P.S.

HA. I should proofread. Instead of saying "that's why we're still going strong" at the end of the last post maybe I should have said "that's why we're still hanging on."

We've got a lot of work to do to get back to a good place, I'm not minimizing that just because Ben is home finally. Not in any way, shape or form.

In other news, the boys have all ganged up on me and are teasing me relentlessly, saying that my first gift comes tomorrow.

I hate surprises, plus I asked them to take whatever they would have spent on a gift for me and donate it to a charity on a list I gave them.

They better listen.

Kiss and burn.

(Pinch me, I tend to dream instead of breathe.)

I'm not sure I realize how hard I go until the cool air hits me in the morning as I get up and realize I am razorburned all over. It's a good look going with the cast. This is what Ghost Rider would look like injured. On fire. I figured I would be useless. I was not.

I fell asleep locked between them, Ben's arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me against his chest, his chin resting against the top of my head, and Lochlan's arms wrapped around my neck, nose to nose, my cast between us, gently squished against his chest.

So I didn't really want to get up this morning.

I don't think anyone did though. It's like Ben never left. It's like being home flipped the switch back and he's engaged and dedicated and present suddenly. He got up and had a quick shower and headed to a meeting first thing, saying to save some time for a second cup of coffee with him when he comes home, that he is so sorry he acted like an absent dickhead for weeks on end but it hurt too much to do anything different.

Hearing that helped so much, you have no idea.

And the interim between when he went out and when he returned, I fielded concerned curiosity from the others, including Batman but not New Jake. New Jake took him to the meeting and will be hoverish as required. We both have babysitters. Nothing changes.

Answers to inquiries ranged from sweetly honest to pornographic and uncomfortable depending on who I wanted to rile up today. So, Caleb, of course, as always and Batman, who seems thrilled to have his new house to himself (because New Jake hardly makes a imprint or a peep) and thrilled that we're going to keep at this and not give up on each other, me and Ben because we've come close.

And Lochlan, who I was worried about more than anyone, frankly, is taking things in stride. For all of his pragmatic life views he's still one freaky guy. He said it's right. It works. He can't explain it. And then when pressed he pointed out that he knows how I feel about him and that's all that matters and I seem to have so much love and so much need going on all the time all at once and so this is how things work best.

See it's slightly different for us dynamically-speaking in that Lochlan represents the desperate, overheated teenage rush of love and Ben is the laid-back, adult, second (third/fourth/WHATEVER) time-around patient, appreciative love. It should be the other way around but it isn't and maybe that's why we're still going strong.

Today? My t-shirt reads Polyfabulous. It was a gift.

Back to abnormal (a surprise round table).

Fine, yes, I started it. Ben came down the hill for breakfast and almost instantly I was tired of his bullshit. He doesn't seem to care about anything outwardly so he made what had to be the ninth noncommittal diplomatically correct response in about fifteen minutes and I stood up and threw a hard-boiled egg at his head.

Overhand. Leftie, to boot.

And I was taught to throw with both arms so I nailed him right between the eyes.

No one had time to react when he stood up and nailed me right back with a piece of toast with jam, thrown tactically like a ninja star. It hit me in the chin and then stuck fast to the front of my Raised by Wolves shirt.

I love this shirt. I unstuck the toast and threw it back but missed and he laughed and said I suck at this game and I told him I throw words better than food and he told me to go for it, leaning in, a fierce expression on his face that I haven't seen in forever but it means he's alive in there somewhere.

Come home and I'll let you have it. 

Have what?

My epic lecture on what a absolutely horrible dickhead you've been to me for the past six months. 

So I should consider this a formal notice of the demise of Ben and Bridget?

Is that what you want?

Fuck no. 

Good because that's not what this is.

I thought you and the human torch there were all cozy now and doing great. 

We are and you love that. 

Only if I'm involved, Bee.

Then come back, you fucking loser because it's getting cold on your side of the bed and because there can't be just two musketeers. It just sounds weird.

That's up to the owner of this house. 

I'll deal with him. 

The hell you will. Lochlan sits up. We'll all go together.

So we head over and Caleb opens the door. He looks tired too. He greets the boys and then asks me how the pain is (delicious), if I need anything (have it right here) and if I was pleased that Ben came over for a meal (I was, I am). Then he started some more coffee and asked if this was a formal visit.

I want Ben to come back, to live at the house again, I told him and I watched Lochlan bite his lip from my peripheral vision.

I was thinking it was time for that. I think he's learned his lesson and what won't be tolerated when it comes to you. 

Which isn't for you to decide. You don't get to dictate behavior.

I do get to dictate who lives in my house with my minor child present if they prove to be untrustworthy. 

Ben looks at the floor but I continue to hold Caleb's gaze.

I trust him. 

Except when you argue, you mean.

We have a lot of things to work on but we can't work on them apart. 

Ben, are you prepared to try a lot harder? You've made Bridget very unhappy. 

Ben is still looking at the floor. Both. I want to make both of them happy. 

Caleb rolls his eyes but lets the remark go without commenting as he stares at my hopeful face.

Please, Diabhal. I want to be happy for Christmas.

(Because. LAY. IT. ON. THICK. GIRL.)

I have a weakness for giving you everything you've ever wanted and you know that, Neamhchiontach. So if you want Benjamin home then so be it. But Ben, if you step out of line even in the slightest, not even Batman will be able to save you from me. 

I'll be there. Lochlan speaks up.

We all know your track record for keeping Bridget safe. Why do you think we live here like this? So we can check each other because we've all failed miserably at the one thing we're sworn to do. 

And then he continued with his speech but I was too busy grinning at everything. At Ben. And then back at Loch but he was busy being irate at Caleb for dredging up things we can't ever seem to forget. I watched them watch each other for a while but then I remembered my manners and thanked Caleb for giving up on the childish ban and he said it had less to do with Ben and more with taking things away from Lochlan, like the hundred percent share he's enjoyed now for weeks, and that he hopes it hurts like fuck.

I had to correct him. Ben coming back doesn't take anything away from Loch any more than having a second child takes love away from the first. They all looked so surprised, I'm thinking they finally understand me.

All I need now is a meat dress.

I would swear if he had been home when it happened that Daniel pushed me off the steps just so he could take over as my personal stylist. He is so much prettier than I am anyway and he's always said I would look like a supermodel (albeit, in miniature) if only I made an effort.

So I gave him the freedom to take care of making me presentable because not only am I a huge narcoleptic, too tired to bother (sorry, missed a little part of the Desolation of Smaug last night because warm chair/dark room/chocolate/zzzz) but I'm a card-carrying beauty ignorant too.

He said I could use some contouring so that I would look like I have epic cheekbones.

Seriously? We're faking cheekbones now? Can you do me some abs too like in 300?

Then he asked if I had any primer.

Yes! But it's not tinted. Is that okay? It's in the basement. 

Why is it in the basement?

Because it's paint? What does that have to do with my getting ready?

Bridget, you're HOPELESS. 

Oh, I knew that. Now what are we painting?

I don't suppose you have eye brightener. 

HELL YES I HAVE THAT SHIT. It makes me look 30 instead of 115. 

You don't look 115. 

Apparently I do or you wouldn't want to fake my cheeks and start fresh with spackle. 

Primer. 

Same difference. This is bullshit. If I look like a different person when you're finished, that's bad. 

No that's good. It's you at your best. 

Fakest. 

Best, Bridget. 

Argh. 

He straightened my hair (squealing about how long it is now), and rubbed some lipstain over my lips (new thing! Doesn't bleed! I'm afraid my lips are being absorbed into my face with most lipstick now unless it's very dry. What the fuck.) and opted to dye my eyelashes with silver nitrate so that I don't have to try and finangle mascara with the left hand and then proclaimed me good to go.

You forgot my abs, Danny. 

You're wearing a shirt. Take it off and we'll talk. 

See you're the only one who can say that without it seeming pervy. 

If you have a six-pack that might change. Can I draw some chest hair on you too?

You might not have to, I probably already have some. I told you I'm not ageing well, I'm just falling apart like an old monument, piece by piece. I'll probably have historical designation by the end of the year.

Ok, first of all, you're far too young for that. Secondly, I would have declined an invitation if I had known this was a pity party. What can we do to cheer you up? 

Make some bacon? Or cake for breakfast?

Ew. Bridget, you eat so poorly. I'm surprised your skin is this nice. 

Cake is good for the complexion. 

You sure you didn't hit your head?

No. That would have been a blessing. Lobotomy from the outside. 

I love you the way you are. Don't ask to take parts of yourself away. It won't make it easier, just harder. Okay, stop crying. The gel is going to run and it will never come off. 

Quick, tell me a joke. 

What do you call a gay Jamaican guy?

What?

Pokemon.

Seriously, Daniel. You're my favorite. 

Yeah for NOW. Give it an hour and you'll say the same thing to someone else. I bet they can't give you fake cheekbones. 

Or abs. 

Right. Or abs. But they don't have abs either. 

It's the cake. 

Why do we all eat so much cake anyway?

I told you! It's good for the skin! 

Brushed my own teeth but I have to figure out how to cut down on the words.

Caleb came over last evening to check up on me and go over Henry's marks. PJ glared at him from the bright lights of the kitchen and then when Duncan sat down right beside me and threw his arm over the back of the couch Caleb tried to dismiss him, citing private business. Poet laughed and took out his phone to look at but he didn't budge an inch.

Lochlan was kept busy with the children because he would have started something. Caleb's very aware of this even though it still isn't his fault. He's shouldering it nicely. He sent flowers. He's arranged for dinners to be delivered for the next several weeks and reminded me that Mike the driver is at my beck and call whether it be a trip to the dog park or a day of shopping.

And he had the whole property salted which kind of upset me because DOG and hurty-stingy paws and all that. Now we have to carry the dog when we head out front and I'm going to have to wipe down my pretty boots so they don't get ruined.

The ironic part is it's six degrees and raining again so all the ice is gone anyway. If I had waited a day to go over I wouldn't be spending Christmas in a cast. If I had chosen to walk away instead of always needing to make my case I would be fine. If I would just listen.

But that part is so hard.

Now. Who is sending cake? Because cake always makes everything better. Today I would like to eat cake and watch everyone decorate the tree. Maybe we can have a fire in the fireplace. Maybe after we can watch ATM. It's this really amazingly bad-looking movie about a couple trapped in an ATM machine with a psycho outside. I want to know what happens so badly because I have no standards when it comes to horror movies and when you're recuperating you're supposed to catch up on all the guilty pleasures you ignore when you're busy.

Maybe Ben will come watch it with me. Maybe he'll come eat the Christmas lights and freak everyone out just for fun like he did before. I miss those days.

Drifting on a tidal wave.

Trying hard to speak and
Fighting with my weak hand
Driven to distraction
It's all part of the plan
When something is broken
and you try to fix it
Trying to repair it anyway you can

At a family meeting this morning everyone was reminded that this was an accident and nothing more. If it's anyone's fault it's mine for being distracted/angry/overtired/combatant/uncoordinated and somewhat complacent in assuming that since I can walk a tightrope with multiple distractions (crowd + fire) that I can easily navigate a set of icy steps without a safety line.

That was different. I was half the age I am now but do they recognize that? Of course not.

After the meeting I stuck the pencil back between my teeth and rocked just a little because wow, this really hurts. But what hurt more was trying to watch Lochlan step in and take charge in a way I've always wished he would instead of the way that he did.

His first task was to brush my teeth because I couldn't seem to do much of anything. In addition to breaking my right arm, my left hand was also badly scraped and is missing most of the skin that generally covers it. Air burns. Toothpaste really burns. Trying to make a fist is impossible and so he helped me up onto the counter and he bent over so his eyes were level with mine and then he started making excuses. What should have been a three-minute task became a watershed as he suddenly lost his nerve. So much for wishes.

I can't do this. I'm not worthy of it. I couldn't keep you safe. 

Hey. It's just some teeth. So I don't give you my baby dragon breath kisses. 

Why is it so easy for everyone else? I'm afraid to even be here. 

Lochlan? Hey, where'd you go? It's okay. Please help me with this and then we'll go down and bug TJ. 

Dalton can do this, I bet. I'll go get him. Stay here. 

Please, Locket. 

He stared at me. Bridgie, I'm not good at this. 

You will be, the more you do it. 

Maybe Ben should be here. 

If he wanted to be he would have made that choice. You're here. Own it. YOLO the fuck up. 

You didn't say YOLO to me again, did you?

I did. Brush my teeth please. It's not something anyone else should do. Let's just cover one thing at a time. In a day or two I should be back to one hundred percent. 

You've almost got me convinced except I don't think it will be a day or two. 

Okay, a week or two. 

A month or two. 

In a minute I'm going to ask Dalton to do it because you're not making me feel any better.

I'm sorry, Peanut. It's hard to see you like this. 

I'm just glad I didn't land on my face. At least I can still charm you all with my looks. 

Oh, you're not roping us in with your charm. It's pity, you little freak. 

Nice. Shut up and brush or I'll melt your curls with my breath.

I'm teasing, Bridge! It's charm all the way. If you don't know that by now, then there's no hope for you. 

That's what I suspect. Last time I checked I could balance on a wire but a staircase is just too hard? 

Hey. Shit happens. 

Yeah, it does, doesn't it, Locket? What a telling commiseration. I stare at him.

He just frowned at me mildly and told me to stop talking so he could do a good job.

Well. This was a day.

Oh my fuck. He put on Journey this morning and I realized that's how he works the...the...time machine.

IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW. 

I spent the next few hours in the delirious fever of Lochlan's arms, hanging by a breath somewhere secret between the past and the future and it left a smile that can't be chipped off the same way my brand-new green glitter nail polish is. 

He left with a huge grin, off to a meeting with Batman. He said I've almost got you back. Almost. I didn't confirm or deny. I just left it there. Something good in a world that sometimes seems so black and hopeless and painful. Neither one of us want to say anything to break the spell but the spellbreaker is there, all six feet-four-inches of him, on both our minds morning, noon and night. 

And they are waiting for me to break the spell instead and I suddenly can't find my courage because I'm buried in blankets, music and wrapping paper so I leave it for the moment. I can stall forever. No one else needs to be hurt but this is a long-drawn out agony instead of a bandaid. We need to get on with things. We need to do it soon. 

***

Caleb isn't buying it. I smile my way over across the driveway all wiggly like jello, a secret set within, chilled to hollow translucent green perfection. He looks in my eyes and tells me I look like I've been fucked by someone with no finesse whatsoever. 

Crass bastard this morning, aren't you. Monitor keeping you awake?

No, loneliness is. 

And you think the way to fix that is to make me angry? Because if so then he's not the one without finesse. And I'll have you know, he's a goddamned dream. He's perfect and you're jealous because you enabled the inevitable and now you're kicking yourself because it could have all been so different.

Bridget, he's a phase you go through on a regular basis. 

He's not but maybe you are, 

Good, you know, I was really hoping we could get into it while I still have this thing on so you can see the distress this causes me. 

Maybe I should leave. 

And go back over to the perpetual teenage boy? No, stay here. Let me make you some breakfast. You need to eat. You get smaller every day. 

That's because Henry's getting bigger. The frame of reference is reversed now. (Henry, whose feet grew four sizes in three months.). I'm the same. 

The same as when you were twelve. 

I have to go. He doesn't want me here. 

Tell him he can't interfere with our coparenting arrangement or I'll have to tell him myself. 

That's the only reason I'm here. 

Caleb holds out a cheque for the new winter boots I bought Henry yesterday and I mouth thank you as I take it and head back outside. Caleb sticks his head out the door and says I need you to come back later so we can hear the results of Henry's school program okay?

Fuck my life. 

Pardon me?

Fine, I said fine. 

No you did not, Bridget and if Pyro makes you this flippant he's going to have to answer to me. 

I turn around at the threat. He is standing at the top, I'm at the bottom of the steps. 

No, he does not. You leave him alone. 

Oh, but I can't. 

I march back up the steps and get right up in his face. You know what? YOU LEAVE LOCHLAN ALONE. HE'S NEVER DONE A THING TO YOU. FUCKING LEAVE HIM ALONE! 

I turn to walk away and I fall, because everything is covered with ice here and I forget. I always forget.

***

The cast will be on for up to six weeks. The orthopedist asked me if I had any other questions after he was finished and I blurted out Can I still write? I mean, can I type? 

If you feel up to it, he said. In a few days, possibly a week. Here is a prescription for the pain. I didn't get it filled. I'll deal with it. I'll just bite down on something. I would rather feel everything now than not feel anything at all.

I know. That makes me different from just about everyone on earth.

Good.

'All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.' ~James Thurber

Hear the sirens
Hear the circus so profound
I hear the sirens
More and more in this here town

Let me catch my breath to breathe
And reach across the bed
Just to know we're safe
I am a grateful man

The slightest bit of light
And I can see you clear
Oh, have to take your hand
And feel your breath for fear this someday will be over

I pull you close, so much to lose knowing that nothing lasts forever
I didn't care before you were here.
I danced with laughter with the everafter
But all things change
Let this remain

I got stuck here in the dark between preparations for the wedding, for Christmas, post-Halloween, Ben's birthday and getting back to one hundred percent from having pneumonia and then I went off the deep end. Caleb spent two weeks wearing a Holter monitor and Batman went out of his way to redesign Lochlan's job so that he is mostly a systems 'consultant' (a made-up job) and is on call instead of running around all week.

Batman seems to want to prove he hasn't chosen sides, although if anything now you'd put him squarely on red. He says he did some things to help out Ben so he needed to do some things to help Loch, though I'm pretty sure this has more to do with me and making sure I am not left to my own devices during the day, where I can get in more trouble in an hour than some people can pull off in their entire lifetimes.

On the other hand, those still on Ben's side see Lochlan home virtually all the time now and no chance in hell of things ever returning to the way they once were.

Wedding plans aren't falling into place. Ben isn't falling back into place. Christmas chatters and clanks along, planning to arrive on the 25th whether we are ready or not. I keep getting pushed back by snow and rain and jealousy and rage. Nothing is falling into place at all, nothing will ever be the same, nothing should ever have changed or gone this far or been this hard.

That's why I'm still persisting with escaping into music every chance I get. This week it's Sirens. There's a line in it that says I didn't care before you were here. Someone said something like that to me a long time ago. He is still alive. I should have listened harder. I should have disobeyed orders. I should have stayed with him even when he told me to go. Scar tissue is hard to heal, and the only way I know of to make a scar look better is to make a new one right over it. Not an easy task, that.

Frisson (hiding in plain sight).

Go your way,
I'll take the long way 'round,
I'll find my own way down,
As I should.

And hold your gaze
There's coke in the Midas touch
A joke in the way that we rust,
And breathe again.

And you'll find loss
And you'll fear what you found
When weather comes
Tearing down

The song swells into my ears as I burn alive, turning to ash when the cool night air hits my skin. But I don't go inside because the cold makes my head hurt less. Inside with the heat and the lights and the noise it throbbed like a strobe and out here it is quiet and dark and icy. I think I'll sleep out here but they will say no because I will die. I think I will move out here where the sounds are swallowed by the wind and the black night hides the truth of things like age, loyalty and death, things like history and longing and betrayal. I think I'll exist out here in a world on the other side of the glass where I can look in and see them but they can't see me and I think I'll go inside now because my fingers and toes and my heart and my mind are numbed now and feeling so much better this way.

Urchin, ingrate, high.

So wash your face away with dirt
It don't feel good until it hurts
So take this world and shake it
Come squeeze and suck the day
Come carpe diem, baby

Christian watches over me today. Lochlan would prefer me to stay in, the snow is plentiful this morning and the roads? Total shit. Also Stay here, in the main house he said like it's an afterthought, even though it isn't. But it's okay. I have enough to keep me busy, wrapping the gifts that didn't have to be mailed (those have already arrived at their destinations, thank you Canada Post!) but are for those off-point and steam-cleaning the rug in the living room, since while we did the grand tour of DeBeers/Louis Vuitton/Gucci/Cartier/Coach and Tiffany on the weekend, my little dog was home pooping in front of the fireplace, dammit.

I bet if I stuck him in a swanky Vuitton dog carrier he wouldn't do that.

But I won't because I'm not all that high maintenance. I went in Hermes, looked at their wallets, saw the price tags and blanched. Twelve hundred dollars? Is this unicorn leather?

Probably. Harvested under a full moon during the spring dance of the sugarplum babies.

Or maybe that's just sugarbaby, singular and without plums.

Which is another thing I'm not good at. Choosing hand-harvested unicorn leather goods or diamonds for that matter. Some of those stores I only ever go in to people-watch. Sometimes that isn't pretty either, I'll tell you. I met a woman at the counter wearing leather tights and no pants. No, that's actually what she had on.

I got in a lot of trouble in Tiffany once before though. Caleb wanted to buy me something (quite inappropriately) and so I agreed and he made an appointment and off we went. I had researched prices beforehand and so they kept showing me things I didn't like, as I steered them toward the motherload. Finally they brought out a ring and a security guard, for the ring was a six-figure headlight, probably a unicorn eyeball (a unicornea!) and I tried it on and Caleb was all ready to plunk down his Visa Infinite and I looked at him and told him he didn't know me at all and walked the fuck out.

Can you just imagine a unicorn eyeball ring that is so priceless it's worth the cost of your average three-bedroom home in the lower mainland?

I will tell you that same year Lochlan bought me a sterling ring and an hour after he gave it to me I was feeding the deer up the road and when I flung the sugar cubes over the fence my brand new ring flew with them.

Over the fence right into a herd of deer.

Lochlan just looked at me like seriously? And then he found the ring for me, because he is magic and you should never doubt that. I wear it on my index finger now and it doesn't fall off.

(If it had been a unicornea ring the deer would have eaten it, FYI.)

And that's my story for today. Want to bet my new allergy meds are making me loopy? No? Okay, suit yourself.