath is lit, one candle a week until Christmas. It feels important and sombre, it feels like a big part of the holiday somehow. We don't have Elementary school pageants to go to anymore, so this is as close as we get to finding the spirit nice and early and keeping it through to the new year.