A bitter half-decade and a private island with wi-fi.

I had all sorts of plans to post yesterday but then Ben did that thing where he walks in and says How would you like to...

And then I'm given fifteen minutes to pack, organize who's in charge of the children (Caleb, Loch or PJ depending on who has the most work so PJ hahaha) and have to round everyone up, hug them all and then I'm boarding a teeny-tiny plane and pretending I'm famous.

Which makes Ben laugh and laugh but really the only coping mechanism one has in these situations is all-out ham. Also squee! Because blue water!! Sunshine!!

Besides, he doesn't get it, he's not a mere mortal like the rest of us. Trips for him are shoving 5 black t-shirts into a bag and having someone wait on his every whim for months on end. Plan ahead? This guy? Never!

I'm not complaining. I'm in a place where I can exist in a string bikini.

(And sunblock 100 1000. We sparkle!)

But at this rate the best coping mechanism will soon be Xanax because it was a rough flight and a long day so instead of posting last night I got smashed at dinner and went lights out.

Because I CAN.

MAYBE HE LIKES IT.

And...maybe I'm still drunk this morning come to think of it. I don't even know what time it is. I don't care. We're having a little getaway, just me and Ben. This trip is to mark five years married to the biggest doofus on the planet (his words. For me.)

Five years!

Jesus.

I'm guessing later there will be a medal-presentation ceremony. He glared at me and told me they'll be giving him his medal first, because they are handed out in order of suffering.

Or dickishness, I said.

He laughed and told me that's what this trip is. A chance to make up for things because things have not been great and we are horrible and difficult and completely brutally honest with each other in a way that somehow makes the glue hold when the seams stretch. As far apart as we can get we're alike in ways that really freak me out and make me glad for him because in spite of his ridiculous view of life, he's good for me. Grounding. Safe. Sobering.

Okay well sometimes he's sobering but NOT RIGHT NOW because champagne! I have it.

(And he's been on the phone for half an hour. Working, with apologies. So yeah, I'll finish his champagne too because I told the staff we were dry and still they brought it 'in case we changed our minds'. Good plan! I'll deal with them when I finish this glass. Maybe.)

Charlie, you were right.

(I seem to have a reprieve from the hives of late, and therefore the allergy pills. Those pills leave me fumbling for words with which to even greet my boys so hurry, let's write while we still can.)

Lochlan didn't appreciate my turn as businesswoman yesterday. I was hoping to miss him as I came home, planning to change quickly and then track him down to show him I was still in one piece, though Caleb opted to suffer me through a two-hour lunch at a place that wanted to serve every course as a teaspoon of this or that with a dribble of contrast on a plate so large I found it comical by the third course and annoying by the fifth. I was called Mrs. C____ the whole morning too and he never corrected them even once.

I did, every single time.

The morning was too long.

So when we got home and Mike opened the door for me to exit, Lochlan was standing right there, having spent the last half-hour cleaning up the bikes and scooters for the kids, waiting, visibly. He was polishing his tools up to put away and he nodded at Mike, scowled at Caleb and then attempted to put on his 'it's okay' face for me as he took in my outfit, my white leather pencil skirt and black lace fitted sleeveless top with the white matching jacket. Black ankle boots, black bag. Crimson lipstick worn off. Hair straight. Lochlan lies and tells me I look nice when I know he wants to tell me I look like an alien and I point out I will change real quick and make him some lunch.

He mutters Not quick enough and goes back to tightening the seat on Ruth's bike. It keeps creeping down but I know his good arm isn't strong enough anymore and he's too proud to ask one of the others to do it for him.

I return in eight minutes flat and his mood improves considerably. My ripped jeans, eight years in, a navy blue t-shirt with the Beatles on the front, ponytail, no makeup, pink converse.

There she is, he says and smiles. For real this time.

I think I'm done here anyway, he says as he hits the button for the garage door and ducks out as it closes. You don't have to make me lunch, I can handle it. 

I look at his filthy hands. By the time you clean up, I'll have it ready, I tell him. Really I want to say Let me do it. Let me make this up to you.

When he comes back, still with dirty hands because it won't come off and it never did, I have two grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of sugared blueberries out for him. Coffee. He eats it so fast I don't get time to sit with him and then he asks me to consider the fact that whatever payday we'll get from the Devil might not be worth living in hell.

I think of my thousand-dollar leather skirt I didn't pay for versus standing in the rain trying to run a con to get a free meal and I wonder if he's right.

I hate it here too, I admit and Lochlan breaks into little pieces, all over the floor.

We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.
                ~Charles Bukowski

Bored meetings. No time.

And then I found out how hard it is to really change.
Even hell can get comfy once you've settled in.
I just wanted the numb inside me to leave.
No matter how fucked you get, there's always hell when you come back down.
The funny thing is all I ever wanted I already had.
There's glimpses of heaven in everything.
In the friends that I have, the music I make, the love that I feel.
I just had to start again.

I'm having coffee outside this morning and making notes. It's cool but I already stole John's hoodie that he left in our house yesterday, finding it looped over the back of my dining room chair, forgotten in his jovial dinner-drunk that he gets because over the years those of us left unscathed by addiction are pathetic lightweights and it makes me nothing but thrilled. A beer and a half and he loves everyone and forgets all his stuff. Then he goes home across the lawn and goes to bed.

Proper, good.

Besides, it's a Lamb of God hoodie, one of the hundred-dollar ones from the Metallica tour of 2009 that we saw. Should I keep it? I would except it's down to my knees.

Caleb is frowning at my attire. Sorry, I didn't think to be outside on my own patio that I needed to do much more than make sure I was dressed. Who cares what I'm in?

He does.

Besides the hoodie I have a black tank top. pink plaid flannel pajama shorts on and Ugg boots. Just because they were by the door. I wouldn't leave the grounds in them on anything but when it's too chilly for bare feet they work well.

Do you want to get ready?

I'm unemployed.

Yes but you're still required to attend the meetings. 

Whyeeeeeeeee?

Because I gave you everything, remember? Now you have to keep a tight ship. Plus you employ a lot of people who are depending on you for their own living and I don't accept you letting them down. 

They would not mind if I appeared in my pajamas to approve funds. Besides you're there running the ship anyway. Don't think we all can't see that.

It's respect, Bridget.

Take my name off everything.

I can't do that. Only you can at this point.

I hate you.

I have cake at my house.

I love you.

I'll be back to pick you in up twenty minutes. We can make up the time on the road. 

Why doesn't everyone come here? Why do we always have to go downtown?

Never mix work and home.

Even though you do it daily. Pot-kettle much?

At this rate if you don't start putting a little effort into it, I'm going to put you in a pot.

I hate y-

Cake.

Nevermind.

On eating Ptichye Moloko with my fingers.

• Lochlan started to make noises today indicating he might be suffering from abject normalcy. This is rarely something that goes away on its own and accounts for just about every rash or impulsive decision I have ever made, save for two.
• I paired my hearing aids with my phone. Just because. I also paired the cookie jar and the vacuum cleaner with the phone for fun. I don't even know what that means, save for the fact that if I did do it correctly, this will mark the first time ever that I spelled vacuum the right way in print so that completely negates the whole concept of hearing my phone calls from inside my head. What..we're not even going to GO there tonight.
• I spent the dinner hour with Caleb and the kids ignoring pasta in favor of Jenga. I did not win even once. Caleb finally told me this is what life would be like but also with more designer garb and transcontinental trips thrown in, more staff and less angst. More evil too? I asked quite innocently and he frowned and got up to put away the dishes. 
• I went home to have dessert with Ben, who thought we should share only I was like CHOCOLATE GIVE IT ALL TO MEEEEEE and refused to give him any and he pretended he wasn't hungry but I knew better. I ate it all. I feel terrible about that. Sort of. Okay, no. It was delicious.
• I learned Robax Platinum and generic Loratadine tablet are together the OTC equivalent of six margaritas quite by accident when I forgot I took an allergy pill and popped a muscle relaxant before bed last night (because boys and tired...body parts and NEVERMIND) All was well until I got up around three to go to the bathroom and almost keeled right into the fireplace.
• I know all the words to our entire Mastodon collection (which is slightly incomplete at five albums worth, I believe). They tested me. No, no, Mastodon didn't, Corey and PJ did. I think I passed. They looked a little surprised. They told Ben and he was all Pshaw, no way and then he quizzed me and now he's walking around all spooked and weird. Because first the chocolate and now this and he can only be thinking Who are you and what have you done with my bumblebee?

The bearded girl.

They left this morning. I said goodbye, they cried when they hugged the kids and me and Caleb, and they made a few completely on point cracks about Neverland and also the joke that never gets old about when Ben will stop growing already.

All of the boys were gracious. It's tough to see our parents getting older, suddenly needing naps smack in the middle of the afternoon (oh, wait, nevermind) and doing bizarre things like ordering chocolate cake at a restaurant and then eating one bite.

If I ever reach the stage where I eat one bite of cake and push the rest away, it will be heralded as the first sign of the apocalypse, and you'd better take cover.

In other news, today is the annual Haircut and Shaving of the Beard day for most of the boys.

I hate it. Like them wild. They tell me since I don't have a beard I don't know how uncomfortable it gets when the weather warms up.

I point out that the weather never actually changes here, and that if I had a beard I would never EVER cut it, and instead I would adorn it with colorful beads and tiny braids and maybe a resident mountain beard-goat or two to frolic within it and keep it under control but otherwise I would spend my days tripping over it, swinging from it and generally using it as a broom. As clothes. As a blonde security blanket.

(I would hide cake in it too. But not just slices. Whole ones.)

This is where forever gets us (four more hours).

His magic camera captured me, defects and all. Some exquisite fading, fragile beauty like crumpled paper, smoothed flat too many times to pass for new, ribbon so badly frayed it has taken on a whole new texture but good enough to giftwrap and hope that the small details would be overlooked in all the excitement.

If he were still alive today, I wonder if Cole's pictures would look like the ones Andrew takes of me on his phone while we wait for the others to get ready to go?


Cole's parents are here and I'm losing my mind.

I should say Caleb's parents, I suppose, since it's not like Cole is here to show them a good time. Cole's in a box in the ocean on the other side of the country. As far as possible from me but a safe place too, one I adore. So I sort of did him a favor.

The hardest part is watching them correct themselves when they apply the father title. Sentences to their grandchild(ren) begin with Your father would have been so proud to...I mean, this is terrific.. and I turn around and roll my eyes at myself because this is so much harder than I thought it would be.

It's easier to go to them.

Ruth and Lochlan want nothing to do with the charade of playing roles, of making things easy. Caleb tried to insist on something to Ruth and she turned around and shouted You aren't my father! and walked out of the room, leaving a silence behind that I cut into slices and passed around, making sure everyone knew there were seconds if they didn't have enough the first time. Then Henry wanted to go too because anything Ruth is doing is always more fun than hanging out with adults, unless they are PJ or Ben who aren't adults exactly but very oversized little boys.

So I let him go, and Caleb unleashed a controlled quiet fury at me that almost knocked me down.

But I can play this game too and I turned the whole thing around with my own charm, which I don't exhibit much anymore because then everyone screams unfair and manipulative and also: intoxicating.

I would love to be intoxicated right now but that would be a Very Bad Idea and I think we've had enough bad ideas for one week life.

I wasn't going to mention they were here. It's not as if they're staying on the point (they're not, they're in complete swankiness  at a downtown hotel so they can shop while they're here) and really I try not to write about people who haven't given me express permission to do so.

Except for Loch, Caleb, Ben and all the important people in my life. I write about them anyway because if I didn't all you would get would be a daily outfit of the day from Duncan or Dalton (jeans, button-down plaid shirt, cigarettes and beards every. single. day.) or transcripts of alternate Wednesdays when Danny and Schuy cook, throw dance parties or fight and make up.

I don't think that would be much of a fun blog.

They leave tomorrow morning so this is the last big evening together, complete with a family dinner planned at one of the few remaining restaurants downtown that hasn't banned us for food/fist fights and can hold nineteen people on very short notice.

Not many left.

(I mean restaurants, not fights.)

The funny part is this time Cole's mom looked at me for a few moments and instead of the usual You really should have married Caleb wistfulness she usually buries me under, she said I always knew you and Lochlan were two peas in a pod. I'm glad you're back together. 

Thank you.

We're perpetuating a thin farce here, trying to go for normalcy when instead we should just fly the freak flag high and cop to the polyamorous/carny/monsters/musicians/communal freakshow we're really running. Normal never existed. Normal is the fantasy I made up in my brain when the daydreams came true and I had nothing left to wish for.

You're incredibly special to all of them. 

I nod. They're all incredible men, Cole and Caleb included. 

Thank you. 

For what? (Ripping out both of your son's hearts? Perpetuating the fraud of fatherhood on someone who turned out not to be a father at all? Ruining their lives? Standing here pretending neither one of them was/is a monster?)

For seeing that Caleb is not alone. I know he doesn't deserve it sometimes but it's gracious of you to include him in your lives. I know it can't be easy.

(UNDERSTATEMENT.)

I wouldn't shut him out of Henry's life or mine for that matter. He's family. 

That's as much as I can hope for. And I have two beautiful grandchildren. It's everything I could want. 

How do you do that? 

Do what, dear?

Manage to be so thankful for what you have instead of fixated on what you've lost?

Drowning in sorrow isn't going to bring Cole back. Or Jacob, for that matter. You can't fix what's behind you. You can only see what's in front of you. And right now in front of me I see a beautiful girl struggling to please everybody but forgetting the most important person of all. 

Who?

You, Bridget.

Bridget and the midnight vulgaritics.

(Title stolen from one of Henry's favorite books as a toddler. Matthew and the Midnight Tow Truck. He refused to donate it to the school's book sale this week. I can't say I blame him, it's a rollicking read.)

Ben was game to sing last night.

He sang the song to me while he removed my clothing, one button at a time. Sliding satin over skin, smoothing words over hurt feelings, burying our argument in a melody torn from his throat in time with his heartbeat.

He lifted me up by my elbows, pulling me against him, keeping me there. When he ran out of words he used kisses instead. Ben's kisses are like clouds. Stormy and fierce one minute, soft and breathtaking the next. His affection is like the weather. You're either freezing, never to be warm again or you're so warm you wish you would just melt down into the grass and dissolve, hating yourself for wishing it was cold again.

Ben, I- Oh, there goes the hand again. Fine, cover my mouth, I can wait.

Oh, except I'll forget what I wanted to fight about because.

This.

Feels.

So.

Good.

Oh my GOD. The only way it would be better would be if there was cake.

***

Hours later he tries to turn me over for more. My elbows, knees and eyelids weigh a thousand pounds now, but I'm up for whatever he can throw at me.

Instead he changes his mind, collapsing against me. Too tired. Have to sleep.

You can sleep when you're dead, Jake. 

He lifts his head up and looks at me. I can't even check the alarm on my face. I've never done that before. Called someone by the wrong name by accident anyway. I've done it on purpose many times.

Is that why you're with me? Because I'm as big as he was? A physical replacement?

Actually you're bigger. I can't help it. It's four in the morning and my emotions have been right inside the top edge of my skin for hours. I start laughing. Ben is a license to breathe and remember that life is supposed to be fun. So why we struggle so hard most of the time I don't understand at all.

He takes a minute to process all that information and then opts for grace.

I knew that, he grins and winks at me in the dark.

I don't want to know how. 

Easy. You didn't whistle when you walked until after I fucked you.

Classy, Tucker. 

I know. You're lucky on all counts, aren't you?

Nova's glow.

The sea, well, she was very pleased that I sang Castle of Glass to her, headphones on. I can't hear myself sing as it is but I think I did okay. When I turned around three of the boys were standing there and they clapped.

I don't know why they didn't harmonize with my most recent relentless brain-train track.

Fuck.

Trust fun.

Do you feel the chill,
Clawing at the back of your neck?
I start to spill.
Did you really think that you could fix me?
They'll sell your bones for another roll.
We'll sharpen your teeth.
Tell yourself that it's just business.

Sometime in the night, Ben finally appears. At some point he must have decided absence was easier than comfort and he lied and said he had a deadline. Schuyler hung up on him, I was told. He waited until another midnight hour had passed and then he sat down on the side of the bed and ran his fingers across my forehead. He leaned down and kissed my cheek and said he was sorry. That he should have kept a closer eye. That he gets caught up in his work. He slides his hand over my mouth so I can't respond. Like everyone in this house, Ben would prefer to live in the daydream of his choosing, and any deviation from that will burst his bubble. So I say nothing and eventually his hand leaves my mouth and I drift back into a dreamless, empty crash of a sleep. He's not there when I wake up.

***

I'm still foggy today, exhausted and dehydrated. PJ has already driven the children to school in the pouring rain. I don't think I remember how to drive anyway.

Lochlan is still yelling. He shoved a bowl of Lucky Charms and milk under my chin this morning and asked me how I felt. When I started to answer he just blurts out,

He could have killed you. Mixing drugs and alcohol! Jesus CHRIST! What if you had overdosed! What if you died!

I pushed the bowl of cereal back. These aren't questions. He's yelling at the wrong person.

If he wants to kill me, he won't do it with drugs. I stare at Loch until he clues in slowly around the perimeters of his outrage. It takes the flames out of his fire. Fear shuts him down instead of waking him up.

I asked the Devil to kill me once before.

He came pretty close.

***

The men come with the new patio doors. They are custom-made, a rush order. I'm not willing to board up the wall waiting for something to be ordered from some other place. One of them sees a framed item on the wall and reads the plaque underneath it. He asks if Ben is home, could he get a picture maybe? I tell him I don't know. He proceeds to walk around the room pointing out what a fan he is, stopping at the desk where my writings are. I ask him not to touch anything, please. He reddens and returns to working on getting the doors installed. As I leave the room he apologizes, but for what I don't know. Curiosity doesn't require an apology from a stranger but I accept it anyway.

***

I watch the rain from the dock. Caleb holds an umbrella over me. He is still surprised at the uproar his actions made in resolving my abrupt freakout.

I turn to him. You can't understand why they're angry. 

No, frankly. I can't. 

Then next time skip the Ativan or whatever it was and just ask PJ or whoever's home to see that I am just...restrained appropriately.

I feel more comfortable watching over you myself. He smiles softly. And it wasn't Ativan.

That's why they're angry, Diabhal. 

Because I can manage your needs? Because I love you?

Yes.

Benzo baby (now with...goats and kangaroos).

Sorry for not coming back with further entertainment. I don't think yesterday turned out to be a banner day of class, dignity or grace for Caleb or myself.

He has zero patience for games that involve locked doors (did I tell you that one? No, of course I didn't) and when I heard the glass breaking I freaked because the glass is supposed to be bulletproof. Breakproof. At least I think it is. I'm drunk. I don't remember. It should be safe, however.

Safe is an unreasonable expectation, a pipe-dream, a fairy tale.

I got tackled heading up the steps and went down hard on my chin on the top one, bit my tongue, tasted blood, dropped the bottle of rum and managed to elbow him in the face all in one motion. He wrestles me onto my back and proceeds to pin me there. There's blood dripping off his lower lip onto my chest and I don't want to be held down, thanks.

So I knee him where it hurts and he roars with a rage I haven't heard before. He straddles my waist, twists his entire body to one side and pulls his hand up and then he stops and sits there on me, staring. Out of breath. In pain. Dripping blood. I stare back wide-eyed, frozen, mute.

He shakes his head slowly. I was about to backhand you. Bridget. I'm sorry. Oh my God. You're so brave.

I shake my head in refusal. This isn't brave. This is terrible.

Did Ben take your ghosts away and then he went too? And you need someone. You do, you need someone to keep you safe.

I nod with great hitching breaths and he finally gets off me, pulling me up to a sitting position. He presses me against his chest like a doll.

You're safe. I won't leave you alone.

I shake my head, pulling back. I stick my index finger against his shirt. Not safe. I slur. SO fucken kangaroos. Dangeroos. Tell Ben. Tell Ben I want my goats back. Ghosts. Those goats. I want Jake and Coals.

When's the last time you slept, Princess?

I raise my hands, palms up. I don't have the question. I told him point-blank.

You don't have an answer, you mean.

I nod and burst into fresh tears. I don't ever have those! Can you buy me some?

He nods. Sleep. That's what you need. I'm going to suggest we get you some clean clothes and then you can come across to my house and sleep in peace. Okay?

I nod and wait as he opens drawers and closet doors and finds me an outfit. He is out of his league. He can have a Valentino custom fitted for me from memory but he's not sure the baby pink leggings and the Hello Kitty t-shirt are mine. Or even if they qualify as an outfit. Good enough. He tucks the clothes under his arm and pulls me to my feet, putting his arm around me protectively. We head outside and across to the boathouse and he asks if I can change without help.

I tell him no, because I read so much more into his question than he asked, in spite of being one hundred pounds of booze-soaked disaster.

He pulls the bloody t-shirt over my head and bends his face in to inspect my fat lip. He puts his thumb against it, pulling it down slightly and I wince.

So he kisses it. He gingerly stretches the new t-shirt over my head and then he turns the bed down so I can get in. Once I'm settled and almost asleep he comes back with a pill and a glass of water. I don't even ask him what it is, I just take it.

Out like a light.

I wake up at eleven this morning to shouting. I lie there with a pounding head and a numb lower lip and I can't focus on anything. Sound, lights, pain. It's all just gauze obscuring my mind. I try to get up but I can't even make neurons fire. It seems they are out of ammunition. So I just lie there, much like the character in the horror movie who is paralyzed but can see, hear and feel everything that's going on, they just can't move.

Lochlan bursts through the door. He's still in his version of a suit, which is his brown blazer and jeans. I smell jet fuel and bad airport coffee and complete and utter fear. I piece together that he came home, saw glass and blood everywhere and lost his mind.

I would too but I think sometime in the night I got my much-wished-for lobotomy. I can't care enough. I can't figure out how to talk. He comes in and kneels beside the bed.

Where's Ben?

I shake my head. Where in the hell are my words?

Did Caleb do this to you? Let me see you. He rips back the sheets and lifts up my shirt, front and back, he runs his hands down my limbs. He checks my head and then he resumes breathing finally and I shake my head. I feel a word or two.

I fell.

Bullshit, Bridget. He stares at my eyes and asks what the hell I'm on. Then without waiting for an answer he is up on his feet again, shrugging out of his jacket, heading back to the kitchen. I sit up but the fog hurts. Everything hurts. The gauze over my brain cinches ever tighter until I see stars. I hear more shouting only it's mostly Caleb. I drag myself to my feet, holding onto the walls as I make my way out of the bedroom.

Caleb sees me and crosses the room, his arms out. Bridget, you need-

She needs ME. Lochlan pulls him back and hauls off to throw a punch but then Caleb brings him down with words.

Right. She needed you and where were you?

Ben is home. She was supposed to be with HIM.

Then maybe it's time you talked to him about his disappearing act, because it's eating her alive.