Interstellar medium

I know what I want. I've had a whole lot of scotch and I'm looking for a fight.

Come in, Bridget. We can talk. You want to make some coffee?

No. I'm good. Well, actually I'm not but no, no coffee.

What can I do to help? Caleb says it so generously, as if he's doing me a favor. His anticipation is ridiculous.

Take yourself out of my equation. I broke up with you, I want you to honor that.

Honor it how?

No pressure. No terms, no offers, no play, no competition, no weirdness. No more fucking envelopes. No weapons. No guilt, no threats. No sweetness. No charm. Nothing. We co-parent. That's it. You get no say in my life, my decisions, my behavior or my plans. You get no access to me.

Anything else? He is frowning at me. I think I caught him off guard, actually, and now my liquid courage is fading faster than a sunset over the horizon and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words.

If I think of anything, I'll let you know. Do we have an agreement? You promised me anything I wanted.

Do we have an agreement? No, Bridget, we don't have an agreement. I can give you anything but that.

More caveats.

Damned right. Did you think you would pull that off?

Yes.

Would you have been happy?

I don't know.

Exactly. Go get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow.

I won't be allowed.

You let me worry about that.

No, see? That's precisely my point! You're not supposed to be able to do that.

Goodnight, princess.

Fuck you, asshole.

Hey. Watch your sweet mouth or I'll watch it for you.

Wow. You sounded just like Cole there for a minute.

Just enough to keep you.

Too bad he's dead.

You'd better go, Bridget. Quickly.

I'd rather fight.

I'm not fighting with you. Go the fuck back to the house and sleep off whatever you've had and don't pull stunts like this any more.

Or what?

Or I'll stop being honest and go back to being evil.

You know something? I can't tell the difference anyway.

Wishful thinkers and the long way around.

You seem to be in better spirits today.

I'm catching up. I find the change in routines tough.

You've always been so adaptable, I don't know anyone who weathers changes better than you.

I roll my eyes since my head is turned away from him. I'm watering the roses while he stands two feet behind me, mostly likely with his hands in his pockets, still in pressed business casual because he had a meeting this morning. I stayed in bed, listening to Caleb's car purr out of the shared driveway, and then listening to the one on my right exhale all of his tension out in one breath. My eyes were heavy and I closed them against the sun but not before a ten-thousand-degree kiss glanced off my temple. If ever there were a boy to match with a season, Lochlan wins summer hands down. He doesn't mind the heat, he hardly notices it. I am reduced to ice and a sheet and a complaint that drops off my lower lip only after I have succumbed to sweet miserable slumber.

But I couldn't stay asleep. I want to wander around soaking up the sun and sorting out my brain. I want to think soft and daydream up new stories to write and learn how to live in the moment instead of in the hope for the future, riddled with holes and treacherous sections and the ever-present Fear of the Unknown. The sunshine helps push that back, always. The light makes everything better, food, lazy early morning sleep, and time.

I turn finally, since Caleb seems to be waiting for something. He is standing with his hands in his pockets, in one of his summerweight bespoke suits, and he is smiling at me.

Don't roll your eyes, princess. I only know what I see. Where is everyone?

Sleeping.

He rolls his eyes, catching himself and laughs. You're such a morning person.

I nod. I'm still waiting, holding the hose, wondering what he wants.

What's wrong, Bridget?

Oh, honesty, right. You said things would be difficult for me, if you came back early. You're back early. What should I expect?

His eyes flash. Composure may come easily but control is fought for, to the death. I see this and remind him of his pledge toward honesty as well. He flushes ever so slightly and to my surprise, he gives in.

Difficult for you in that I will apply pressure.

Do you really have to be so formal all the time?

You seem far more comfortable this way.

Ah. I see. So...pressure.

Pressure. Blunt and to the point.

Okay then. I wait for more but he stops talking. This is crystal-clear. Um. Have a nice morning. I give him one of my fakest fake smiles and gather up the hose to return to the reel around the side of the house.

When I come back he's gone.

(Determined.)

Mondays are strange.

Today the children and I tried to find the extraordinary in the mundane. A simple drive down the same road we always travel found us slowing to a stop in order for a baby bear to get from one side of the road to the other and down into the cool woods to outrun the heat of the morning. A snap decision after the bear disappeared into the trees to turn off the air conditioning in the car and open all the windows instead. Summer rushed in and filled our souls.

At the pool we lingered forever after swim lessons, for just one more run and jump off the diving board, towels and flip-flops soaked with chlorine, clothes damp for the ride home, again with the windows down all the way, a hearty fuck-you to the extreme sudden heat that we wished for and when it arrived we found ourselves unprepared for company and scrambling to be good hosts.

And I did that thing again where I smiled out of the blue and for no reason at all as I ate a spoonful of ice cream straight from the box and I realized my feet were filthy and my hair wasn't much better and I forgot things like bedtimes and regular all-food-groups dinners in favor of barbecued everything and a handful of potato chips on the side, and the smile was thoroughly contagious, spreading like wildfire through the remainder of the day.

The naked Saturday.

Ben holds a bit of a knack for knowing when to swoop in and take back control. Very late Friday night he came in with a few extra grocery items and a very crabby and unhelpful Daniel (our sometimes third child) and he said we were going out for dinner, just me and him.

And that we would come back on Sunday.

And then he smiled in that very Ben-like way he has and my knees melted all over the floor and I had to hold on to his hand or I might have fallen down because he's ridiculously scary-handsome and sweet and I'm a sucker for his particular brand of attention.

But I'm a stickler for surprise trips that I have no time to mentally prepare for and always leery of what he packs for me to wear but after minimal protest I hugged my children fiercely as they slept and whispered to them to be good and off we went.

I thought Ben was heading to the airport but he drove straight downtown and we went up up up into the sky in an elevator that did not make me so happy but he smiled and kissed the back of my hand and told me he could break out of the elavator if necessary and that I should exhale, maybe, if I felt like it. When we got to our room and I saw the view I was more than a little thrilled to breathe out because it was literally breathtaking.

Ben then admitted that he packed no clothes for me at all and that I was to spend the weekend naked, and that what I had on would be cleaned and returned in time for the drive home.

He ordered a pizza and a stack of horror movies and we ate in bed in front of a giant retractable screen and we made up our own plot twists and filled in dialogue we thought might be more fun as we watched the movies and then when I couldn't keep my eyes open any more he turned off all the lights and my breath disappeared again for the magical view of the lights on the water in the darkness. I could lie there all night in his arms and watch that view like a movie and there was nothing stopping me but true to form I was asleep in just shy of fifteen seconds.

Yesterday we did not get out of bed. At all. He arranged for room service and I was not permitted to put my feet on the floor. Fine by me. I pointed vaguely at menu items and he laughed and ordered everything and we watched two more movies but slept most of the day in the twelve-thousand thread count Egyptian sheets, ignoring the outstandingly gorgeous sunny view.

I woke up this morning rested but with a little bit of a headache ( from the lack of my usual early coffee). Ben was still sleeping. Check out was at eleven. I didn't think we'd make it but that was okay too. I called the front desk and they told me whenever we were ready it would be fine and not to worry. So I went back to sleep, right after I ate all of the french toast and hot chocolate they delivered. Including Ben's.

We wound up checking out shortly after twelve and had to stop for breakfast for him on the way back because he was starving. But he's rested. And he's silly. And boy do we ever travel lightly these days. Instead of coming home to a mountain of travel laundry we had virtually nothing to unpack.

I could get used to that.

The good fascist.

Here goes.

Firstly, a squee-moment. Stephen King's next book, Doctor Sleep, picks up with Danny Torrance as an adult and comes out this winter. I could just burst from waiting. I'm also so incredibly slow with wading through websites and emails trying to keep up with the things I like and I read a very select few authors anymore so maybe you already knew and I did not.

And speaking of books, have you read the Fifty Shades trilogy?

I've really hesitated to bring this up but for those asking me if I wrote it? No, I did not. Yes, I said Jacob was so many shades of grey. For fuck's sakes I said it here four or five times (okay so that's enough examples) over the past few years, for it isn't an uncommon phrase. Also, hey! Christian Grey? Caleb? Hmmm!

Let's not start in, shall we?

Best of luck to E.L. James, however. Her depiction of the character of Christian Grey was positively RIVETING, repetition and awkward phrasing aside and yes, it was incredibly familiar and therefore a tiny bit painful. I sat in one place for two nights and read all three books and I count them among my favorites now, in spite of the parallels to persons living and dead. Gold. Absolute trashy-beach-reading GOLD. Happily ever after is always a good read, isn't it?

Secondly, a boo-moment. One of the caveats of Caleb's latest acquisition (the house next door) was that I give up Twitter and Instagram. Privacy is paramount in our extended family here and I was sort of off-leash online and running for the fence, getting my digs in about him on Twitter and sometimes posting pictures on Instagram that were not pre-approved.

I know, God Forbid.

In any case, I acquiesced and both of my accounts are gone. My apologies if you were enjoying either. If you need to connect with me you'll have to do it through this site because it's the one thing I do that is non-negotiable and while I make every effort to spare the public humiliation of those I love, I don't believe in mincing words. It took me a long time to stop sugar-coating my relationships for public consumption, I don't plan to start again. But I did break the rules and I had to pay the price. I deleted everything this weekend. No, they won't be rebooted later on. I simply should have known better and I learned my lesson.

Any more questions can be directed as always to my email. You can find it by clicking on the Profile section on the left-hand side of the page. Don't come yelling about feminism or masochism, okay? I love to meet new readers, but I don't like to be yelled at. I guess that part is pretty obvious.

Onward and upward.

With the staggers and jags.

This is not for you, it's for me.

Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast
Let your mountains dark and dreary be
For when I am far away on your briny ocean tossed
Will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?

(But mostly because I'm tired and August has just arrived home (finally!!) after many delays, detours and distractions from the East Coast and I'm jealous and so sometimes I need to hear it to remember that home is what I surround myself with when I can't surround myself with the Atlantic, literally or figuratively.)

A bonus song for you, you'll know and love it if you're from the Maritimes:



Goodnight.

Collectedness.

Bridget!

Oh shit. I could hide but this one can see through fabric, fire, and concrete, I imagine. He owns my soul, he'd just seek it out and use his evil to draw it in. Like a magnet. Like a puppy.

Yes? I put on my big girl panties, answering him like an adult would. Then I frown and rip them off in favor of my stripper ones. If I'm going to do something, I'll have to go big or go home.

He walks into the room with his suitjacket over one arm, tie loosened and hair tousled and I attempt to steel my knees against weakening. The look on his face makes that easy.

I'm trying so hard to make you happy and you keep busting my balls. He says it softly. I don't exactly know what he means but when PJ says it he's being funny so I just play along.

What, specifically?

Everything. Being worried you don't have the upper hand or that I might turn you all out on the street? Calling me names? Dredging up the past? He throws up his hands in frustration, on the verge of tears but composure is something Caleb strives for in every facet of his life, even in his sleep so the rest of us are clearly deficient in the face of his surplus.

You scare me when I don't know what you're up to! I blurt and he laughs.

You sound like a teenager.

That's the past, remember?

Oh, sorry. Now what do you need to know? I'm trying to be transparent. I'm trying to work with you. Everything is on the level here. What did I miss? I can't fix it if you don't tell me.

You engineered...this. My hands flutter around. Clearly I'm indicating both houses and the fulfillment of my dreams. Except for the ones involving reanimating dead people. I am still working on that, don't think I don't know he can do it, just like he does everything else.

Yes. For you. Because it's what you wanted.

It isn't your place to give me everything I want.

He just stares and then he sits down and laughs. What do you want me to do? If I take it all away, I'm horrible. If I leave it all the way it is, I'm horrible!

I don't know!

Then it remains. Until you make up your mind. He smiles and leans in to kiss my cheek, lingering far too long for comfort, to the point where I wish madly for my big-girl panties again so I can be a lady, because the stripper ones are busy thinking up a private routine for him. He says goodbye and walks out of the room. The spell breaks when he leaves and I pick up the colander and hurl it at the kitchen door in frustration.

Argh! He did it AGAIN!

Who, Bridget? PJ enters the kitchen from the front hall.

Caleb.

Oh, good. I thought you were going to bust my balls again.

For fucks sakes! What does that even MEAN?

It's cold. It's so cold today and the sun is hiding behind the curtains, toes peeking out, mouth set in a line, and hell, no, she won't come out no matter what I offer and instead maybe I should just join her, for all the assumptions yesterday's post brought.

Raise your hand if you were in denial about what you've read and stand up if you really thought I was kidding about having my whole army here in one place and now sit the fuck down if you still think we have the upper hand. You may as well relax, because we do.

Caleb spends fully half his time collecting rent and being a landlord and the other half checking to see if I'm paying attention as he tries to teach me the nuances of being a high roller, a mogul, or any of the other nicknames I call him. A sugar daddy. Because all of this is mine. Why? He owes me so nevermind that part, just know that he can't pull any fast ones and leave us homeless and he can't go and spend the farm and leave Henry without a legacy because the evil idiot went and put all of it in my name and I think I spend all of my spare time now signing things I must read first because I don't trust him when it comes to business and forcing myself not to daydream while he talks about tax credits and immigration laws until I'm so bored I want to fling myself off the cliff just so he'll shut the fuck up.

Ungrateful? You betcha. Walk that mile in my stilettos and you'd run screaming into the dark the last hundred yards or so, guaranteed.

Two big houses on the bluff.

It's moving day!

Daniel, Schuyler, Christian, Corey and Andrew are next door as we speak, unpacking! It's fucking crazy around here today. CRAZY.

I hate that word but I love my boys.

Andrew has been couch-surfing for three weeks and that was enough. The house is ready (painted), here they come. Daniel and Schuy made a sweet little profit on their house and are thrilled to come back to the cliff and Corey is giving it a trial run because he is a little more removed and less caught up in the whole Bridget Adoration Society that the rest of the boys are card-carrying members of.

August comes home tonight (!!!!) from six weeks on the Rock (Vacation. Also somewhat reluctant member of said society, but not really) and will resume living here. He left the house last year briefly, trading places with Dalton (also know as Telfon Jesus or TJ) and came back. Does this make sense?

What do you mean, no?

Okay fine. I'll make you a list so you can keep it straight.

Boathouse (part of main property): Caleb.

Main house: Bridget, Ben, Ruth, Henry, Lochlan, Dalton, Duncan, PJ, August, John.

New house (next door): Andrew, Christian, Corey, Daniel, Schuyler, Gage.

Boys living nearby and that's good: Dylan, Sam, Sometimes-Matt (Sam's on-again, off-again lover),John, Keith.

Boys living very far away and that's good: Batman, New-Jake, Rob, Mark, Joel, Chase.

Boys who don't breathe: Cole, Jacob.

:(

Got it now? Okay, good. Back to helping unpack the kitchens because apparently that is one of the things I do best. I would beg to differ but that's how I ended up needing flow charts and lists, right?

Oh, hush, you.

Two peas, one pod (greetings from close reach).

He puts a plastic Star Wars light sabre in my hand and steps back to regard me. His eyes are lit up with amusement.

Okay, just a minute.

Off he goes and I center myself on the floor of the garage with my blue light-up sword. It makes noise. Vooahmmm vahhhmmm. I swish it around in thin air and smile.

He returns with a jeweled felt crown and Henry's mock chestplate armor, putting the crown on my head and tucking my arms through the straps on the armor.

He steps back again. Oh! Just a minute.

I keep up the swordfighting. It is highly underrated. He's back in minutes with a small plastic medieval dagger.

Back-up weapon. He puts it in my left hand, nodding sagely.

I burst into laughter and he heads to the ipod dock. He thumbs through a list until he hits on something crazy-heavy and then he turns it up loud and he says Now go for it! Slay your demons, Bridget!

And I turn and look at him and say Are you fucking kidding me? This is how you get through the tough parts?

And he looks at me and in all seriousness says, Well, yeah. I don't drink anymore so this is the next best thing, right? And then he turns the music louder.

Something tells me if I poked around a little in Ben's brain I would find his imaginary friends, and they would give me some of their peanut butter sandwiches and tell me that they didn't think Ben was quite right. I would nod quietly and agree, a little afraid, a little amused, a little more understanding of what makes him tick after all.

Probably exactly how he feels when it comes to me.