Psychic circus.

The box was empty.

I look up at him, slightly confused.

Your wishes were to put any funds I had allocated for a Christmas gift for you in Henry's University account. I followed your directives to the letter. I want to know what to do next. He says this with his maddeningly handsome, bemused smile fixed in place.

Then why the box? Why the ribbon?

Because I wanted to confirm that you only said that to be difficult, and that secretly you hoped for something anyway. Maybe earrings or a pen or....a diamond ring?

A pen..I had hoped for the pen. 

The pink one we looked at? I'll buy it for you tomorrow then.

No...I stammer. I don't want you to buy it. I just think you didn't need to do this, with a box and everything. I got the car service and-

What would you have done if there had been a ring in the box?

Nothing. You can't give me a ring. 

I can do whatever I damn well please and we both know it. You'll have your pen before lunchtime tomorrow, or perhaps if you wish we can make use of your actual present and be driven downtown to make it a shopping and lunch date. Do you think Cartier does Boxing Day sales?

I shake my head.

He walks over to the door and opens it, waiting. Thank you for a wonderful day. I'm just glad I still know you better than you think I do. 

I walk to the door. I can buy my own pen. It's just-

-not the same. Yes, I understand that quite well. He smiles and softens, becoming so quiet it hurts to listen. Merry Christmas Babydoll. Neamhchiontach. 

I knit my brows in confusion and follow his lead, right out his front door. Merry Christmas, Diabhal.

 See you at ten sharp. We'll get an early start on our bargain hunting. 

I put the box in his hand, ribbon and all and walk out into the rainy Christmas night. I feel humilated, caught redhanded. I feel childish and I feel tricked into making Boxing Day a day spent with him now. I feel unprepared and sometimes I wish I could read his mind as easily as he reads mine.

Exchange or credit only (let me tell you something, baby).

You don’t know how hard I fought to survive
Waking up alone when I was left to die
You don’t know about this life I’ve led
All these roads I’ve walked
All these tears I’ve bled

By the size of the box I assumed he finally caved in and bought me the Diabolo (hahahah) pink lacquer pen I have been lusting after for the past several weeks.

I couldn't have been more wrong. I suppose remaining on my own guard would have been wise but he's so good at this, you see. We don't stand a chance.

I walked him home tonight since he said my present was on his desk. I was so proud that everyone behaved. So proud that he got a little bit buzzy but had cut himself off, asking permission to make tea for himself and the other tea-drinkers since he wanted to restore his sobriety before the evening's end. He's not supposed to drink, thanks to his merry-go-round of prescriptions right now and when I reminded him of this he gazed at me and told me I was right.

No one flipped any tables, shoved anyone else into the Christmas tree or left the room in man-tears (which is when you leave the room, punctuating it by punching the wall or doorframe on your way out but also fight back tears squeezed out by rage and the fact that you may have broken your hand with that punch because fuuuuuck it hurts so bad).

I know all their tricks. Wish I knew all of his.

Caleb gives me a neat foil-wrapped package and inside is one of those delightful red leather boxes with the gold trim, tied with a red and white Cartier-branded ribbon.

My brain starts thinking Pen! Pen! Pen! while he stands there wearing a dangerous smile, ducking his head down slightly, his thumb and index finger under his mouth as if he was about to laugh when he shouldn't be laughing. I pulled the bow with a flourish and started to talk as I opened the box.

This will be great to use every day when I'm...oh my God.

It was not a pen.
 

An early Christmas gift.

The ultimatums began shortly after school started in the fall.

Wear your hearing aids, Bridget.

No. Not to be rude, but I really don't like them. They amplify my heartbeat, your fingerprints and the guy fifteen blocks down swearing under his breath at a broken photocopier. I can hear people's ideas, regrets and deepest longings when I wear them. I hear grass grow. I hear the stars clinking off, one by one by two.

They're exhausting. They're startling. They're just plain stupid. They cost two thousand dollars apiece and they're worthless hunks of utter shit. They've been adjusted, changed, swapped out, serviced, and tested.

But it's not them, it's me.

So I haven't really worn them much past the six week window I promised the boys earlier this year. I wore them all the time and at the end of forty-five days I slid my back down the wall in the corner with a big bottle of vodka in my hands, my nerves shattered to bits and I swore to myself I would never wear them again. I've learned to deal with what is missing in other ways. I feel. I see. I taste. But mostly I just feel, as you well know already.

And now I fill my ears with so much music that enough might get through so that I am okay with it all. It's not that hard to cope when you've been doing it this long, so no sympathy is required. It's very matter-of-fact to me and as long as everyone doesn't talk at once I'm okay with that.

Except that a couple weeks ago I was driving Lochlan's truck and I missed a siren, not knowing there was an ambulance there until the last possible moment. I got out of the way but I like a little more notice than that. I owned up to it, when asked how my day went. I promised to turn the music down when I drive alone. I promised to pay better attention/get more sleep/be careful but this day was sort of very long in the making, especially here, where every trip is a dark rainy night on a high-speed highway, and that's just to buy milk.

But instead of revoking my driving privileges, this morning I was given a present of sorts.

Caleb's driver, Mike. On call for me now as his primary charge.

Because Caleb likes to be independent here, driving himself virtually everywhere. Mike is on retainer and bored out of his skull. Caleb wants him to have work to do and everyone wants me to be safe and not constantly stressing over driving and hearing or the lack thereof.

And privately I was pulled aside and told I would have to get over whatever creepy stalkerish impressions I have had of Mike up until now, that he is a consummate professional who is just doing his job. That job at one point being spying on me at close range for the Devil who used to be so terribly misguided and now is just simply terrible and misguided and I am no longer spied upon, though I fully understand the ramifications of enlisting someone who reports to Satan himself.

I am not permitted to use the word goonage anymore either, Caleb told me.

I guess I simply bring out the visceral side in everyone, my mere presence being enough for them to somehow feel safe enough to unload all of their deepest darkest secrets, fears and wants on me. To do things they wouldn't normally do and say things they wouldn't dream of saying to anyone else. I'm not sure why that happens but it does, and I'd like to turn it off.

Maybe in a few years time Mike can listen to music on my behalf and tell me I really liked that song, or something.  

In the interim, I have a number I call when I want to go out and Mike will be idling out front in fifteen minutes or less to take me wherever I want, and that goes for taking the children to school or running errands for me. As in, I don't have to do it, he will do it for me. I was assured it's part of the job, that he is already paid handsomely and enjoys his job, there just hasn't been enough for him to do since we moved here. Caleb hopes that will change, that this will be helpful to me and better for Mike.

Helpful doesn't begin to cover what it is. It's positively decadent, something reserved for film and music stars and people..well, people like Caleb. People who are important.

Not me. I'm not important. I'm just a girl from a town so small there wasn't even a wrong side of the tracks because there were no tracks. Just ocean, as far as the eye could see. That girl never thought she'd see the day where she had a permanent driver assigned to her. I'm not sure where I should go first but I'm guessing it should be somewhere pretty significant.

Lists.

(Right now it feels as if each moment contains a secondary pause in which to second-guess or simply take note.)

I watched as Ben reached out and very tenderly pressed his hand to Lochlan's head. Ben's abrupt peacefulness makes him patient and loving and sweet. His eyes linger over me, over Loch and he bends down and kisses my forehead slowly and then for good measure he kisses the top of Lochlan's head too. Slow days give them a chance to find their places on the same page, it gives Ben a chance to practice his tenderness, it gives him time to show us who he is instead of who we think he is. The picture we hold in our hands is not the same as the one in our heads. He is generous, open, and loves to be silly, his wounded brown eyes softened by his oversized goofy grins.

Lochlan sheds his false outsider confidence, opening up once he feels safe enough to do so. I watch as he smiles softly towards Ben's touch before dropping his eyes to me. He has settled back into his leadership role within our collective, common sense and comfort coming first, a well-oiled machine of a man who allows for whimsy and honest effort equally, simultaneously. He has an enormous capacity for navigating this unconventional life, expending as much affection to Ben as he has to me in the past while. His arms keep this together. His endless, flexible embrace draws in and out with the moon, a tide on which we float, the compass by which this house finds its bearings.

I watched the unequivocal joy in Sam's eyes as he pressed his hand on my shoulder,  praying spontaneously for me in the sanctuary as I brought him the cookies he adores but won't request. I told him I already received the best gift anyone could ask for. My children are happy, healthy and both have living fathers. I want for nothing else. Sam's enthusiastic bliss is contagious, bubbling over onto everything and everyone, his mouth perpetually stretched into smiles that remain endless. His mood will carry all of us, I hope, straight through until daylight. Just as soon as he has finished all the cookies.

I see the battle for composed control in Caleb's face as I present to him early, cleaned and brushed and shining, a generous, pretty smile fixed in place. It's my own effort to step out of our endless past and into the present to invite him to spend Christmas day at the house. That he will not be under any microscopes, that all of the boys from the other house will be around and Henry wants Caleb there. I don't want Caleb to be alone, and frankly the only way this whole bucolic, utopian creation is going to fly is if we all work a lot harder to get along than we have. Please come, I whispered and I watched as he tried and failed to keep tears at bay and finally resorted to nodding vigorously before breaking into a a huge shaking grin of pure relief. He puts his arms out and I hesitate just briefly before throwing myself into them. I'll make things easier, he promises my hair. I pull back. Good, I tell him and head back over to remain on my side of the new line, drawn in the rain on the pavement in faint chalk.

I see the uncertainty in August, as I knock softly on his door and after a short while he finally opens it and I can see that he has been sleeping, again. In the middle of the day for no reason. I ask him if he is feeling okay and remind him that we are getting ready to head out to dinner and that I hope he is still up for it. He catches my diplomacy and chooses to blow it wide open, telling me he knows he's been useless lately and he's going to try and participate more. I let him off the hook anyway by telling him I'm so excited he's coming with us. That I want to see his face more and he frowns because he knows he's such a ringer for a ghost of Christmas past and I shake my head. No, I miss YOU. You aren't around much and I feel like one arm is missing when that happens. He smiles with glassy eyes and shoos me out so he can change.

I see need in Daniel, who finds this time of year so incredibly difficult and makes his hugs twice as hard and conversations four times longer just to avoid being alone with his feelings. I see him fighting harder than I usually do to keep a relaxed and completely contrived Christmas cheer going at full speed until Schuyler pulls him in and without speaking lets him know that he is here. No matter what. I see the way they talk without saying much and sometimes get no more than five feet away from each other in a day, looking for each other the moment they let go.

I see the steady strength in Duncan, who is relaxed and aware of everything in a way no one else ever truly is, bringing up the back behind Lochlan's charge, content to sip coffee, write his poetry and encourage the rest of us almost unconsciously to glory in our new and old traditions alike. He is uncannily tuned in while seemingly perpetually tuned out, missing nothing from within his own head, content to spend hours by the fire, pen in hand, absorbing and neutralizing the moods of an entire household. He's the charcoal filter for our fishtank souls.

I see the sporadic rise and fall of Padraig's chest as he sleeps, a little more easily every day as we get further out from the worst days of my life and the youngest ages of my children. For a while I wonder if he didn't sleep as little as I tend to, his tired eyes betraying a patience he wore like a shield sometimes just to muddle through. He jolts suddenly, startling both of us but doesn't awaken. I reach out and hold his hand and he settles quickly, holding my fingers firmly, a little boy with big boots and a beard needing comfort from his dreams. I wait patiently until his breathing changes, and as PJ shifts position again he releases my hand. Only then do I move.

They will all tell you that my emotions rule this house, the barometer by which each day is played and spent in turn but I think their unique, beautiful hearts are what show us the way, points on the map that shows my own soul the path home.

Forgot what he looks like in the daylight.

I woke up this morning to find Ben's head between my thighs. I could think of worse ways to begin a day, frankly, and after a brief struggle in which I implored him to investigate for himself precisely how much stubble burns sensitive skin, I gave in, or rather, he continued to hold me down sufficiently to accomplish his purpose.

Nothing better than a man with a purpose.

(Snort.)

I actually had something like five purposes before he let me up again and then he surprised me with the news that he's home until hopefully Wednesday, and that if he has his way we'll spend Christmas just. like. this.

Santa always gives me exactly what I ask him for.

Two hours later Ben went out to pick up the toffee syrup I put in my coffee that I love so much and usually deny myself, all of the mail that's been piling up at the miniature post office that he has to duck to stand inside, and some bakery-baked cake, because Lochlan ate that piece the other day and I'm still surprised it wasn't poisoned or cursed or somehow hexed.

Ben is home again and has made another pot of coffee, warmed up some cake, hit the button on the wall to start the fire and and grabbed the blanket from the library. He's made a nest for us in the living room on the couch and I'm not leaving it until he leaves it first so if you need me I'll be right here.

Winter (picking sides).

Yes, I realize that for the first time not one but two self-made millionaires have told me to leave their presence quite harshly in the past several months. Through no fault of my own. Therefore, both came crawling back.

Case in point, Batman arriving unannounced late last evening which meant he was treated to my Hello Kitty pajamas which I put on while I brush my teeth, check the kids, boys, pets, windows and door locks and then rip off before getting into bed because the human torch and the cryogenic cowboy function as full-service climate controls.

But I digress, because Batman caved (we're taking turns), just a little over a week shy of when he said he would officially contact me in person again. Not like I care, I've been accused of minimizing Caleb's aggression on Thursday by you readers and my boys alike. Lochlan said his hands are tied and the others are attempting to teach him the difference between serious and non-serious because we appear to become upset over the wrong events while the major Oh-my-fucks sort of slip under the wire and go running across the field in the dark yelling homefree!

Oh yes they do. This is my story so I get to tell it any way I please.

Batman brought a bottle of Dom. He wanted an early toast to Christmas and then became frustrated instantly, telling me he couldn't have a serious conversation with a girl in cartoon cat pajamas.

So I deadpanned, asking him if naked worked better.

Definitely, he quipped.

Well, forget it, I reminded him. 'Tis the season for disenfranchising the Princess and all that, I told him and he frowned.

I still have a huge stake in your life here, Bridget.

No, the boys work for you or for people who are owned by you. That has little to do with me.

I only do this because of you.

Then that will be your downfall.

On the contrary. It makes for quite a drive to succeed. A necessity, as it were.

I don't need anything from you.

He does. He needs the checks. The supervision, the reminder that he is being watched.

I don't need him either.

God. Your comic cat outfit makes you downright fearless.

It's Hello Kitty. Japanese phenomenon? Pop culture icon? Jesus, Batman. Open your eyes.

You want to go to Japan? I'll take you. You'd love it-

No, I don't want to go anywhere except to bed.

He smiled and said nothing.

Oh my God. I give up. You hate my guts but you're here offering me trips and seduction. I think I'm going to go upstairs now. I'll find someone to see you out.

I can see myself out, Bridget, I just needed...to see for myself.

To see what?

That you were okay. Too many brushes with the Devil lately for my comfort.

Well then you'll be pleased to know I haven't been striving for your comfort.

Where is Ben?

You should know.

Oh, you're angry with me because of the workload? Idle hands, Bridget. You know what they are.

I also know the shenanigans of someone who uses corporate grindstones to isolate, divide and ruin, Batman.

I'm not that kind of boss, Bridget.

Like hell you aren't.

Sedation by chocolate.

Stop, tell me where you going
Maybe the one you love isn't there

This morning I was called out for my recklessness in following Caleb into what I knew to be a shitstorm when no one else saw it coming. I did absolutely nothing to protect myself from him and that is now a cardinal sin, where so many things aren't, and gosh, it's really hard to continue to be childish while still being able to parse all of the assumption and innuendo that flies through the air out here on the windy, isolated point by the sea. It's like this is our planet, and we're cut off from the rest of the solar system, forced to depend on each other, and maybe failing.

Lochlan is trying so hard to be hands-off. That's what Ben has asked for. Hands off. No fighting. Let Bridget figure out her own shit and unless things are dire, don't run in to fix a damn thing for her.

Because to Ben, I am my actual age. To Lochlan I am forever twelve years old. Forever.

And ever.

And ever.

Sigh.

The doorbell rang just before lunch and there is Lucifer standing in the rain with one of his good plates, and on said plate is a piece of cake. Warm cake, for I can see the steam rising from the top.

Oh, well, hello there, Dream Come True. 

It's a peace offering, but damn, you know how to make a monster feel good. 

Lochlan appears over my head and asks Caleb if he thinks dessert can smooth this over. Caleb's face falls. Of course not, rat. This is just the beginning. 

Lochlan tries to get around me so I grab the doorframe to buy Caleb time to at least put my cake down so it doesn't become a casualty. I holler for PJ because no way are they continuing this today.

Caleb, thinking fast for once, passes the cake over my head to Lochlan and tells him maybe he needs it more than I do. Lochlan, to his credit, takes the plate so that it doesn't fall and land on my skull.

I don't think so, I protest and jump for it. Lochlan keeps it up high. Bastard.  

I really really want to flatten this motherfucker, peanut, he whispers and I see the control fights from all sides suddenly. We're either really good or we're really fucking damaged now.

Then Caleb says again that he's sorry and he turns and goes back across the driveway. I watch him and when I turn back around Lochlan has eaten the cake.

All of it.

What the fuck.

A very messy execution.

They barely survived the Christmas concert, choosing to drop an almost-altercation right between Little Drummer Boy and Jingle Bell Rock as sung by the grade two classes. PJ had a hand on Lochlan's shoulder. I think he was waiting for Loch to explode up out of his seat and tackle Caleb, who sat there looking smug and then when Henry's class came out and sang Caleb looked proud but gave me the briefest side-eye, since I sent Henry to school in a flannel shirt and jeans, same as ever, and most of the boys were dressed up.

Henry Jacob isn't comfortable dressed up and since it's grade fucking six, I'll make sure he's comfortable and everything else can follow afterward. To add insult to injury, Henry's stubborn cowlick was standing straight up, making him look like he fell out of bed and ran up the hill to school without even brushing his hair.

Afterward we went by the classroom to give our regards to the teachers and Henry ran up and hugged Loch and then told everyone this was his uncle (we left it alone) that can throw and swallow fire, that he came from...(dramatic pause)....the circus.

Oh, well, shit.

Caleb didn't react that I could see. He just exclaimed with the kids that it WAS cool and then we made a hasty exit. We walked back down to the house and then he told PJ that I needed to come work for a few hours and then when the kids were done school I'd be free. PJ, who is suddenly my mother, said that was okay while I protested that I had nothing to do and I thought I was done until New Years.

Caleb smiled patiently. Year end can't be done after the end of the year, Princess.

I rolled my eyes and followed him up to the boathouse. Lochlan walked the other way, jamming his hands into his pockets for the zippo lighter to flick, something to do, anything so that he wouldn't blow up at Caleb and get in trouble with everyone even though it isn't his fault by any means. Some jobs are just cooler than others.

And sorry but when you're eleven lawyers are boring.

I remind Caleb that I told him this myself when he started university when I was eleven.

I am smiling at the memory when he loses his fucking mind and pins me up against the wall. Which is exactly the sort of unpredictable violence that drove me to leave his brother.

How much time do you spend building Loch up to MY SON? He roared in my face.

I stare him down. I don't have to build him up and I don't play games when it comes to my children, Cole.

I called him by the wrong name on purpose so he would snap out of his rage.

Caleb lets go and I land on my feet. He grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the wall, pressing his forehead down against mine, closing his eyes. He starts to apologize and I tell him to save it, that I don't want to hear it, that maybe the judge should hear about it and maybe Caleb needs some human being classes because his demon is showing and he laughs and asks me when I'm going to give up calling him evil.

When you stop being this way! I squeal. My voice is hoarse from yelling back.

I think you'd better go. I don't feel as if I have any control right now, Bridget. He lets go abruptly. The last thing I want you to remember about me is something like this. Walk out now, okay? Go quickly, now, okay? 

I think I should stay and not leave you alone right-

GO BRIDGET! JUST GET OUT!

And he spun me around and gave me a shove toward the door. I tripped over my own feet and landed with my hands on the glass, still upright. I turned the knob and burst out into the night, gulping in lungfuls of air, wondering where he found all that sudden resolve and then remembering that he's trying to learn how to keep a promise. He succeeded.

Grounded (the good kind).

Henry's grade six Christmas concert is tomorrow. The school gave me two tickets. I went back and asked for at least twelve more and was summarily turned away due to space issues.

Eventually (today) the office scraped together two more for me.

So four tickets for myself, Caleb. PJ, our surrogate-everything who gets any child-related honor I can give him for what he does for us and one very busy stepfather who doesn't want to miss it but will have to due to time constraints.

That leaves one free ticket so Loch said he would go in Ben's place if we would have him. I asked him to check with Henry because this is Henry's show and he came back grinning a few minutes later.

That would be a yes.

(Love the living while they're still alive.)

We didn't spend our life together
and I will miss you forever

The choice was mine
To long for a time that will never come
Though we leave the world apart
I still went peacefully, quietly
with you still firmly in my heart

I will wait forever
I wait.

I call them fire and ice mornings.

When I wake up half-broiling and half-frozen, wedged into the middle of the Emperor bed with the big frame that I have come to love draping huge scarves over, yards of gossamer, translucent tulle in shades of flames and water. It's a fort, okay? Something that's impossible to build in a camper. And I always wanted one.

Lochlan's a thrasher. A hot-sleeping, blanket-stealing, dream-driven, night-enduring moonbeam when he sleeps. I have no doubt someday he's just going to up and burst into flames from the inside out. That will be the way he goes. I carry a big water bucket now everywhere I go. Just in case.

And Ben is a corpse who night after night scares the ever-loving fuck out of me. He's a vampire, his skin cooling, heartbeat slowing, not-moving-a-muscle, rigid nightmare-suffering blackout-dark nightcrawler soul dissolving into the early morning hours until you can no longer tell him apart from the skies. If it weren't for the sheer need to protect him from himself as he slumbers I might run screaming the other way.

***

I'm back in the creepy/spendy/famous grocery store, shopping amongst the only Glitterati who don't send their staff to buy groceries each week. I suppose it makes them feel human.

Me too.

Mondays will invariably find me standing fully perplexed in front of the cheese display. Because I don't understand. I don't understand what you do with most of this stuff and I don't understand why it costs so much.

(Here's where I should point out I pull the same face in front of the lightbulbs now, desperate to find the lightbulb that doesn't cost $27 a piece or have that stupid cold faint light that you can't read by).

And the Devil is still stalking me. Not sure why he doesn't shop any other day. And I don't bring him anymore because some times I just want to get something accomplished. If it's grocery shopping then that propagates into all other facets of life.

(Here's where I point out what I mean is PJ is cranky when he isn't fed regularly).

Caleb is standing beside me again while I hold this tiny seventy-dollar wheel of fancy cheese.

Good choice, he says.

What do you do with it?

Melt it in a little pot in the oven and then dip things in it. It's delicious.

I do that with Cheese Whiz.

Yes, I know. I had them stock the stuff in California so that we could have late-night cheese toast.

We didn't though.

We did not. Too bad, too. Should I get some today and we can have it at home?

No. Leave it here. I am impatient suddenly. Tired. Not in the mood to banter about products or dredge things up. And worse still is that I got caught this morning. My truancy from the place I'm supposed to be is glaringly obvious but this morning Lochlan said we needed things and we would go right away. I obeyed him because that's what I do. If Caleb dropped an order right now I'd obey that too. Because that's how they taught me to be. And that's how I am.

***

Lochlan wakes me out of a sound sleep.

You were talking.

I try to pull away from him but he has me pinned on my back. If sleeping is the only time I have with Jacob then Lochlan is interrupting my dreams and must be stopped.

Sorry. Find some earplugs. Let me sleep.

He stared at me in the dark as I lightly ran my fingers over his face feeling his features because I couldn't see them. He waited patiently and when I was finished I could feel his expression of resignation and helplessness and I closed my eyes again and returned to my dreams to finish the night in a place that wasn't hot or cold.

It was just right.