I'm on the biggest floating chair, it's Ben's and he loves it because his weight doesn't sink his backside into the water like most of the other floats so I can bring a drink, sunglasses, a good book and even my phone (if no one's looking). I got out there early to get it. Ben won't go outside in this heat but I wanted at least thirty minutes with my Vonnegut (the Ms. Rosewater one, bought it and promptly lost it and found it the other night) and some silence before the point comes alive. The boys always want to build things, do landscaping, work on or clean trucks and then play hard in the pool before drifting off to rest or watch movies after dinner so I like to wake up very early sometimes and have some quiet time before then.
Except they won't leave me alone. Lochlan can see me from his chaise up above and Caleb is up and dressed in a light tank and his swim shorts, sitting at the other end of the pool in the shade on a lounger, checking his bank accounts, probably.
What are you drinking? He asks without looking at me.
Lemonade, I say. It's the truth, though it's eight in the morning and it's Bad Tattoo lemonade on an empty stomach in the sun.
(Why?
Why not?)
As I said. My sole focus right now is managing this anxiety before it begins to manage me.
What is that?
Busted. I show him the can. It's a pretty label.
Bridget, you haven't had breakfast yet. Also, what is that?
I said already. Lemonade.
Kind of lowbrow. I can make you a mimosa-
Lowbrow? I lean forward in my chair to stare at him. Have you met me?
You know what I mean.
Not sure that I do. Want me to go don a Valentino so I can float to your standards?
Neamhchiontach-
Oh, fuck off. I slump down in the chair and tune him out.
But I forgot he's in his trunks and within a second he is beside me. Did you tell me to fuck off?
Is that lowbrow enough since you're slumming with the freak today?
I meant the stupid drink. It's not a reflection on you. You have the world at your fingertips so I was pointing out I could get you a nicer drink.
I have the drink I want.
Noted.
Stop curating me.
'Curating' you?
Yes, dressing me up and putting accessories in my hands that you approve of. Just let me make my own way.
Ah. This is not about me.
I'm sorry?
Lochlan's parental tendencies come back like PTSD whenever I try and lead-
Leave him out of it.
Boy, you are cranky. Let me know if you need another. He nods at my can and strides back to the steps, leaving the pool.
I will. Thank you. I say it politely and return to Vonnegut. I don't know if this book is even my thing but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
And never ever tell me to fuck off ever again, he warns.
Or what?
You don't want to find out.
Well, now I'm curious. Dammit.
Except they won't leave me alone. Lochlan can see me from his chaise up above and Caleb is up and dressed in a light tank and his swim shorts, sitting at the other end of the pool in the shade on a lounger, checking his bank accounts, probably.
What are you drinking? He asks without looking at me.
Lemonade, I say. It's the truth, though it's eight in the morning and it's Bad Tattoo lemonade on an empty stomach in the sun.
(Why?
Why not?)
As I said. My sole focus right now is managing this anxiety before it begins to manage me.
What is that?
Busted. I show him the can. It's a pretty label.
Bridget, you haven't had breakfast yet. Also, what is that?
I said already. Lemonade.
Kind of lowbrow. I can make you a mimosa-
Lowbrow? I lean forward in my chair to stare at him. Have you met me?
You know what I mean.
Not sure that I do. Want me to go don a Valentino so I can float to your standards?
Neamhchiontach-
Oh, fuck off. I slump down in the chair and tune him out.
But I forgot he's in his trunks and within a second he is beside me. Did you tell me to fuck off?
Is that lowbrow enough since you're slumming with the freak today?
I meant the stupid drink. It's not a reflection on you. You have the world at your fingertips so I was pointing out I could get you a nicer drink.
I have the drink I want.
Noted.
Stop curating me.
'Curating' you?
Yes, dressing me up and putting accessories in my hands that you approve of. Just let me make my own way.
Ah. This is not about me.
I'm sorry?
Lochlan's parental tendencies come back like PTSD whenever I try and lead-
Leave him out of it.
Boy, you are cranky. Let me know if you need another. He nods at my can and strides back to the steps, leaving the pool.
I will. Thank you. I say it politely and return to Vonnegut. I don't know if this book is even my thing but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
And never ever tell me to fuck off ever again, he warns.
Or what?
You don't want to find out.
Well, now I'm curious. Dammit.