Ripple.

I stole a sip from his beer as I watched him dive off the diving board. The sun was so bright already and it was only seven-thirty in the morning. I was sitting on the edge of the pool in my pale blue string bikini making circles in the water with my feet. It isn't all that warm yet and I have shrugged into his jean jacket. I'm not sure I like Arizona all that much. I read a book set here once. It was about death.

I stick my legs out straight and evaluate my knees. Carpet-burned from being forced to the floor in this two-dollar an hour motel, they sting from the chlorine. I pour beer over them and dump the rest in the pool. I throw the bottle in too. I don't care about anything this morning other than waiting until Caleb is asleep tonight so that I can take all of the money from his wallet and hitchhike to the airport and go home. If I can find my passport, that is. Flying without it and looking younger than my full eighteen years never seems to go over well.

He doesn't have this problem. He's twenty-six and finished law school early and now he's moving on to a new degree because his plan is to rule the world, or at least retire a self-made millionaire at fifty. No one has any doubts that he will succeed either, and that's what makes this trip so hard to swallow. That he blatantly asked Cole if I could be borrowed for a weekend and Cole said yes and will take whatever payout Caleb gives him for my use and we'll all pretend we just get along great and the minute I get home I will go back to pretending Caleb doesn't exist.

He swims to me and places the beer bottle on the edge of the pool. He frowns and reaches up to pull me into the water, jacket and all.

I was at the deep end and I don't want to swim so I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He smells like soap and chlorine and sun. I place my lips against his neck and rest my head. His arms go around me. He's a good swimmer. I could fall asleep here. I'm not afraid of him. It's been six years and I have grown accustomed to the change in brothers. Like the change of the seasons.

He puts his head down against my cheek and hums. I don't know what he's humming. I am tone deaf.

Fall is coming. That's what I think about instead of his song. Fall is coming and it will be cold soon and I will trade my bikinis and sundresses and boots for jeans and sweaters and I will always run up to you and unzip your jacket and throw myself into it and sometimes you can zip it up again over me and I'm trapped walking backwards with you but eventually you will let me go.

Eventually, he will let me go.

Probably later this year when he gets busy with his new job and his life as a lawyer. Kind of like growing up finally and then he'll leave us alone. I start college soon. I'll be busy. Cole is very busy working already. Yeah, I'll just bide my time. It's been six years. It won't be much longer.

Viral princess.

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Every singer, including mine, should be forced to cover Hallelujah the way Jeff Buckley covers Hallelujah.

His voice is like someone put Freddie Mercury and Nick Drake in a blender and cut it with a cup of heaven.

And I am back from the dead, I think. Yesterday I crashed hard after lunch but thanks to the fact that I seem to be indestructible I couldn't seem to stay down.

Burning up with a fever, I did two loads of laundry (Lying down in between, seriously) and then I cried for Ben to come home early a little, and then I made lunches for today, and then Ben started to yell from downtown to go to bed already and I couldn't because he wasn't home yet so Ruth made tuna sandwiches for dinner with veggies for herself and Henry and Ben walked through the door at seven and I was a mess.

A complete and utter mess, weak and fevered to a crisp. Martyred. Fine, you win, Bridget, you're so tough, now go the hell to bed.

He got me into bed and brought me my beloved orange juice and opened all the windows and I was out. I remember asking about the bugs on my legs and why they were in flames and I also was very fucking pissed off about not getting any dinner (I think he had Captain Crunch. Seriously.) but I couldn't eat anything anyway and eventually the burning went away a little and I woke up to a thunderstorm crashing and I very unsteadily went to the bathroom and then crashed back into the bed and eventually morning came and the fever was gone and the bugs were gone but I feel as fragile as a ghost today.

I wish Ben was home. He always knows exactly what to do and then I feel better.

* * * * * *

The doctor has been and gone. He thinks it's mononucleosis. Lovely. His recommendation? Sleep, Bridget. More than you have been. He also cautioned me not to sleep during the day at all because it would disrupt my sleep at night eventually. So I can thumb my nose at everyone who keeps telling me to take a nap when all it ever seems to do is make things worse.

So there.

Thumbthumbthumb.

*cough*

I will also work on the martyr part. Thankfully it's only an issue once or twice a year. A TANK, I tell you, I'm a tank.

Athenaeum.

The center of my house is where the front door is. There is a circle room with a vaulted ceiling and windows all the way around. From the circle with the big round table and the orchids you can hang a right, which takes you into the great room/kitchen area with the insanely huge fireplace and also eventually to the stairs that go up. That way is toward the water, and overlooks the ocean and the driveway is underneath if you are tall enough to look down toward the ground under the window. There is a counter around the kitchen windows so sadly I can't see the driveway, since it runs beside the house and then around and back up.

If you hang a left from the foyer you can either head downstairs to the lair of Daniel and Schuyler (I wouldn't recommend it, they like their privacy) or you can step through the big double doors into my library. The library faces the woods, and is on the front of the house so you look through the verandah and then beyond and it means the verandah is far removed from the action, so to speak and a bit quieter than spending time down on the patio in full view of the people in the kitchen or great room or being on the balcony upstairs which is visible for miles. (Jesus, the whole world knows when I'm out there. It seems to be my widow's walk.)

In any case, these words are about my library. Not about the extended modern sprawl of this gigantic house.

This library is done. Solid and finished in a way my rickety shelving against plaster and old drafty windows and rickety desk were not, in our old house. This room is temperature-sealed. New windows that open at knee level to provide a breeze but continue on to the ceiling to paint a picture of a rain forest that sometimes invites a deer or bear or hummingbird. The windows continue around two walls, so the other two are floor to ceiling shelves, finished in a California-colonial style which I can't quite wrap my brain around. Soft grey walls. Dark wood floors with the white plushie area rug on top for softness. Bright lamps for reading and two white leather chairs. The books are packed into those shelves and stacked on the floor for good measure. There is a tower on the table threatening to collapse and more behind the door so you can't open it all the way.

It is soundproof as well.

Which means even though Ben has a studio downstairs, many many times a week you'll see him strolling up from the depths of the house strumming his guitar and disappearing into the library to see 'how it sounds'. It always sounds good, Benjamin but this is the quiet room.

He laughs.

It's only quiet if I need to show a card to get in, bee.

That can be arranged.

This is not my pantry, though. It is too pretty. Too bright. Too full of words to quiet my head. Cans of soup and bags of pasta quiet my head. Counting Keebler elves. Staring at the Honor Shelf and the competition as I see invisible words crashing into one another in the air in front of me does nothing but spool me up.

I have tried. I made it a comfortable room. I love the rug. I love the chairs. I love the big pillows on the floor. (Thank you, IKEA, I love you most.) I love the lamps and the windows and the odd California-style lack of baseboards and trim too but what I really love is that the kids can be found draped all over the place reading too. That they are starting to pick and choose from the big book collection and venturing away slightly from English Roses and Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I hope they can do their homework in there on the floor or have long phone conversations stuffed into a chair without disruption and I hope that when the rain comes in the winter that I'll be able to hear it on the windows if I sit very still.

Human curiosities

When sleep came, I fell for it. Down, down, head over heels, clawing at thin air, bicycling knees to try and tread the wind.

I landed softly but I didn't know it.

Ben holds on as long as he can but it's inevitable, expected. And then he is holding a shell, the vessel of the soul that has escaped to a makeshift dreamland through some attempt by God to atone for all of the things I have been through.

In my dream I am never too cold or too hot. I'm never hungry and I never covet anything. I am never afraid. Dreams come from heaven, I know that now. Or maybe they are designed to give us a taste of heaven in order to not be overwhelmed later in life, should we be given that reward.

Huh. I must tell this to Caleb when he comes back so he knows what he'll be missing.

In my dreams Ben never leaves and I never have to wake up until I have slept for days. Food arrives via the butler and everything we do is a whim. Music plays at the perfect volume, the perfect song audible but not overwhelming, my soundtrack following me down the road. Life is a circus. My own perfect circus, and that is my secret.

I open my bag and Coney Island is inside. So I put one foot in and then the other and I pull up the handles and in a singsong voice I say:

We're here.

I'm standing in front of the gates and the sun is just beginning to rise. It isn't cold here. The seagulls are competing with my song, goddammit, I'm going to have to speak to someone about that. I straighten the hem on my dress and tuck my hair behind my ears. Time to get to work.

I see Ben at the far end of the dock. He is watching the sea and waiting for me. Too far away to call to, and too far away to walk to, even and so I break into a run. I can't hear my footfalls but I can hear the metal clang of shutters as the boardwalk comes to life. Once the sun breaks free of the horizon it seems as it it calls out to everyone to shake off their own dreams and join us in this skewed reality where tolerance and cash are the only focus, and illusion is the means.

It's like the midway only less family-friendly and sometimes more sinister but I know I am safe. There is no dread. There's no 'careful' here. There are no places I need to be warned to avoid. I am no longer that fresh-scrubbed ruined twelve-year-old girl pulling cotton candy out of her hair and counting the seven twenty-dollar bills at the end of a good week. It's my dream and Caleb can't find me here.

This is the big leagues and I fit in only by virtue of pretty with not nearly enough tattoos and my rampant disregard for public appraisal unless it's of the appreciative kind. Ben fits in because he can make a scary face. That is all. He refuses to swallow fire and we've decided being sawed into pieces is overrated and agonizing.

Freaks. As is.

I reach him at last. His tattoos have been drawn into his pockets as he turns to smile at me.

You made it.

Why do I always start out at the opposite end from you?

I don't know, princess, but it doesn't take us long to regroup.

Weird.

Maybe that's part of the theme of your dream.

You're right. I bet that's exactly what it is.

Are you ready?

Yes. Let's go.

I reach up high into the air and grab the zipper pull, swinging my legs up over the edge until I am sitting on the ledge high above the pier now. The sun is a huge ball of warm, an orange I can taste, tinged with a purple I can feel. The tangible sunrise is a parting gift I am eager to learn how to extract, but not today.

I open my eyes and Ben is wrapped around me, sleeping deeply, his thumb resting on my philtrum and the rest of his hand wrapped around my head.

We are sleeping on a bed of twenty-dollar bills and all I can smell is cotton candy and decay.

Last night Ben and I sat outside in the freezing cold on the verandah, a candle burning on the rustic little table that I refused to paint and finally it has achieved the weathered grey I adore. His tea grew cold and my red wine grew warm as we ignored our drinks in favor of watching the wind and the moon, his hands clutching the blanket closed that we were sharing. I was tucked down in his arms, his chin on my head, his legs making for more warmth than I could have asked for around mine.

I was listening for Jacob's big windchimes but I can't hear them over the roar of the ocean. I hate to have to ask Ben to move them closer to the house again, because he's already done it twice, but I think I will. What is the point of a noise if it can't be heard?

Eventually I stopped trying to hear them and settled back against his chest and his head came forward beside mine, He kissed my cheek and pressed his ear against mine, rocking me slowly.

I closed my eyes.

Right.

Now.

This.

Clear as day he whispers in my ear. I hear him every single time.

I love you, Bridget.

I love you too, Ben. Forgive me.

Just let it be, little bee.

Which part?

All of it, for now. You're in my arms. I'm not going to think about anything else right now.

Yeah.

This is what I live for.

Me too.

He pulled back and looked down at me.

Really?

I nodded.

I thought you would have said something about my huge dick.

It was on the tip of my tongue.

You know, princess, there are so many places I could take that statement but for the sake of this beautiful night I'll just let it go.

Okay.

For now.

Yup.

But later, I-

Benjamin.

Yeah?

Shush.

Okay.

Confirmation bias.

(Firstly. If you don't understand polyandry, for the love of God, find another blog to read. I don't need any more emails telling me how fucking provocative I am.)

I went for a long bike ride with Lochlan last night. He got a new suit of body armor for his motorcycle and when he came down the hall fully suited up and carrying his helmet I had one of those moments where I'm just like wow. Just wow. It makes him look tall. Which he is anyway to me at 5'9" but this makes him look taller. All-black suit. It turned his hair to dark strawberry. He had it cut last week and all of his curls are gone.

We drove for hours, it seemed. We stopped in at the market and had fish and chips. Up the mountain. Up to the tinder-dry ski hills on the unsafe highway where one false move losing the edge of the road and you will plunge to your death straight down. We picked fights and took some pictures. Back down. Too fast.

We saw an owl. At once, the weirdest and the coolest thing ever.


We picked another fight and it resulted in Lochlan leaving me standing by the water and driving off. He was back five minutes later, parking his bike and striding over to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me back with him. I opted not to speak for the rest of the trip lest I get abandoned somewhere now that it was getting dark.

(Though, really it's been twenty years since he actually didn't come back for me. I have such fond memories of walking home in the middle of the night, back to the camper/cottage/house. Really I do.)

We arrived back home and I passed him my helmet and entered the house. It seemed so warm and inviting after being outside. Lights on everywhere.

Ben was sitting at the counter. Reading. He put his arms out and I flew into them as he stood up. Lochlan didn't say anything. I felt Ben nod and then he released me and turned me back to face Lochlan. Permission.

Let's sort this out, princess. I had no intentions of ruining this day.

Yeah.

I followed Lochlan upstairs. He shut the door behind me and locked it and then walked away down the hall. I followed. Another door, another lock. I'm amused. He's going to make it difficult for me to walk away from him now. That's funny because he's the one who always walks away. I stand my ground and fight.

Inside of this door he walks right over and kisses me. Hard. So hard I am forced back against the wall. Inside of a minute we are tearing at the layers of clothing keeping us apart. He is kissing my forehead. My cheeks. My lips. My shoulders.

I give him a shove backwards and he brings me with him, throwing me down onto the bed where he pulls the rest of my things off and then takes off everything too. He is flushed. Aroused. Gentler now. He pulls me up into his arms and we are cuddled in the center of his bed. He pulls the blanket up around me because everything in Lochlan's life is super heated and he lifts me up and brings me back down and I almost cry out but I bite his shoulder instead. He just holds me tighter. He is moving us, gently, quietly. That perfect dance. He leans me way back and follows and he is against me now, picking up speed, wrapping his arms tight around me, burying his face against the pillow, against my temple, his breath so loud in my ear. Our legs are tangled.

His hand moves to the back of my head and I am pressed against his chest as he raises himself up slightly. He won't make it hurt, he won't make it violent, ever but what he does do is make sure neither one of us is left wanting anything. His other hand is holding him up and I reach up and pull him back down to me. Slower now, forever now. The urgency has been dealt with, everything else remains. And the memories that keep us apart come crowding back in, extinguishing the moment.

(Just stay like this and everything is okay and tomorrow we will go and play at the beach and then at tent call we'll go work and then we'll steal dinner and maybe eat in bed. And then make love all night and sleep on the sand all day. Pretty please? And no fighting. I don't like it when we fight, Lochlan.)

He is slowing to a crawl now and the second-guess has commenced. His hands come up, cradling my head. His lips find mine. When we kiss our eyes are wide open.

My God, Bridget. I can't give you back to him.

It's a whisper and I have to ignore it. I know that. I have to pretend I didn't hear it and he will pretend he never said it. It's the other flaw in our beings. We can't get along and we can't be apart. I don't know what to do, this is the only answer I have.

I push him away and climb off his bed and brush past him to go to the shower. He reaches for me but I have already walked away from him.

In moments I am drowning myself under the hot spray. Not washing, just standing there. He joins me and begins to wash my hair. He washes my body, scrubs every inch of my skin, gets on his knees to wash the backs of my legs, my knees, my toes. He stands up and rinses me, holding me back under the stream. Holding me close. He puts his head down against mine and the water pours over us. We stay like this for a very long time. Finally he drops his arms from me and opens the door. I am pushed out and he closes the door again. He does not come out.

I dry myself quickly, put my clothes back on, and go back to plant a single kiss on the shower door. Lochlan is facing the wall now, his hands up above his head in a defeated stance. I know he has cranked the hot water up to the maximum now and the steam clouds are billowing out.

I turn on the switch for the fan and I close the door on my way out.

I don't hear him when he says I love you. I never do.

Saturday morning car tunes.

I'm not the only one who sees them
I'm not the only one they keep up at night
I'm not the only one not sleeping
I'm not the only one who's dreaming out loud
Dreaming out

Caleb was by this morning already, bringing fresh croissants and good news and his car! for me to use! He is leaving town for a couple of weeks, planning to return before school begins and more importantly, before Ruth's eleventh birthday.

Don't presume that my choice to keep him close has anything to do with Lochlan or Ben. This is not like that. This is a whole different thing and it could be called coercion or extortion or something but I like to just minimize that and make everybody happy and also it makes missing Cole less prevalent somehow in that he's right here, half the time.

(If I could get August to wear more flannel and spend less time tying his hair back I could have Jake too in some regard but whatever! Let's not go there! It's a beautiful Saturday and Ben is off for the weekend but having worked almost around the clock for the past twelve days straight somehow I see him sleeping all day long, possibly opening an eye around two or three o'clock to swallow a hamburger whole and going right back to sleep.)

I don't know why I'm explaining things to you anyway. Drama comes and drama goes and we keep it to a low simmer and we're incredibly refined. Trust me. In a perfectly-tousled hair and bright eyes kind of way. With money now. So our problems apparently are your reality television show.

Caleb is heading east to attend a few meetings in Toronto and then he'll stop in Montreal to see (ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH) Sophie, and then he'll continue on to Nova Scotia to spend a week with his folks. I sent along my best from us even though I talk to them regularly. I was invited to go, seeing as how Pepper Potts may be making a return appearance and if anyone needs an assistant, it is Satan by far, but I declined because um, no. No trips with him. I don't what the fuck he is thinking. Yes, dear, stay in my life so we all don't go down in flames forever but no, I'm not going on vacations with you.

If push comes to shove I can make things miserable for him too. One of the small comforts of being tortured for so long by the same person is that eventually you discover the little things that drive them mad and you can use them as weapons. It keeps the devil at arms length. And it keeps Bridget safe.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go whisper disgusting things involving Krispy Kreme donuts into my husband's ear and maybe he'll get up and take me out for a second breakfast. He can drive.

In stitches here tonight
We are ripping the seams out
I'm pushing hard to tear it loose
In stitches here tonight
We are ripping the seams
There's something missing
Chilled and lonely in between

Today's musical accompaniment can be found here. Enjoy.

Beauty, undismayed.

Anything to make you smile
You are the ever-living ghost of what once was
I never want to hear you say
That you'd be better off
Or you liked it that way
But no one is ever gonna love you more than I do
No one's gonna love you more than I do

He is still drunk and I'm losing patience.

Amazing how someone can be so perfect and then within a half a bottle he is all mess. I am sitting on the steps again and Lochlan is sitting, rather, laying in the chair, his legs splayed out because there isn't a cooperative muscle in his body right now, including his tongue.

He has Band of Horses on repeat and I want to hasten my hearing loss to the point of total silence because it hurts to listen to him humming no one's going to love you more than I do.

It hurts because I have stuck to my guns with the stubbornness of a child but when I look in the mirror I see a little old woman who has been to hell and back so many times she has an elevator named after her.

He still sees that child, and we still carry the burden of our history like a cross, dead weight keeping us from the future. He is horrified by what I have been through but powerless to change it, so he folds himself inward and he continues on his button-down perfectionist way, with clean, unsmudged glasses and his strawberry blonde beard that I have loved since forever that he never shaves off anymore because he sees my protests when the others do and he wants the upper hand. He gives others the shit jobs of giving me bad news and dealing with the less good parts because he didn't want me to project my feelings onto him and it backfired, oh, hell did it ever backfire on him.

So now to make himself look even better in everyone's eyes he's going to spend the weekend lit up like the fourth of July, which goes against his whole better-than-you stance to Ben, but at the same time Lochlan can turn his alcoholism on and off at will. Ben cannot so it's just another thumb of Lochlan's nose.

And in return Ben points out every chance he gets that I married him, that I am his wife, and I made my choice.

But did she?

Lochlan lets the question slide out of his mouth as a challenge and Ben is forced to drop it based on the fact that he was biggest proponent of this new joint venture. Since Bridget doesn't have security anymore, give her whatever she needs so if that means being able to go to anyone she wants for comfort, affection, advice or straight-up hardcore sex then let's do this thing.

Like any red-blooded man, Ben agreed to that. He thought, well, everyone thought that I would marry Lochlan next. That I would just go back to him and Ben figured if he still had access to me that some is always better than nothing at all.

And whoops, I married Ben instead so all of the sudden the roles are reversed and to Lochlan some of me is better than none at all and Ben is all she picked me! Shut this down! Because all of the sudden instead of getting a piece of the action you are loaning out your wife and hoping she comes back to you with her loyalties intact, knowing it's a risk, just like getting out of bed in the morning. He has struggled with that. I have too. I thought they were all insane and that this was the worst idea ever. I thought how dare they objectify me like this, how dare they turn me into a time share, a possession to be fought over.

Then I got over myself. And you should too.

Lose your uptightedness and be free. The world needs more love. The world also needs more vodka but I am almost out.

Thankfully.

I am off to spend some much needed alone-time with Ben. I have not seen him much today.

Goodnight, Lochlan.

Goodnight, Bridgie. Who was it who said "Remembering is only a new form of suffering"?

Baudelaire, Lochlan.

Oh yeah, Baudelaire. I should have known.

Yeah, you should have.

Cake.

Yesterday was more of the same. I careened from one appointment to the next. I had to squint hard to drive. I kept falling asleep on my feet. I think I have the flu. The crushing exhaustion is back even though I am mostly sleeping, it's just not enough.

Like everything, nothing is ever enough. For the boys, for me.

I am making a concentrated effort to be happy. Just because. Because anything else is a waste of time and energy and detrimental to my health. And mental to my detri, ruinous and miserable.

And as much as I love the image of standing in a puddle of dark water with my black umbrella and my black dress, soaked to the skin in my own agony, stitched to a dark cloud with threads of hate and jealousy and rage and grief it's as tiring as your endless fake chippery and enthusiasm, self-improvement and utter perfection.

Maybe I can just sit somewhere in the middle. Perched on the line burning one shoulder in the sun while the other freezes in the dark and everything will be okay. Because I don't do fake-chipper any better than you do deadly darkly honest.

So Caleb stays in the picture.

So does Lochlan for that matter. That's what I need. It's what I would like. The smart thing to do would have been to leave well enough alone but I didn't then and now I can't. And for all the circles we travel in falling out and then falling back in they are constants in a life that seems to delight in ripping the rug out from under me and I told myself after Jacob flew that I would not deny anyone anything any more than I would want any small comfort denied me.

I went to each and every man after Jacob. Each one. All of them. I tried on life with them if only for the familiar, if only I could find that feeling where it didn't hurt all the damned time and Ben and I made a grand and stupid effort to seduce each other and it surprised me. HE surprised me. For all of his fucktardery and foolishness he has a heart of gold and it's in piss-poor shape, just like mine but it's there and it's soft and it's full for me and he comes first. Understand?

First.

Every last time.

I will stand behind his back with my head down and listen to his instructions and follow them carefully whether I want to or not most times. Then I will step ahead and I will soften the blows of history so it is easier for him to live in close existence to the objects of his derision but I can't make them go away because I'm selfish.

I apologize for that but he won't accept it. We keep trying on lives and testing out ideas and we always come back to this because this works, pure and simple and sometimes self-preservation means squeezing your eyes tightly shut and pretending you don't see things if you can't stand to watch. And admitting that you like it if you do.

Sometimes it means living the life of someone you don't recognize in the mirror. I wish the introductions would be made. I feel like I don't know how to act around her, I don't know where to sit or what to say. She judges me. You all judge me.

I still face her. I still face YOU, even though I owe you nothing at all.

And I know my choices aren't always right but they're mine, and I'll take responsibility for them.

Shove.

(what did I do about the envelopes? Nothing. And everyone is happy.)

She's all that I see
and all that I breathe
Take a breath and hold her in
as the shadows whispering

Last night around ten, we heard the car. Or rather, they heard the car. I didn't hear a damned thing until the doorbell chimed. Ben, August, Lochlan, Schuyler, Daniel and Sam all looked at each other and then they looked at me.

I stood up to answer the door. They didn't move.

There's Satan. Melting the paint off my front door. It's still a thousand degrees outside and he's in a suit. He's holding one of those fucking grey envelopes and I want to stab him with it. I'll watch him die like I watched his brother die and call it a day on this family.

He looks past me at the six men sitting in the kitchen and asks me if I will join him outside.

Chickenshit. I hear Schuyler say it but it's ignored and I pull the door shut behind me. Ben was standing up just as I met his eyes and then he disappeared from my view.

I sat down on the front step and Caleb seemed surprised. There are two chairs and a table there and I picked the steps. He sat down beside me and I put my head down on my knees. He put his hand on my back. I could feel the imprint of his fingers burning through cloth and then flesh, leaving his prints on bone but I didn't move.

How long are you going to continue with this game? I miss you. I miss having you to look forward to. I miss you lighting up my home with your laugh and with the music you always play.

I looked at him. Curious. Then I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I laughed until my sides hurt and tears were pouring down my face. And then I stopped abruptly, wiped my face with my hands and put my head back down, away from him this time.

You sound like a desperate man.

Maybe I am.

There it was. That hint of fallibility designed exclusively to unsettle me, leaving me vulnerable to his charm. And still I played along by not playing along.

You're lonely.

Yes. I've been lucky to have you back in my life.

That isn't going to change, Caleb.

He stopped moving and held his breath and then spoke carefully next.

I mean in a greater capacity than coparenting.

Look, I'm overruling all of you, this moratorium is done.

What?

I need to get the others.

Why?

So I don't have to repeat myself. That's all I ever do.

Bridg-

Be right back.

But I never went back outside. I came in and six pairs of eyes were on me and my heart was thudding so loud it was making me sick and I just nodded and said I was sorry and I went upstairs and crawled into bed fully clothed and I slept. I slept so hard I don't even know if Ben ever came to bed or if Caleb ever left because I got up late, took the kids to the pool and made a concentrated effort to make sense of whatever it is I think I just did. I just need the fighting to stop. I can handle pretty much anything, but I can't handle being the rope in a human tug of war anymore.

Just. Just fucking get along.