On throwing caution to the wind, and watching as it comes back and hits you right between the eyes.

When I opened my eyes he was sitting on the edge of the bed smiling at me. He needs a shave but we don't have a razor. I need coffee but he won't give me any, saying it will stunt my growth.

I'm still a little bit bitter about that (MULTIPLE. PUNS.) since apparently I was actually done growing and could have had coffee all along and instead developed some sort of sick attraction to orange juice.

Time to get up, Bridgie. Tear-down this morning. I want you to stay close by, okay?

Can I have breakfast first?

It's here. I went and got some things while you were still asleep. 

These are my favorite mornings, ones where I'm not required to wake up, get dressed, wash my face and hands, brush my teeth and then try and hold on to Lochlan from the back of the motorcycle when I'm still half-asleep and then read a kids menu for things like "Little Slugger Sausages" or "Princess pancakes" because every truck stop diner from here to the end of the earth has a kids menu only I didn't think I was going to be a kid out here. Out here I thought things would change.

I got you hashbrowns and a toasted ham sandwich with juice. 

A sandwich?

I didn't think scrambled eggs would keep us full today. 

I know. 

He kisses the top of my head and tells me to come out and eat before it gets cold.

I follow him, wearing his t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. He says I should stay in that outfit and winks at me but he's being disgusting and he's also kidding, since we have clothes we keep aside just for the hard labor days to wear today. They are covered with grease and torn sometimes too. I don't know why mine are. He hardly lets me do anything.

Here, hold these bolts, nut. 

Harhar. Hey, can I try the wrench? 

Sure. He sits back with a wry smile and takes off the gloves, passing them to me. I put them on and put all my strength into turning the wrench. It's half my size. Then I realize I can swing off it, feet off the ground. It's not going to budge.

Tomorrow you get two breakfasts. There's no way you should be so light. 

I'll grow. 

Yeah. He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. You will. Soon, I bet. He nodded and told me to hurry up. We have twenty minutes to get this one down, so can I hold this part right here so it doesn't fall while he takes it off?

Sure, even though I know now that I'm not holding it, that it won't fall because he braced it already, because I couldn't hold it if I wanted to.

I followed him around for three hours in the sun, drinking water as instructed, listening to him sing, watching him watch every move I make, torn between whether to let me learn things on my own versus saving me from getting my fingers pinched/crushed/burned.

And so little has changed now.

Watch the coffee, Peanut. It's hot. Hey, Padraig, can you put this in a travel mug?

It's fine, Locket. I'm okay like this. 

He looked so doubtful. PJ froze in between us, not sure who to listen to.

Lochlan, it's okay. I promise. 

I just wish I had been there to catch you. 

So do I but it was just a stupid accident. 

I worried something would happen when we were out on the road too, you know. All the time. 

On the show or the Midway?

Both. 

Once it did, did you stop worrying? 

Never. 

Well you can now. I'm housebound. 

Good. 

Not so much unless you have a cure for wanderlust. 

I do but it always seems to involve danger.

That's just the way I like it. 

Yeah and that's just what I want to avoid. 

PJ breaks into our reminiscing with his clarification. So...am I supposed to be putting this in a sippy cup for Bridget or is she old enough for a real cup now?

Lochlan punched him square in the chest as he passed him. PJ went to the cupboard. Sippy cup then. Got it.

And I watch you now/The color of the stars.

There was a silence in the stars. A navy satin and silvery solstice, chosen with purpose. This longest night. Ginger ale, potpies, squash, rarebit and Christmas pudding in lieu of wedding cake. Atlas. Codex. Cold soft rain amplifying promises spoken across the water reflecting the twinkling lights in the icy stillness.

Envelopes pressed against chests. Hands taken and clutched tightly as people I met an hour ago, sometimes a year ago were led down the heavily salted steps to the heated dock. Acceptance and welcoming of this new touching, amazing unit into our collective formally, permanently. Shivers of awe and frost competing for leverage against a fierce longing for that simple kind of love that turns the focus to one soul instead of three present and two departed. Undivided. Pure.

Dancing all night in the rain. The way we celebrate, an uncanny depth of gestures made, and emotions alike. Time heralds a richer experience of life for those of us holding our hearts out, exposed, at risk, so easily damaged or stolen, so handily appreciated for their rich composition and creative patina.

A return to the warmth and light of the house at daybreak, when the snow began again. A sendoff in the drive for guests who will gratefully sleep on the plane provided to facilitate the attendance of Matt's extended family at such a busy time of year. 

Sam's speech made privately this morning to the collective just within our home, thanking us for being welcoming, for caring for and fostering his love and for quieting his uncertainties and showing him that love can take many forms, and sometimes isn't easy or perfect even as it remains profound, and for being willing to accept his love of God in much the same way, as much a part of him as we are now, as Matt is now. I don't think a dry eye will remain in this house for some time to come, as we witnessed nothing short of a miracle here and are forever changed for the better.

You seem much closer.

Last night Henry's final elementary school Christmas concert took place. That's that. No more. This coming fall he'll start high school, which is good, I think he's outgrown the tiny school with all the tiny children, probably due to the testosterone levels in this house.

His father, with whom I still seem to be fully drift compatible, leaned over and said in my ear during the show, He's a good six inches taller than any of the other boys. And then he sat back, proudly. Because physical intimidation is good for business. Powerful men are more effective when they are tall and striking. Because Henry didn't turn out short like his mother. Whatever it is that Caleb repeats to himself in the mirror as he puts on his cologne (hopefully called Party of One) and goes to sleep at night dreaming only of himself.

Sorry, I'm a little annoyed. Gage was talking about spirit guides at dinner last night with August and Caleb asked what mine would be.

Lochlan told him if he'd paid attention he would know I have a spirit ride and it's a Ferris wheel.

Caleb, clever enough to catch the play on words, returned some of his own, saying he doesn't have time to pay attention because he's busy paying for everything else.

Ooooo. Cue the intraneural burn.

I just nodded and kept demolishing my pizza, because this parenting of tweens and teenagers business is harder than I imagined and I'm famished.

And hey! There's a wedding tomorrow! I'll probably post because I talk a lot when I get nervous and hardly at all the rest of the time. Sam's fretting turned out to be completely contagious, probably because I'm drift compatible with him too.

NEWF.

Life is precocious in a most peculiar way
Sister psychosis don't got a lot to say
She go let it out, she go let it in, she go let it out
She go let it out, she go let it in, she go let it out

Is it any wonder why princes & kings
Are clowns that caper in their sawdust rings
And ordinary people that are like you and me
We're the keepers of their destiny

August is here.

In far better condition than when he stopped in post-Burn for a quick visit. I spy a full beard and a suitcase full of flannel and that accent that resurrects my heart just long enough to stop it, over and over and over again. And hugs that never end.

Pinch me agai..no, wait. Don't! I want to stay like this.

(Corey's here too, just to ruin the ambience this morning. Bah.)

And so far with two days to go the wedding is still on, Sam grows paler by the minute and now Matt is so nervous I feel like it's contagious because I get stressed out just walking into their wing. The wedding itself is a super-secret affair. No details until after as promised to Samwise but it's going to be magical.

Speaking of magical, Lochlan painted my cast with pink glitter on a whim, and also because glitter, I love it. Which is now all over EVERYTHING. Including my teeth and both cats and the Devil too. I leave a trail of sparkles wherever I go and it's

Oh, I get it now.

FINALLY!

Do you know how long I've been waiting for this movie?

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.