A house full of girls.

Henry is the lone male in a house full of girls now. Erin is here. The kids are home. Ruth threw up in the truck on the way home from the airport. With her consent I threw away the outfit she had on. Then after they were tucked in bed for the night and Erin was on the phone making plans to see some old friends I went out and cleaned my truck in the dark. Thankfully this morning it looked pretty good and smelled cleaner than usual.

The kids may have grown. They were windblown and full of confidence. They were happy to be back and plunged into routine. Their systems are shot by the time zone change. Both were out of bed late last night looking for a snack.

Erin is well. This visit heralds her permanent return to the province. She's going to stay here until April 1st and then rent a flat in the city while her tenant expires the lease on her house south of here. She's not surprised or unhappy that I have found something in Ben, and she has managed to come to terms with her brother's death in an admirable way and has been adamant that I do the same.

Jacob sent letters to everyone. Mailed virtually the day he left town. Everyone got a letter explaining his plans and his reasons and his failings and Bridget got a book. I got a book. Dozens of letters that I don't know what order to put in, journals full of how he felt about me and why he was so temporary. It's like trying to learn a new language by sitting down with a novel written in that language and hoping for the best. There are so many words I drown in the quantity before I can latch onto a meaning for safety. I can't even read most of them.

Erin thinks I can just somehow accept it, deal with it and move on. So far I have only moved on. We somehow agreed silently to let it go. She is fine with Ben, she considered it an inevitability, which I found spooky, she thinks along the same lines as Loch when it comes to those things, and she is just happy to be back. She said the kids helped to rejuvenate her folks, that having them there helped to heal the whole family and she thanked me for allowing them to go.

She brought presents. She brought plans.

I'm happy she came back.

The house is now full of honey again. Honey and photographs of days that will never be repeated and love that will never return.

Someday bunnies will rule the world.

A little post on a quiet Sunday morning. I'm ready to roll but the kids don't get in until late afternoon. I'm not going to church, and the boys are all still asleep. I always have you, internet.

Well, I don't, but you rang my doorbell, I can't possibly have you going away empty-handed now, can I?

It's gorgeous here today, the sun is shining, the snow is melting rapidly now. My lawn is at least ten percent bare. There is no snow on the roof of the garage that I can see from the old master bedroom/Ruth's room or the turret, though there is snow on other people's buildings, still. I think it will be a painless thaw and a long, beautiful spring. The boys keep telling me there are buds on the trees and that geese are coming back in droves (or is that gaggles?) but I try not to look up at Jacob's sky.

I believe that Sam has all but given up on me. Our connection is broken, there is nothing to tie us together past his obligation to Jacob. August is slightly different in that regard, one of the few people that was able to swallow his professional opinions or allegiance to Jacob and become my friend easily. Joel couldn't manage it. Joel is gone (officially, permanently) at the end of this week from the rumors I hear. He calls every day still, without fail and I let my voicemail listen to his different approaches. One day he'll be quietly bitter, the next is a pretense that everything is fine, the next is a plea to just talk to him, that day followed by apologies and efforts to take his actions back. I just file them away in a mental cabinet that I will let the dust settle on until it is forgotten in history.

Yes, that's fair. I didn't just take. I was the only person Joel ever talked to about his agonizing divorce. I listened right back. I gave as much as I got. I owe him nothing. I'm going to owe him even less once he fully understands the gravity of choosing sides with Caleb. It's the most graceful way I can let him go.

As for Caleb, he does not call every day. He calls around twice a week and is well-versed in telling my recorded voice exactly what he needs to say. He's clipped and professional and rarely warm about it. It makes me laugh. There is no grace in dealing with him, I'm just trying to figure out how we went from passing all the cards back and forth to this new vaguely familiar standstill we wait at presently.

And this morning my wake-up call confirmed what I hesitantly mentioned last night. Yes, there are ten days left. Nine now, and promise. It'll be okay.

Easter for me has always been a starting-over point. This year will be no exception.

The art of noise.

    Say it to my face
    Look me in the eyes
    And say what you have to say
    You know we can't erase these words before goodbye
    And turn the final page

    Here comes alone again

I'm a little grumpy tonight, but only just a little. It could be the poor sleep. It could be the craziness of this city on a long weekend and wearing myself to pieces trying to navigate through the chaos. At several points in the day, Schuyler would reverse direction, walking back to me to grab my hand to thread us through the shoppers and market-goers, all of whom were rushing (like us) to fit in their errands on the one open between two closed days this weekend.

We capped off the afternoon with a late dinner at an Italian restaurant. They began to suggest another movie, some games, maybe a late evening walk or something. I told them they had earned their time off for good behavior. Before trusting me to be alone they did do me the favor of walking the dog in the gathering darkness and Butterfield and I are now locked in tight for the night, alone together, though he is poor company. He's splayed out on the floor underneath the coffee table now, snoring and having his puppy dreams.

I talked to him for a bit but he didn't seem to care.

Daniel said before they left that I should sleep in my bed tonight and that they could be here in moments if I needed them. I reminded him that he says that every time he leaves and that in an emergency John is only two streets away but yes, I would call Daniel too. He said he'll be happier when Ben is back and I nodded because there was nothing I needed to say. I wish he was here right now because nights alone are things I believe I despise.

But I will be fine. I bought a new book to read. I filled the Easter baskets for the children and hid eggs all over the house in anticipation of tomorrow. I washed the dishes and caught up on the laundry since when the kids return home tomorrow everything in their suitcases will need to be washed again, and I hope to be in bed in an hour or so. I only have to stay up long enough to let Butters out one more time before bed and long enough to snag my treasured goodnight phone call from Ben.

I'll be happier when everyone is home. I'm one hundred percent sure the kids grew while they were away. They always seem so much bigger when they come home. Ten days is such a long time.

That's how many days are left until Ben comes home for good. But I'm not counting, I swear.

Open eyes, find head on flannel, cue twang of pain.

I woke up this morning with the indentation of a four-hole shell button on my temple from where my head was pressed on Daniel's shirt all night. Daniel, who was still wearing said shirt, who slept sitting up on my couch with one hand on my head, the other on my shoulder, feet up on the coffee table, woke up at once. He swore a rainbow of agony to the skies when I asked him if he could even move. I slept semi-upright, my face dragging down the front of his shirt slightly, jammed in between the arm of the couch and his legs.

Schuyler, the bright one, had wandered down the hall and crashed on Ben's bed. Said he felt great this morning while Daniel and I managed to be civilized to each other over coffee and bagels with murder in our eyes.

Why didn't you wake me up?

I couldn't just leave you there.

Why not? It's my house.

You might get cold...or something. I don't know.
Schuyler raised his eyebrow and went back to being invisible behind the paper.

Daniel, what in the hell is going on?

He asked me to b-

OH MY GOD. Ben asked you to babysit me?

No, he just asked me to keep an eye on you.

You could have gone down the hall. Everything is fine.

Yeah, well.

Well...what?

There's something that keeps people from doing that, Bridge.

What do you mean? The global fear of the narcoleptic among you?

Exactly.

Huh?

You look really pretty when you sleep, Bridge.

I don't even believe you.

What?

You just confirmed that you're one hundred percent related to Ben.

Did you ever doubt that before?

Sometimes, yes.

The lack of nail polish?

Exactly.
Ben thought it was hilarious, and confirmed if I had to assuage my needs for affection on anyone, it should be Dan. He said Dan and Schuy could probably serve all sorts of needs of mine but thankfully he had to go before elaborating. Good, I didn't want to have to hang up on him anyway.

He meant shopping needs, for all the perverts out there. Ben doesn't really like to go shopping and it's been a bone of contention between us.

Brando.

I don't think very much beats a good curry, DVDs of The Wild One and Mutiny on the Bounty, and macking on Daniel without fear of anything but reciprocation.

You can't buy Bovinty Divinty anymore.

PJ isn't on my shitlist anymore. He's been on two dates now with a new girl, having opted to call the other one-night-stand a learning experience and move on from her. He reported back that he listened, asked all the right questions, was a gentleman, and has a third date punched into his calendar for this weekend. Go, Padraig! I'm sure it doesn't help matters that one of his best girl friends is a dysfunctional lunatic and I told him as much. He told me to stop being stupid and just enjoy that I get to hear about his dates.

For the record Christian and Chloe are as thick as thieves. I hardly see him anymore and I am so happy for him. He still calls every single day to talk, though. I told him not to, that he didn't have to and again, I was called names, gently. Don't be such a little pain in the ass, Bridge.

Today is a holiday but like most days in my world, it doesn't really mean anything different. Working from home means if I want to know the date I need to look on my watch or on the computer because otherwise I truly have no idea. I do have a large quantity of chocolate and bunny-related items hidden away for Sunday, when the kids return from the coast.

Both my mother and Sam already called and tag-teamed me this morning with suggestions that I go to church today. I thanked both politely and said I might, which is Bridget-speak for no, thank you.

Besides, I got a better offer (sorry, God).

Daniel and Schuyler are coming soon to spend the whole day/evening with me. They want to eat strange food and watch movies and gossip about Ben and PJ and be goofy. They said they'll drag me out for a manicure tomorrow. I could probably use it. My hands stopped cracking, thanks to the weather warming and one lovely reader's suggestion of paraffin (which I get in the form of dip gloves). I've stopped biting my nails again so it might be nice. Ben painted my toenails black last weekend in bed one night and it makes me laugh so maybe I can get matching fingernails.

We're all crazy about each other. Daniel is a shorter, less-intense, less-scary looking version of Ben. He is even more sensitive though. Schuy is laid-back and quiet but always always smiling. They are affectionate as hell. I am free to molest them all I want. I stocked the freezer with hors d'oeuvres (holy, have you ever tried to spell that?) and ice cream.

They'll come armed with comfort and terrific distractions. Good.

In other news. I lost two whole pounds. 122 now. Which will promptly be put back on because besides being Easter, it is Chocolate Weekend. The only weekend in the year where I will have a Cadbury Creme Egg, which look good in theory but after the first bite are really sickly sweet and totally disgusting.

That's usually when I cram the rest of it into my mouth all at once and relish all that is bad for me.

Like chocolate, men, sex and just about everything else worth living for. Life is so short. Eat the whole damned egg, I say.

Hearts only ache when no one is holding them.

I've come to the realization that I've been left in an unenviable position in life.

Holder of hearts. The Keeper.

The very first one I was given was Loch's. Held aloft like a challenge, easily gained via the wiles of a twelve-year-old girl from the other side of the neighborhood, a conquest for your average heartbreaking seventeen-year-old boy. I will argue I no longer have his heart, I passed it back and it's now shared between his girls and they will make it swell with pride.

We survived each other. Maybe? Let's hope.

The next heart was the heaviest. Cole's. Given to me at fifteen and I still carry it today. It is the longest burden, but the clearest cut designation. He may have had a roving eye and roving hands and violence in his spirit but when you stripped all that away, he only ever loved me. He loved me so much he would have rather I died then leave him.

The third heart I was given was Jacob's. The lightest, most hopeful, brightest shining heart of true immature love found in the scope of coveting someone. Blissfully ignorant and sure that he could mold our hearts together and all would be okay. Even when his darkness appeared he still was so damned hopeful. He left his heart with me and I keep it tied to a string so that it doesn't float away.

I have a fourth heart now, one just beginning to bloom with the blush of new love. The weird, unfamiliar ache of a new crush, where everything they do is amazing, every word, no matter how benign before is suddenly a symphony of logic or a sonnet of romantic intent. Ben passed his heart to me. I have dropped his a few times but it is quickly recovered and put into a continuous loop with the others.

Circus girl has a new feature show. I am the juggler.

Five days and five days.

I talked to two thirds of the grandparents today. Cole's folks enjoyed the kids being there, they shared lots of pictures with them, and said they were so well behaved and had fun too. Then I spoke with Jacob's mother. The first thing she told me was how much they both looked like Jacob and I bit my tongue so hard not to cry at the ludicrous sadness of that statement. They are going to paint pictures by the sea and eat wonderful foods and sleep so well again for the next five days, possibly at a slower pace and then Erin flies out with them on Saturday.

Cole's mom said she packed along some pictures for me. Very sweet of her.

I am so polite. I thanked her. Neither of us are that oblivious, and I know she is horrified by Caleb sometimes but at the end of the day she only has one child left and I never want to know how that feels. I can't fathom being in their shoes and so I pretend. We all pretend. That is what you do.

Instead of a pea, there is an orange seed.

The sun beams down through the stained glass onto the floor early in the mornings now. It is light when I get up, a physical lightness of being that helps me shrug off the immense weight of this winter. I cup cold water onto my face and meet my own gaze in the mirror, never failing to notice the pale skin, dark circles under my beautiful eyes. The lines under my eyes are soft but the experience within the halos of green corneas give me away for free.

Inevitable but excusable truths include not being able to get enough sleep, not being able to keep the dust away in this giant, quiet house. The kids will come back in a few more days and play in the sun as it moves from board to board and from the front windows to the back. And then quietly after dinner the beams are suddenly gone and light from artificial sources forces the perceived shadows back into hiding.

Only no one hides from them, we have learned to coexist.

I can't keep up and there are times when I can't even begin. Days and days where I come in from morning errands and crawl back beneath the blankets and read for hours because I am paralyzed somewhere between my emotional labyrinth and the life that waits for me outside the bedroom door. Promises of good things repeated loudly and endlessly and I still have a hard time believing that I will ever be anything more than that fluttery girl with fluttery hands and a fluttery heart, with the quilt pulled up, pretending she isn't even in the room.

Who am I kidding? Of course I will be more. I already am more. I turned a corner and am scooping up handfuls of life to live on my own terms. My life. My precious life with love on my terms and fun on my terms and history on my terms and maybe for the first time there are days I don't do what I'm told and times I don't jump to be a slave to my phone and even moments where I close the laptop and sneak under those covers with an orange and a new book, flaunting every last piece of good advice that says if you peel an orange in close quarters you wind up with a sticky face and sticky sheets and no one will care because it's your bed and your face and your mess and I really need to try this with a box of tea biscuits because crumbs would be more fun and destructive than orange juice in tiny splashes of sweetness or maybe...

...just maybe, I will close my eyes instead and sleep for just a little while longer.

A hiccup in the universe.

First things first. Excuse the dust. I need some color in my life. Loch is nitpicking my ideas to death now and says it isn't quite right yet so if things shift around a bit(which they will, as I revert back to the old design here in the interim), have patience and please feel free to write to me if something is borked or huge or impossible to see or sure, just write to me if you're just solidly convinced I got married over the weekend.

Because I didn't.

Besides, he's American and I'm Canadian. I'm not sure you can just run off and get married anywhere you want. Besides that even, I haven't had enough time and I don't think I want to be Elizabeth Taylor and maybe Ben and I fight too much to make this into anything super-permanent but this is a relationship in it's infancy, starting over from scratch. Let's just enjoy the sweetness of it and not rush anything. I wore the ring from when I got there until I was home because I didn't want to lose it. That's it. I'm conspiracy-weary.

I would tell you every last detail if I had married Ben. Because I love you and you've hung in there through hundreds of very unhappy entries. I would never deny you a happy one, if I had it.

When I have it.

I don't mean marriage, I mean happiness.

Digression. Okay. So excuse the dust and excuse the rumors. And yes, I would marry the guy. Possibly. Eventually. Maybe. I don't know. Think he wants me?

Things are good. I unpacked. All was well. Sometime this afternoon when I got up the water pressure seemed low. I filled an extra pitcher and the kettle and peeked outside for trucks. Nothing. Then the internet went out. Then my cellphone had no service.

I was thinking rapture, perhaps? I called John on the archaic land line and he said not to worry. So I walked the dog and when I came back all was indeed well. It was a hiccup in my greater universe, and now as I wash some dishes and prepare to do a few loads of bedding and winter gear I eye the taps suspiciously because I'm no longer sure I trust them quite one hundred percent to give me a roaring torrent of precious city water. I keep reminding the guys that if I cut out on ICQ or they can't reach me on my phone to call the house or just pop by, that things are weird lately. They laugh and tell me I'm silly.

Just like Ben does, as he makes absolutely no effort to deny the rumors currently swirling around, a hiccup unto himself, that one. Low pressure, perfectly reliable but regarded with suspicion.

Hmm. I just turned my boyfriend into an allegory involving the water supply.

Which means Bridget needs more sleep. Goodnight, folks.