Everything and nothing.

Much to my dismay I do not have 5G (even on my phone because we're far away from towers that bring actual reception) as joked about nor did it give me super-hearing which is also something I was secretly hoping for. 

Lochlan scoffs and says all it gives us is sore arms and peace of mind and he's right and so he gets to play the piano this morning but he's not keeping up with my song and I forgot the words in the middle anyway. this after he promised we would live life more musically as we piled into the theatre last night to get through as much of the second act of season five of Lucifer on Netflix, a show with more religious puns and musical numbers than I could ever hope to see all at once on the big screen and I love it so much and I'll be sad when it's all done. Also it seems like we've hardly watched anything this spring and we've watched a few things. I guess it ebbs and wanes sometimes, like the tide, which gifted me nothing at all this morning but maybe I wasn't looking because I feel too tired today anyway. Otherwise good but tired from not being able to sleep comfortably and also because I lay there waiting for my gifts like a forgotten superhero and as I said in the first paragraph it was all hyped for nothing. 

I do get to have a huge homemade cinnamon bun and a good cup of tea for my second coffee courtesy of Matt who came over to make breakfast, sent by Sam who thought we might need an extra hand. Which makes me laugh, Asher is back but Matt is a different soul and he's easy to talk to. He is settled in and content as fuck. They both are, honestly but Matt likes the privacy of the boathouse and his life here with Sam working mostly from home. 

Even though things are rapidly heading back to previous normals, as I pointed out to the boys earlier. Sam may be going back to work in the next few weeks. Things are opening. Restaurants are now open for dining and I won't be going to one any time soon but I do feel as if I am working my way toward a Monte Cristo like no other. Last time I had one was August of 2019 and that's a goddamned tragedy, I think.

In the meantime we can sing to pass the time while I wait for my fucking sandwich. 

Your priorities are interesting, Matt says and I just roll my eyes at him. Well, better hearing and a sandwich?

Never said I wanted much in life, I remind them all. That would be lots.

Update: it was Moderna! Very excited for that. And now everyone on the point has had at least one vaccine. So thankful that everyone here is still healthy and safe and continues to be so. Now I go sleep because zzzzz.

Sunday shots.

Dozing this morning in the fog, eyes closed against the half-light, cool and perfectly comfortable with a breeze on my face from the window above the bed and the warmth of his arm around the back of my neck, his fingers smoothing my bangs away from my forehead periodically. Just as I fall asleep they dance across my skull and I am pulled out of an endless, meandering dream in which I am rowing a boat across a lake so chockful of lilies I can't gain any speed but it's also so beautiful it takes my breath away. 

(I did that once. Sometimes memories masquerade as dreams. I love my brain when that happens.)

I have to go get ready, Diabhal. 

Church is probably over. You can listen to it this afternoon. 

The kids and I are getting vaccinated. 

On a Sunday? 

Yes. 

Need a driver?

Have one. Lochlan's taking us. 

Ah. Then I'll be here when you get back. 

Okay. I kiss his cheek and he grabs for me as I escape his embrace.

I will get the grapefruit lemonade one, of course. Same one I always get. That's a lie. I always seem to end up with blue. I don't even know what flavour blue is.

 My eyes are burning and so is my face from where I swelled up like a pink balloon during waspgate. I was in the sun this morning for probably two hours, mostly in shade, weeding the gardens and hoeing up the soil, checking on my seeds (EVERYTHING came up) and getting rid of leftover sticks/bits. Lochlan was tying up grapevines and covering access points in the big wooden fence. Using up old wood. Making it garden-tight as we called it by the time we were finished, around two. I got to go have a cool shower and put on comfy clothes for a trip into the city to pick up a bag full of books and a big order of Indian food (Pakoras for DAYS and Keema naan which makes me so stupidly happy you wouldn't even believe it) and then after dinner we could sit and have a drink and enjoy the beautiful gardens and I realized I probably still managed to do too much, even as I am clearing the week just in case my vaccine makes me so tired and I sleep for two days, like the boys all did after their shots. 

Sleeping for two days would be a fucking dream. It'll never happen. You know me. But I definitely won't even be lifting a finger tomorrow. We have more Indian food left than we brought home, I think. The outdoors is done. I even washed down the patio chairs up by the doors. I watered everything. We decided not to mow this week to preserve the health of the grass through the next four-day heatwave and the most I will have to do is water things maybe on Tuesday. Lochlan will do it in the evening if I need. 

We don't even need groceries, as we stopped in to a 7/11 I had never been in before and picked up some odds and ends. They had FIVE Slurpee machines but I didn't get one, as we had the takeout. Maybe next week. 

I am ready for my shot and can't wait for this stupid pandemic to be finished.

Moveable beasts.

Both feet in my mouth today, one and then the other. Here, enjoy:

I sent Asher to spend the weekend with his Godfather (the Batman) because suddenly I won't let him do anything and I'm ridiculously hyperaware of his proximity to me when Lochlan is present and honestly maybe we'll work our way up. To his credit he has been alert, aware and mindful of our privacy and we've even instituted easy, no-questions-asked code phrases so he'll just disappear and it's great. I'm not good at formally dismissing anyone and instead I just keep them. End a conversation? Not me. Never. 

Then I scrubbed through the calendar to see if we have anything on for the weekend. It's a group Google Calendar and it keeps us afloat. The kids and I are being vaccinated. That's about it. Then next week an entry catches my eye. Corpus Christi. 

I text Caleb. Why are we going to Texas? Can I not go? 

What on earth are you talking about?

The Texas trip on the calendar. It's a pandemic. I'm not going. 

I have nothing in Texas, Bridget. Check with Schuy. 

Oh, true. But Schuyler doesn't have anything in Texas either. Or any trips in the next week. I run the gamut of men until I get to Sam. Sam looks like he's about to lose it and tells me to click on it. 

Ahhh. 'Christian holidays calendar'.Except you've never mentioned it. 

It's more old-school European orthodoxy. Not my...er...vibe for the church. 

I spent two hours learning that a single click can sometimes answer everything, that's what I learned. Also that Corpus Christi is not only a place in the USA but a fancy Catholic dinner that falls sixty days after Easter.

***

In other news, I am dead. One of my truly good friends (rhymes with Rory) sweetly offered a preview of some rough music he is working on and I laughed. Because there were so many words packed into his verses I couldn't keep up with any of it and it was very unrefined and I laughed before I could catch myself. He is usually a bit of a tempered soul and I cringed visibly while Ben hung his head in disappointment. 

No, no, I want the criticism. She hasn't been wrong yet. 

I'm a huge fan. I know what I want to hear from you. 

Bridge- (Ben goes for damage control and gets dismissed.)

No, it's fine. Let me try something a little different and I'd like to bring it back. 

I would love that. Again, I'm sorry. 

Better you now than everyone else later.

(Oh fans, trust me. You're welcome. This was not good.)

I find him later and ask if he's okay with it. 

Yes. What's wrong? 

Last time I didn't like something you didn't speak to me for two years. 

I was immature then. I was high too. Clean now. It makes a difference. Sadly it's harder to write but easier to have friends.

I nod. I see it with Ben. 

It's fine, Bridge. Don't you worry about it. You've never done me wrong. I will rebuild bigger and better than ever. 

You set the bar so high. I really had nothing to do with it. 

God, you're sweet. 

Am not. 

Oh but you are. (That right there? The biggest compliment he's ever given me.)

It's got a way of making everyone the same.

December's all alone
and he's calling
me on the phone
but he sounds so cold
He says he loves me so
but how would I ever know?
Certain words grow old
It's a vicious kind of catch
it sides me blind
Now I'm out of my mind
I want to scream

No, Peanut. Duncan's got it. 

I just lost my job as Lochlan's spotter. 

We're under fire restrictions now since it's May but because it's raining so hard Lochlan's brought out his big torches to practice. It's the only time he'll do it now. He keeps his skills up. His arms are rock-hard and just as sinewy-defined as ever since he started throwing fire but these torches are bigger, heavier and far more dramatic than his usual practice torches. As such he has to haul them out and use them regularly or he forgets the weight difference and struggles more than he should, if that explains it. It's hard to explain.

I can do it. 

No, you can't. I can't believe all this time has passed and you don't understand what I was doing when I asked you to spot me. Do you think a twelve year old can pull that off? 

I did. 

It was so you wouldn't wander off. 

Oh. Well. Wow. It never crossed my mind. 

You didn't have to be a parent at seventeen. I had to get creative. You hardly listened. 

I listen!

He glares. Hardly. A smile finally cracks his face. You weren't there for safety, in any case. And you still aren't. 

So what you're saying is you were foolishly unprotected for the entirety of our show time. 

But you weren't and that's what matters. 

Wow. 

Yeah.

Lunar eclipsing.

Caleb had a whole lot to say to me about PJ last night and I ended up standing up and walking out the door. Nightcaps are not an invitation to unload unless invited to do so and I didn't need to hear about PJ. PJ is just projecting, he's feeling the first pangs of empty-nest syndrome, he's questioning his worth. All of that is such familiar territory for me I have a hard time finding sympathy and yet he is as open and honest as they come. 

So freezing Caleb out over a taboo subject is the best way to shut him down, closing doors behind me as I go. Not doing that. PJ is off limits to absolutely everyone, including Lochlan. Lochlan may rule this point like a Fire King but PJ is the wood that keeps him burning.

And well, speaking of euphemisms, PJ was still awake when I knocked on his door, having walked down to see him because he'll always be better company than anyone and he understands the rules better than everyone. And even as the kids grow up and leave PJ is my constant, my conscience and my hand up, he's my level and my compass. He's my best friend and he asks for so little overall.

We would have been the most normie-suburban, bullshit-traditional, predictable family in the world, and as he opens the door only in jeans, pulling me in by the wrists, locking the door behind me and leading me down the hall I can only be grateful we're nothing of the kind.

Tattooed tempest (not me, for once).

Asher may have stuck the teaspoon in his mouth while he fixed my earring for me before putting the spoon back in my tea and I think that's what set PJ off, for I picked up the mug and took a sip. A quarter teaspoon of honey really sets the blueberry tea right in my book. He didn't forget. Only the wildflower honey. Only with the blueberry tea. No other kinds. I drink those kinds black. And it's Tuesday, he didn't have to ask which kind. I put the mug down and settle back against Asher's shoulder to check my phone. 

Christ. 

What's wrong, Padraig?

I stare at him and he's a controlled shipwreck so I ask Asher if he can go down to the boathouse and get my pink sweater. Asher agrees (I don't think he's dumb. He knew something was up. I haven't worn my pink sweater in weeks.) and we wait until he leaves and we watch him head across the lawn together in silence before squaring off. 

This is some low-key incestuous shit right here, Bridge-

Are you jealous, PJ? 

But we said it at the same time and then both shouted NO pretty much directly into each others' faces. 

Dalton walks in and laughs. PJ and I are both turning pink and glaring at each other, huffing and puffing quietly. 

Need a referee?

No, I assure him. 

Maybe, PJ counters. 

Dalton looks at PJ, looks at me and says he's making lunch but he'll be nearby if we need him. Off he goes too and we're left with this mirrored glare. 

Physically this looks terrible. Emotionally this is ironic. I look after you and the kids. You don't need a separate person-

Your hands are full, I'd rather you focus on them-

Bridget, Henry is almost twenty years old. Ruth is moving out. The only person who needs a nanny around here is you. And it's supposed to be me. His eyes are welling up. (No no no. Don't you dare, Padraig or I will break I swear to God.) 

You never signed up for that. 

Oh, yes I did. I can show you the line. Wrote my full name out, even. He is so earnest. 

I can't ask you to do that. 

You didn't even try. 

I did. We're too close. 

Told you you should have married me. 

We would have been so boring though. I am crying now. Fuck.

Exactly. 

Asher is more of a maid than a nanny. I needed to be able to dismiss someone at the drop of a hat to go and fetch my errands or weed the garden and I can't do that with you.

Says who?

Says me.

He's coming back. Can I have the job or not? 

No, you can't. You can be my very close friend instead. With all the perks. 

Do you promise? 

Yes.

Can I have those perks this week or-

Hush, you.

Asher returns, holding out...my pink sweater.  I saw it in your closet on the weekend but I checked the boathouse first. I think you only have the one pink one, right? This should be it.

It is, thanks. 

Should I go again? PJ, man, I don't want to step on your toes. 

Just stay out of my way. PJ tries for casual but ends up all but growling on his way out the door.

Should I talk to him? Or maybe get Lochlan to? Asher doesn't want to cause problems. He looks almost scared suddenly.

He'll be fine. He just likes to run a tight ship. 

He seems like a good captain. 

Oh, I will tell him you said that. He can't hate you then.

The only good Mondays are long-weekend Mondays.

One of my favourite things to do is crack open all of the levered windows in the pool enclosure until it's humid and cold and then take a nap in my favourite chaise out there, bundled in a serape, listening to the rain pour down outside. It's always dark and breezy and life is drowned out and maybe it's escapism and no one had any patience to sit there for an hour in total silence, even with a book or a podcast or a movie on Netflix so it was a three-times-a-year if I'm lucky kind of deal. 

Asher is paid to have patience. He can sit for days and not say a word. Every so often, whether I am asleep or awake he will put his feet down from where he has them propped against a planter, and lean forward to pull the blankets up over my shoulder or tuck them around my hips. He doesn't say anything, he just looks after it. We've grown almost symbiotic here, with him able to anticipate needs before I recognize I have them, and he will ask if I'd like a cup of tea or a sweater or my shoes so I can check out the garden. 

Don't worry, I still put in a full eight hours yesterday building a tiny shed in the corner of the orchard. It's far enough away from the house that we need things out there. A first aid kit will go inside. A compost bin and some hand tools so you don't have to go all the way back to the garage if you decide you want to garden or tidy up a bit, a fire extinguisher and yes, an epi-pen is included in the first aid kit. The shed has two levels and a moon cut out to match my little garden gate and a roof made of cedar shakes and Ben trimmed in a little fairy window that I can paint a scene in to show someone might be home. I'm thinking a mouse rocking her baby mouse by a roaring fire. Or maybe a fox sleeping in a bed. 

Something dark and charming, anyway. That's the theme of my life.

Absent Jesus.

Try to dispose of a failure to decide
Holding fast and hoping for a sign
Keeping close this fervent lust for life
The greatest of all our enemies is time

I am turned unexpectedly, brought up into his arms, crushed against his chest, his hands tight around my hips, taking my weight in to hold, and I cry out in surprise, the sound truncated with a kiss, equally crushing, equally surprising. 

His face returns to his comfort zone, pressed against the side of my head, just above me so if I try to turn my head in towards him I wind up in a void underneath his jaw, set hard against my forehead. His hands are gripping me so hard. We're slipping. It's so warm and yet no one's going to let go first. But then he gives up and down I go, dropped back to the quilts along with his weight and we're safe again, on the way to the moon and he cries out just as I shatter along with him, both our hands coming up around each others heads to seal the moment (and maybe the night) with a kiss. 

It's a practised routine and no one gets in the way. 

But then Lochlan lets go and the cool air leaves me wrapped in goosebumps, shivers running down my neck across my shoulders and my back and down my arms to my fingertips as they connect with Ben. Ben isn't having it and back I go on my face with a laugh, smothered in quilts as he doesn't plan to be romantic at all tonight. 

Until the bittersweet end, I mean. Then it's much the same only slightly more violent and the kiss comes as an afterthought. Ben is tired. It's been a long night. We have not slept and my eyes begin to sting suddenly as it dawns on me how much they love me. 

Maybe too much, as I am handed to Caleb, who kisses the tip of my nose as he pulls me in against him. 

No, no, no, I plead. I need a break. I need sleep. I need something else entirely. A portal to another dimension where affection doesn't slide into this, automatically. 

Just go for a little longer, Babydoll. We're not finished with you yet.

I see Lochlan frown and look away, out the window at the sun. It always brings regret up with it, brightening everything dark, just so that there's no mistake, just so you know what you've done.

I keep it under glass, bright lights keeping it from growing, shrivelled and dry in the glare. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to throw a shadow if it had the strength anymore. I'll let it wither, requited just enough to keep it alive. I will make it suffer, and along with it, him. Humane? No. Deserved? 

Yes. 

I took that heart and I won't let it have any darkness any more. He came back with open arms and a plan and all the money in the world and then some. So much. Lochlan used to say we had nothing and so we have everything (ironically biblical, that) and Caleb came back to say everything was a phone call or a whim away and here, do that instead and bring everyone but I'm coming too and it will be okay. The gang's back together again. 

And mostly it is okay. 

Growing pains, that's all. Asher's arrival was so understated, it was bound to eventually blow up, boil over and melt down. The point is a forge and our emotions are weapons and the more tears I cry, the more bullets lodge in their flesh. The more victims I collect. The more hearts I break, only they get to keep theirs to regenerate and do it all again.

But Asher stays.

I watch Caleb sleep, the night long behind us now, the reluctant permission to make it up to me, the assurances, promises and plans. The lies we all recognize for their easy deployment and the peace in his slumbering expression now. 

I said I was okay but no one believes me. I said I wasn't but somehow they didn't believe that either.

Caleb = 0.

I see no volunteers to co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line
Alone, you're gonna change my circumstance
I know I need to move right now

'Cause I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me (Only smoking secondhand)
I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me
Coming for me

Caleb has my hands pulled behind my back, held in one of his. He is on the phone and I struggle briefly until he squeezes hard and I freeze, unwilling to cry out and give him the satisfaction of dismissing a sudden alarming sound to the person on the other end of the line as something inconsequential.

I could call out. I could cause a huge fuss and everyone would come running and then he would have to explain, he would have to swallow his demon tendencies even as they snake out from his cuffs, darken the white spaces in his eyes and turn his hands to claws that rip against my flesh like thorns against a cotton sundress, pulling you back, keeping you there tangled in something that's bigger than you. You can go later and cut them back and decide that you have disarmed the threat but it grows back. In your mind you know damn well it's going to do so but in the moment you feel as if you have gotten control. 

(I don't have control.)

He pulls me backwards as he wraps up his call and pins me against the door, hand around my neck, head bent down so we are eye to eye, only my chin is being forced painfully up and I am up on my toes and maybe not even touching the floorboards anymore. I close my eyes, checking out before he gets to her. I can go anywhere. Behind my eyelids I can fucking fly and yet I always head for the same place, the corner of the cotton candy booth, the shady spot where I can finish my lunch but Lochlan can still keep an eye on me here. His break is still an hour away but I was too hungry. The sun is so warm against my forehead, Caleb's hot breath as he levels threats, promises and God knows what else to an audience of none, as I can't hear him when he whispers and I don't even try anymore. 

And then a knock goes through me, from the other side of the door. 

I snap back to the cool wood, briefly wondering what's going to happen the first time I don't come back at all. 

Yes. Caleb barks the word at the closed door. He's going to open it regardless but he's buying time for composure. He's buying time to get his body under control, willing his predilections to snake back up into his cuffs, tucking back under his collar, horns sinking back into his skull, eyes changing back to bright white and medium blue. It's something to watch, anyway, but I still haven't opened my eyes. 

He slides me back down, letting go, frowning at the red handprint around my throat. No time to hide that so he shoves me out of the way as Lochlan opens the door. 

I was with you- I tell him, excited that I can still teleport when things get really bad, as he looks to me first. 

Ash said he couldn't find you. He finally looks at Caleb. Jesus fucking Christ, Caleb. 

Maybe you interrupted something. 

Lochlan looks back at me and I shake my head. No, I say but no sound comes out. 

Lochlan comes past Caleb, takes my hand, pulls me in against him and takes me out of the room. 

Caleb is shouting something and Lochlan ignores him. We go past Asher, who is doing a magnificent job of not being surprised (guess they filled him in completely) and he fills the gap in the hallway, going head to head against Caleb and pointing out he's here to keep an eye on me and Caleb is pointing out no one needs to do that when he is with me and the last thing I hear is Asher disputing that masterfully and then we are outside and the sun is warming my face for real and it wasn't a daydream at all.

(I had told Asher where I would be and dismissed him for some free time of his own. He didn't listen to me and promptly called in my army. Had I known Caleb was going to wake up on the wrong side of the day I never would have gone though so I am grateful for him right off the bat.)

Longer nights.

God bless Everett and God bless Joel. They've been working together (!) with Sam, with Lochlan and with Ben behind the scenes, with August, who probably worries most of all but works so hard to keep it casual, to figure out what to do next. 

And they did. Monday everything changed again and this is another attempt to organize things here or at least make them easier for all of us. Not just me but okay, fine, mostly me. The smallest and weakest. The runt of the litter, as it were. 

Asher's back. He's been back for five days and it's been really nice. He's a familiar face if you're a longtime reader for a breath seven or eight years ago and we had a plan for him but it wasn't quite right. He arrived with intentions to become the butler and just...look after things, but it was strange and no one would let him do anything and he wasn't really sure either, he only knew he wanted an unconventional life but after seeing the world and getting a little older, he is back to settle down. Or rather, he hasn't settled down and so he's back for another go. 

He's Batman's Godson, and he's really mellowed into a handsome, easy-going, take-no-bullshit personality with humour and grace. He's a lot like Sam in that way, though Sam takes all my bullshit. I don't know where he keeps it, but he takes it. 

So Asher's focus this time around employment-wise is not to manage the house but just me. If I have errands, he'll do them. If I need food, he'll get it. My chores are his chores now. If I do something it will be a whim, apparently. He will be a bodyguard against wasps and sea lions and strangers and bears, oh my. He will rub my neck for me and choose my outfits. He'll be a human buffer between me and Gage the world. He'll set out my toothbrush and my pajamas.

He's going to listen to my problems, whether first or third-world. He'll put up with my whining. He's going to be my confidante, my best friend and my assistant. There's no overstepping with PJ now, no difficulties trying to raise the kids with extra faces on hand (the kids are adults, Ruth is apartment-shopping) and even Caleb is on board. 

He will disappear when Lochlan is around, however unless Lochlan asks him to stay close.

I had zero problems being honest and open with him. We are easy friends. This morning when I came down, a few minutes before Lochlan was ready, I showed Asher the progress on my face and he told me I was still adorable but also stupid for for assuming the world was a friendly, safe place. I don't assume that and tell him so with colourful belligerence. He ignores me, hands me my pills and a glass of water, then hands me my coffee. In a travel mug so I don't spill it or burn myself, and so it doesn't get cold. He watches everything and fixes it. He is a quick study, or maybe I'm a short read. He's a sharp wit. He's going to lift the weight without the demands. If I don't want to talk I don't have to. No one is demanding I flay myself down to the bone at their command. No one wants to talk it out and fix it instantly anymore. No one's demanding anything. They just decided to pitch the fuck in. But he'll be able to sound the alarm before I know we need to ring it.

There's only one problem and it's that always-present awful one that I can't get away from. 

Yes, he's really cute. And now that he's close to thirty he's doing that thing men do when they go from cute to easy-handsome. 

Lochlan laughs when I lay it all out for him. Lochlan is not worried. 

I didn't say you should be worried-

I'm not jealous either. 

Why not? 

He's not Caleb. 

Ah. 

Ah, he repeats.

Still? I cock my head at him, eyes narrowed. 

Forever, Lochlan frowns and my heart breaks a thousand times in the space of one beat, becoming stars. Asher comes back, sees the darkness, appreciates the stars for a minute and then instead of asking me if I'm cold, just hands me my sweater, staying close as I need help putting it on with the forever-fucked up elbow I can't bend the way it should. 

When my head pops through the neckhole Lochlan kisses my nose and tells me if I have worries I can put them away now. 

 Asher turns his pockets inside out and says he has room. I think he needs cargo pants. Or maybe a cargo plane. I tell him and he laughs and tells me nothing is insurmountable. 

That's how I am reminded how young he still is.

Goldilocks and the three things (One too small: the mouse. One too big: The Devil. One just right: The redhead).

My bird cam (which is set in the big tea roses in the upper part of the garden on the woods side of the house) regularly catches a curious adolescent Spotted Towie and a bully Starling, three unique and habituated hummingbirds and a giant Northern Flicker is now a mouse cam.

We have a mouse. In the garden. Or maybe it's a rat. I don't know but it's small and it makes three trips a night across the garden and back. Every time we fill the hole we think it's using it finds a new one and this has been my entertainment this past week as my eye stops hurting and my skin heals, all the swelling slowly returns to normal and I finish out all these pills, which give me headaches. At least it's cool and raining today and I checked all the places and we learned where it goes and where it's coming from. Not sure we can do anything about it save for removing the water from the fountain and turning it off and taking down the bird feeders. I take them in every night anyway to usurp the bears and raccoons but apparently this critter might be attracted to the little bits of seeds and suet left behind. 

I felt well enough to organize Caleb's life a little, looking after picking up packages and having a look at his emails. He isn't all that dedicated and will just read things. He won't act on or file them away though and so I have to chase him down to find out what his plans are for each and every thing. I transfer all of his dividends to my account and check shipping, clean out some old files and then book him in with his barber and cardiologist. Pre-summer stuff. In exchange for three hours of admin-light he had to take over cleaning five bathrooms and making lunch. 

It's all done now. We had bagels with cottage cheese, dill and cucumber and fresh peach slices. He made a point of going to find Loch and bringing him back to make sure he had a decent lunch, as Lochlan is out in the yard sanding down every last sharp edge and thorny path in my life so that he can sleep at night. Apparently we have reverted somewhat and instead of calling it an accident and removing the hollow log so there will never be another surprise, Lochlan has gone full fearful parent and is demanding we cut back all of the flowers to minimize insects and maybe brick over more of the yard. Maybe the gazebo should be glassed in like the pool to have a safe waypoint in case it happens again. The points on the roof and eaves and doors and windows will be regularly sprayed now. Someone has to sweep the garage, stables and sauna before I can go in, oh, and I'm never allowed down to the beach again because God only knows what's under those steps but it's probably bad all the same. 

He will not listen to reason. 

He did however, stop at the pharmacy to pick up Matt's spanking new Epi-Pen, good for sixteen months, and got me a bag of Sweet Sixteen licorice tape (the absolute best) and that's how I know he's still in there. He isn't worried about my teeth, just my skin. So we're good, I guess?

Not even remotely good today.

I'm gonna check my scars at home
Gonna cash my chips and roam
Gonna walk before you fade to black
I'm gonna write a new resume
I'm gonna write you off the page
Gonna take what we might take away

Caleb knocks on the door softly. How is Tuesday? 

I shrug. Noncommittal. Epic headaches. Epic weakness when I want to be strong. Epic exhaustion when I want to be energetic. I want to be the sun and the moon. I want to be able to play more than three-quarters of any verse on the piano before someone interrupts me. It's okay, I lie.

He frowns. He knows my lies. I have a present for you. 

What is it?

A nap. In the shade. With Ben and I. 

Yes, please.

Ooh. Wrote a whole bunch and now I need to go lie down.

Duncan just told me I am far less intimidating right this minute with my puffy half-face and fragile health than I usually am, without it.

He is my babysitter right now. He's healing a full back of hand and knuckle tattoos. He is hurting and it's GLORIOUS.

I love being bowled over with their honesty at nine in the morning while I'm still sipping my first coffee and enjoying the rain, however light it is right now. The rest of the boys are walking the property now to make sure there are no more nests.

This is somewhat comforting, as we were playing Night & Seek just about every evening at dusk up until last Saturday when I got stung during the day, at least, and it was so much fun. And I can fit into weird surprising places that I didn't expect, like the cupboard that holds the hose reel on the back side of the house, as long as the hose is out of it and unspooled across the side yard. I can fit behind the lawnmowers under the steps where we keep them in a locked shed built under the steps of the loft going up from the garage. 

I did mention that's where I got that big scary spider bite in 2011 that turned my arm black, right?

Do I learn? No. Is Night & Seek as much fun forty years later? Hell yes it is. And it only took fifteen minutes on the first night to convince Lochlan that if we hide together we will be way too easy to find and then the game is ruined for everyone so we need to split up. The only rule was you have to stay well inside the perimeter of the property and you have to keep your eyes open for wildlife. They turned the fence on after walking it for bears and bobcats at the start of each. Gosh it's fun living in the woods by the sea. He let me hide alone as he knows I am so competitive about the game. 

The first night I saw the fattest raccoon I ever laid eyes on. The second night both neighbourhood local cats who won't stay out of my garden/off the point/away from my birds showed up and I sprayed them away and then ran through the dark for my life to hide as far away from the hose as possible. The third night I think I saw a rat but I haven't seen him since and the fourth night Lochlan got cold feet and made me hide with him again and we hatched a serious plan and sacrificed Ben, who was found first. Lochlan did not throw a rock to Ben to draw Sam to where he was, nope, uh-uh. 

*whistles*

We're trying to have a great spring and we're going to have a better summer. This is the plan. 

Thank you, I think.Can I smack your hand now, by accident? 

Please no. It's nice being on the same level, that's all.

Oh, you're slumming today? 

Not what I mean, Bridge. I mean you're this ethereal creature most of the time and today you're just a hurting human. 

God, I love it when you talk dirty to me. 

You know what I mean. 

Okay. 

Seriously. 

I said okay. 

I didn't explain it well. Nevermind. He looks at me and I look back and then he looks away again.

Okay, I say, and crack up.

HOLY FUCKING HELL (also BEES. But not actually BEES).

One of the hardest parts about taking extended breaks (four days is apparently a lifetime?) from my daily updates are the rumours and the terrible predictions I come back to in emails. 

People wonder if I died. If I did myself in or if maybe Caleb killed me, or worse, someone else did. People wondered if we were taking a fancy trip abroad and I didn't want to get flack for it in the time of a pandemic. People wondered if Lochlan finally got tired of me and left, leaving me heartbroken. People wondered if I was finally moving on from writing everything down that I want to share or even don't want to share.

A lot of you wondered if maybe I had been sent away to be fixed or bettered or helped somewhat, that it was good. Those ones were weirdly encouraging and loving and now I feel strange about every word I've ever written here. 

But nope. Close but I didn't. I wouldn't. He didn't. No one else would dare. Of course not. No, he didn't and he never will. No I'm not. And no, I didn't. 

Hope that helps, okay, byeeeeeeee-

Ha. I am still here. 

This is totally sad but as I said, my body takes Great Delight in sabotaging me every single chance it gets and so the DAY BEFORE I am to have my Covid vaccine I stepped right into a wasp nest in the back of the orchard. One tucked in to the place where I stand to reach up and hang the bird feeder when I remember to refill it. There's a large piece of driftwood underneath that delineates the path from the arbour and it's also a great way for me to reach the lowest branch. Apparently it was also a great place to build a nest for a large quantity of super aggressive yellowjackets and of course when I stood on it they came out and in my surprise I kicked the log again and oh, my. 

It was a cloud of black angry buzzing in my face and all around me. 

They stung my hairline and my lip and my nose and right at the corner of one eye, one on my elbow, getting caught and then for good measure my thumb, too.

I am not allergic, or rather, I wasn't, but fourteen stings at once is a lot and I didn't fare so well and my blood pressure dropped and my heart began to dance and now, well now I am allergic. Really thought I would be fine before my body went hey...what? No.

The whole side of my face swelled up, a rash developed almost all over my top half and my eyes swelled shut. My nostril swelled shut. One side of my mouth blew up. It was frightening. It hurt so bad. So, so bad.

Expired epi pens still have lots of life though and that's good. 

The boys are surprisingly good in emergencies now and didn't fuck around wondering if it was a real emergency or something we could figure out. It was just go go go.

Doctors are fast and incredible at what they do, and that's even better. 

The boys have spoiled me rotten for more the last week. It happened last Saturday afternoon and I think I lost an entire week of my life but I'm feeling so much better and the only long term effects are whatever time it's going to take the rash and subsequent nerve pain to subside and the fact that I have to add ALLERGIC TO STINGS to my HARD OF HEARING medical bracelet. My vision is okay, hearing bad as ever and when do I not have a rash or reaction to something?

Fun fact since I managed to demonize Caleb at the beginning of this post for no reason and I have to not do that, as he spent all of Tuesday randomly describing the screen for me as we watched Bling Empire on Netflix. Well, he watched and I listened because I couldn't see and even if I could have I couldn't put my glasses on because it still hurts and my skin feels like a third degree burn and it almost burst in places. He said they paused and zoomed in on various designer items during the episodes and I told him it's to give people time to buy something from that designer online and there begat a new game for us and now we have some interesting packages coming in the post this week and fully a third of them are from Cartier. 

(the rest are men's Dior and Balenciaga RTW items for Lochlan since he expressed interest in a shirt so Caleb bought him a BUNCH of stuff he thinks Lochlan might like. They, along with Ben have stuck beside me around the clock even though I look like the elephant girl. Still do, pretty much though the swelling has gone down a little now.)

So all is not lost. The silver lining in a long week turned out to be white gold. And never stand on a hollow log without checking to see if anyone's home first.

(My vaccine is rebooked for the end of the month, thank God. That's all I wanted in the first place and it's why I was rushing to get the gardening done so I wouldn't have to do any on vaccine day or the day after that because the boys were all really tired after their shots.)

One foot in the gr- (Don't be so morbid, Bridget!).

Not dead. Just having some fairly extreme surprise medical issues over here and apparently I will start to feel better in four or five days or maybe that was weeks, I don't know. I was supposed to get my vaccine this afternoon but my body decided to stage a mutiny and come up with something new and different. Not online. Not doing anything but lying in the shade watching Netflix and sleeping way too much. She goes until she stops, I guess. 

I'll be back when I feel good enough to sit up for five seconds and don't have other pressing things to do with that energy.

Overcoffeed already this morning, chewing on the headphone cord while I try and figure out how to clear this fog. I never have energy but I don't sleep and I eat too much sugar. I don't sleep because I worry too much but I can't let go and just give in to the medication, give in to the booze, give in to the endless, constant chronic reassurance that it's all okay, no, life is a goddamned white-knuckle extreme thrill ride and honestly I got every thrill I ever needed from the most basic standard Ferris Wheel and never asked for more. 

I have headphones permanently plugged in to my shitty laptop, an Asus zenbook (never ever buy one) that can be flipped around to become a tablet which still remains useless as fuck, the pencil is useless, the sound is so fucking bad except through headphones but I hate taking my airpods out of my bag because then I forget to put them back and get out somewhere and wish for them dearly. 

I miss the macbook but I have an ipad pro that can almost do everything anyway and Lochlan got me a folio case with a spot for the pencil and a full bluetooth keyboard and the sound and picture is unfucking real from it but I'm going to wear this laptop into the ground first before I go ham on the ipad, though I use it for drawing and for watching movies by the pool or in bed. 

I'm probably going to electrocute myself on this cord at some point but I'm pretty sure the four other times I got blown off my feet by electricity and lived to tell the tale probably explain everything we need to know about my brain, if not everything that came before those events. What can I say? It all goes into the mix, gets stirred up and whatever comes out is pretty much your fault. 

Especially the lower-lip-biting, which was a concentrated, painful reminder to think before I spoke but now serves as some sort of visual heartbreak to everyone. I don't know how that happened but Lochlan just said the cord is the same thing and please stop it. 

Guess I'll go back to just blurting out whatever comes to mind, whether I heard you properly or not.

Little electric nightmare.

Yesterday I think my energies got out of control. I don't know it was leftover dismay at my birthday year or the fact that Schuyler completely unpacked my very being, breaking it all down, taking inventory, and then packing it all back up again. Maybe he forgot to put the lid on, maybe there was an air bubble. In any case, I popped four balloons, three lightbulbs, broke a mug and failed to successfully replant an errant majoram sprig for no freaking reason even though I've been patiently pulling them out of the marconi daisies where they took up residence and moving them to a different section of the garden for the past two weeks and it worked great up until today. It rained like the dickens through dinner and I just bandaged up my hand from where the mug edge cut into my flesh and I took my shitty energies and went to bed alone. The dog joined me and then Lochlan, who slept with his elbow in my face. I had to get up like five times to pee even though I cut out my water at dinner and Ben came up in the single digits and woke me up again, mumbled sorry, turned away and that was that. 

I swear to God, I wish there were magic sleep spices that didn't involve severe tranquilizing. I wish there were vacations. I wish my energies extended to being creative instead of locking down and imploding. Here's hoping today is off the grid though. Yesterday grew exceedingly stressful and I don't want a repeat of it.

On the other hand, fully half the point is being vaccinated this afternoon and there are still like five pieces of birthday cake left and I get to cull favours in exchange for them, which is always fun. Oh yes, and it's Friday! Tomorrow is wiped clean just in case there are effects from the vaccine (it's Pfizer or Moderna, we waited for the government rollout instead of the pharmacy one, which is AZ) and I can watch and plan because I get my shot on Tuesday.

Aftersmash.

Working on big picture stuff, and prioritizing my goals today with Schuyler, from where I am newly jammed in between he and Daniel, all three of us in boxers but I get a warm long-sleeved t-shirt, because I am always cold now, having scones with jam and pretty good coffee. Schuyler likes to check in with people on the day after their birthdays now to help them set goals for the coming year and shed bad habits and old ineffective methods. 

I think you just banned yourself, I take another bite of toast. I try to keep it neat but Schuy leans over my face and steals a huge messy bite. 

Never, he says through his mouthful. This refines you. 

Daniel laughs. He is sleepy but loves having guests, loves watching Schuy play life coach. Loves watching Lochlan nap. Lochlan army-naps. He can sleep anywhere. And I sort of love having a life-coach who knows me. Who doesn't? Schuy is level-headed, organized, successful and retired so he has time to devote to helping those of us who struggle with meaning and whatever our definitions of success might be. I am loathe to realize my entire creative existence was borne out of pressure from my publisher and isn't even under my name and he is loathe to see how much that bothers me, after a fashion. And he isn't some stranger, some counselor brought in to work some sort of textbook program. And that's what I think I love most even though of course again, there is work ahead.

But in the meantime there are scones and semi-naked men. Savage Garden. 

***

It was a blissful birthday. A quiet, dry one. Lochlan outdid himself, right down to the tiny detail of telling Caleb he had already looked after champagne and a drink order and then made pink lemonade, from scratch. Dinner was outside. Pizza, which was awesome, and then ice cream cake inside and hot tea and balloons that burst at random, seemingly and made us shriek and laugh. It was one of the nicest and most wholesome birthdays I think I've ever had and I would do it again every single day if I could. 

We'll go back to being heathens tomorrow, Lochlan said. For tonight I just want to see you smiling like this.

A Joan of Arc (and smart enough to believe this).

Oh ominous place spellbound and unchildproofed
My least favourite chill to bear alone
Compatriots in place they'd cringe if I told you
Our best back-pocket secret our bond full-blown

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind, I am a pioneer naive enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne 

It's an easy round and even number, somehow comforting and frightening all at once. It is a dividing line, a highway down the centre of the route you thought you were taking until you turn around to look back and realize you've gone off on a tangent, found a detour and you're very near to where you meant to be but you're in a different place altogether at the same time.

(Where are you meant to be, Bridget?)

(We've got to get off the road.) 

I shrug and readjust my pack. Somehow over the years it got heavier and yet somehow, over the years, I figured out how to better carry it. 

I feel established and knowledgeable and experienced. I feel like a scared teenager in a bad situation, one who felt tough right up until he called her bluff. 

I feel like I should fight. 

I'm too tired to fight.

I feel as if today should consist of eating cake and watching good horror movies. Maybe an eight-hour sleep afterwards. In reality today will consist of laundry, more laundry, dishes, bathrooms, vaccuuming (still can't spell it, how old am I again? ) and figuring out dinner as everyone rolls in. Maybe a little horror movie time later. 

There are presents on the table in front of my chair. I was sent to bed at eight last night in order to facilitate a balloon throne, constructed on the spot and these beautifully wrapped presents piled around it which I have to wait twelve hours to open. I did not sleep. I read (chipping away at The Pandora Room. Love me some Ben Walker mysteries) and then I tossed and turned and got up at five and cried. 

Lochlan laughed and reminded me how I tried to comfort him when he turned this age and somehow in his mind I minimized his feelings and for that I'm sorry even though it's been five years since that happened. I didn't know that's what it feels like, saying it's just a number and the numbers don't matter.

He is right. 

It isn't but it doesn't matter either. 

Life is confusing. You want to be taken seriously. You want to be left alone. You want to throw glitter around indoors and dance to music that's so loud it's criminal and then you realize if you get glitter everywhere indoors you will still be finding it on the next perfectly-round, even birthday. 

So don't. 

But consider it. Because you can.

(Destined to reign, destined to roam.)

Find yourself a love who looks at you like Darren Hayes looked into the camera in the nineties.

I'm not watching Savage Garden videos. You are. 

I'm not enjoying the last day of my forties. No sirree. We already got groceries. I'm wearing my tiara. We have cupcakes for later and this is it, boys, there she goes. I'm not looking back. Not going to let it get me. Not going to entertain the ghosts for free when it costs me extra, not going to let fear rule when love does it so much better. Not going to put up with much more bullshit as every single man who walks into the room says something along the lines of not being able to believe that tomorrow is my birthday and it's a really big one. 

A huge one. 

One I can't wrap my brain around but the numbers don't care. They just keep marching like troops in nice solid blocks, in step, in cadence with each other and with the ticking of the clock. 

How do you feel? Lochlan asks, for the dozenth time.

I have no answer for him, yet. This is too new.

Taking a village.

When?

It's for October, possibly November. By then things should be returning to normal. 

We hope. 

We do. If it doesn't work this fall then we'll do it next spring, but I think you need a change of scenery. 

Stop trying to get rid of me. 

On the contrary, Br-

Always your position, isn't it? 

Since I'll be going I can't be getting rid of you, as you say. This would be a break for you. Just a short one.

We'll see. 

That's all I'm asking. 

The Devil is plotting and scheming that if all goes well and the world gets better he would like to show me the Taj Mahal as he went to see it six or eight years ago now and I almost perished from jealousy. I'm aware it's a Stonehenge/pyramids thing in which it looks pristine and singular and in reality it's surrounded by crowds and probably a raging, overhyped tourist trap but I will risk it. Some things you just need to see. 

Hey, if you're bored and looking to spend money you could save Louisbourg.

Speaking of overhyped tourist tr-

It isn't! It's magical there. 

It was dull. 

Sorry we can't all demand high-excitement entertainment, but just the thought that all of those French people just showed up to live and work at a tiny little village at the very tip of the cape, far from home sort of blows my mind. 

You mean like all of us moving here to the point?

And its magical, right?

It is, yes. 

Then it should be saved. 

I say that every single day, Neamhchiontach.

Like all dreamers.

Sunshine.

Bacon.

The mystery of formatting that leaves a space and half between each line. 

Labradorite.

Italian coffee.

Gerbera daisies.

Benevolent ghosts that only want what's best for you.

Clairaudience. Clairsentience. Madness. What's the difference?

Sudden amusement as Save A Prayer starts on the stereo. This is PJ's playlist and he plays it off as an old favourite just for Bridget. Ha. This was the very first song Lochlan and I ever slow-danced to, the entire way through, without stopping. In the camper with the little shitty radio tuned to C100 on a hot summer day in September. I was eleven. He was seventeen now and I asked him what a one-night stand really meant because it was in the song and he told me and I didn't understand what he meant. I couldn't understand how you would want to touch someone you didn't love and he said maybe you love them in that moment and I said that wasn't love and he pulled me close in again. 

Exactly.

Dismantled devices.

 The safest place was never in a fugue state, addled by this haloperidol-haze, nor is it standing behind the Devil, an oddly cold and stark space, all smooth concrete and solid grey walls, lit from somewhere I can't see, perfectly safe and sterile. It isn't at the edge of the cliff and it isn't at the bottom of the dark teal sea. It's certainly not in my mind, they never gave it back and now I fight for every fucking. single. letter that bounces along in slow motion into the space where my dark little twisted mind used to be before they threw it away. It's not necessary. No one, least of all me, needs the thing anymore so take it out, make some room. We're going to stack it up with new memories, or at the very least, nothing at all. 

I had so many song lyrics. Four decades worth of rare beloved tracks, a collection that belonged in the Smithsonian for its vastness and pure attention to detail. I don't know where it is now. Someday someone will come across it and it will make barely a ripple in the news but people who catalogue songs in their brain like I do will understand the value and the significance. 

Oh well. 

Another thing gone. Like Cole. Like Jacob. Like Bridget, who used to live in colour and now exists in monochrome. Monowail. Monodidactic. Monotheistic. Monophone, to be sure.

Almost wrote 'shure'. You see this fight? Can you watch it from there? Should have broadcast live but they don't like that so I don't. Instead I exist here in this safe place I began with and then quickly lost track of. 

Underneath Lochlan's chin. There's just enough room for me to stand here. To sleep here. To wait here and take shelter here. This is comfort, nostalgia and security all in one place. It's the perfect size for me. Throw in a bonus heartbeat and his arms and I want for nothing today, not even words. Not even plans or meetings or emergency triage or saltwater baptisms or chemical lobotomies or long breaks for sleep. 

Just this. 

All these broken souls
Each one more beautiful
They don't, they don't know my heart
They don't know my heart

I'll send out my soul
To worlds more beautiful
But they won't, they won't know my heart
It's the darkest part

Fists clenched under my chin against his chest I can drag the music back line by line but I don't have to see any ghosts. Like I said, it's perfect.