We're making turkey sandwiches for lunch. Lochlan likes his on white bread, regular mayo, no lettuce. Turkey slices with salt and pepper. Sandwich cut on an angle. He makes mine the way I like it. The heel of the loaf of bread, and a regular piece. Rye or pumpernickle, never white. British mustard, preferably. A huge stack of lettuce. Okay, maybe a little salt and pepper. He doesn't cut mine, I like to hold the whole thing at once.
After lunch Caleb takes our plates and then asks me if I want to go for a run later. Maybe before dinner to burn off some nervous energy (is there any other kind?) and I automatically say no. He takes my arms, centering me in front of him, looking down into my eyes to see if I'm doing okay Right Now.
I am. I don't want to run though. My sauconies have holes in the toes and I'm bitterly unimpressed with how quickly they wore right through and so to punish the company I'm taking the winter off.
Clocks go back this weekend, Diabhal. It's a warning not to push but he finds it hilarious.
Same time every year, Doll.
I shake my head. Maybe later in the week.
Let's go today-
LET'S NOT! I struggle out of his grasp. He looks surprised and freezes for a second before recovering, his expression changing to boss mode, almost parental before my eyes. I wish I could do that. If you stare at me long enough I simply self-destruct.
I can't go today, Diabhal. I need to move slow.
I can distract you, he says softly, before landing a soft kiss on my temple and letting me go. He heads outside.
Lochlan is on his phone on the other side of the kitchen. PJ is running through the grocery list that's on the side of the fridge. We have a paper list and then add those things to an app that we share, synced to everyone's phones. You always have your phone when you're out but not always when you realize at two a.m. that we're almost out of rice krispies. Ergo: paper list on fridge.
PJ shoots a look at me and I catch him.
What a mood, Bridge. It's forceful and sexy. I like it.
Lochlan snorts.
PJ takes the hint, puts the list back in it's place and goes down the hall. For the moment, everything is good and I don't need to be three-deep in boys for safekeeping (not during the day, anyway). The meeting organized a loose all-hands-on-deck scenario where everyone has agreed to float in and out to be handy in case I break free or break down. To make sure there are arms everywhere. Like a human playpen for an adventurous toddler, I can bounce around in this soft but hard bouncy castle made of guys watching me reel from grief while we point out we've finally moved on.
But have we moved on?
They closed the loophole that let Jake in but they'll never be done with the interloper himself and I think that is the part that Lochlan will never forgive himself for. He saw it coming and he had a small window in between Jacob moving against Cole and when Caleb came back but he left it closed and he tried to be so hands off and it didn't work. He tried to go out and live his life too and it just. didn't. work. He's supposed to be here with me. We're supposed to be sick of each other's beautiful faces and of my immaturity and rigidness and his stubborn perfection.
But we're not.
And there he is. Right there within reach when by now in the year usually he's found something to do and can't watch as I regress backward to the point where he needs to take the knife and I can't even spread mustard on my own sandwich. Just in case I turn around and plunge it into my ribs to stop the hurting that blooms with every single breath. Just in case I want to turn and look up at the one who came back to deal with the mess that is me, the one with the red mane and the stoic green eyes. The freckles and the capable hands. The one who told me God was make-believe and preachers were snake oil salesmen, nothing more, but who goes to church anyway just in case he turns out to be wrong, the one who stood at the meeting yesterday and thanked everyone for holding both of us up while we get through the hard parts, saying this is his religion, and this is his flock. That we will be safe, and happy, at last. Sam let him take it, let him run with it. Sam knows he'll be back.
Jacob stood in the doorway and smiled proudly at Lochlan too, but I don't think Lochlan saw him at all.
And I'm not going to commit any mustard-knife crimes. Not in this life, anyway.