On getting bent back into shape.

Sam is indulging himself in his favorite curiosity of all. My brain. I think he absorbed that from Jacob, who, by the end of his time was alternately horrified and fascinated by the things I would say, think and do. It's okay, I was too. Nothing changes much except Jacob isn't here ever again and it stuns me on a daily basis how permanent and life-changing death is for those who stay behind. It's easy enough to distract me from that and Sam is doing his best, asking questions when he should have taken warning already. Or maybe he should have taken cover. That's what I really mean.

Surprising, how?

That the world keeps going around. That I can be happy when I was given reason to cry forever and maybe disappear too. 

No one wants that. 

You don't know what the dead want. They don't spell it out so easily. 

He tells you. He warns you. 

I think that's my imagination wishing to relinquish control of my surroundings. I parrot back things I have been told and Sam frowns.

Maybe it isn't, maybe he wants to protect you and has regrets. 

There is no regret in heaven. At least, I certainly hope there isn't but he gets to know and we don't until it's time. What are your biggest regrets, Sam?

I'm not sure there are enough hours in the day for this sort of list today, Bridget. 

Sure there are. Have a go. 

Maybe I regret not pushing harder for things, taking chances. 

Every decision you make in life is a chance taken, Sam. 

To what end though? 

PJ comes out and does a quick turnaround. If it's existential breakfast, I'll eat inside where I'm not forced to confront my incorporeal self so fuckin' early, he says to me and winks. I wink back, my eyes burning. Lochlan didn't let me sleep but staying awake with him was harsh and beautiful and I feel like every nerve ending is singing this morning. I couldn't sleep now if I tried.

To a bullshit conclusion that never actually resolves, Sam. We just drop it and become distracted by something else while it floats in the background. Only those who die have the guts to confront it head-on. 

Confront what? Ben walks out onto the steps.

One's regrets, to the point where they would be able to resolve them before death so they don't have to carry so much baggage around in heaven. 

There are no regrets in heaven. There's no fear, no anxiety, no wistfulness, nothing. Just happy shit. Pretty girls. And really really good hot wings. 

I turn and glare at him, my hand over my eyes. He turns and goes back into the house too. I'm losing fans left and right with this but I want confirmation still. And I want Sam to open up because he hardly ever does and the day is ripe for confession. We don't do confession. I'd be there all damn week.

I regret marrying Lisbeth because she wasted so many years on me and I should have stopped playing games with her, pretending I could be a good husband to her when I couldn't. 

Does she know this?

Yes. 

Well, that's healthy. What else?

I regret trying to kiss you when you were in my office for help, not innuendo. 

Forgiven. 

Loch comes out. He has a bowl of cereal. What are we talking about?

Sam kissing me trying to see if he was gay, I lie. 

When was this?

Right after Jake. 

Jesus. You're all a bunch of vultures! 

Sam smiles so painfully at Lochlan. We didn't know how to comfort her. But we tried. We were there. I'm busted. Sam's smile turns to a frown. (No, no, don't get into it today. Lochlan can't deal with Big Awful Things. You wouldn't blame him if you knew. He mostly disappears now if something goes wrong. I wish I could change it but it's part and parcel of why we all stick together. It's mostly just in case. They could nail us both to the floor. They'll probably have to.)

Loch lets it slide. He's very open with his own flaws. And?

Nothing. Well, a longing for a longing, I guess but no. I love Bridget as a very good friend or family member. She's like the little sister I never had. 

Did you want a little sister because I have one and she's always been a royal pain in the arse! He takes up residence behind me on the lounger. I am done my food and starting to sunburn. I lean back against him and he complains. Augh! Let me eat my breakfast first! 

I'm going to go in and get ready for the day then. I am tired. I've decided I don't want to be a science or religious experiment today and Sam needs to be let off the hook for whatever comfort he tried to give me. Some things are better left in shade. The point is, he's happy now and that's all that matters. Maybe we're finding a new plateau here. Everything seems like it's getting better. Routines, family dynamics. Emotional outbursts. Suffering.

Maybe it's spring fever too. Or maybe I'm hallucinating all of it because I'm just so fucking happily tired.

One little slice of cheese (good days).

We are fire
Burning brightly
You and I

We light the sky
When we ignite
When we come alive
When we come alive

Last night I stirred my halibut around on the plate and listened halfheartedly while Batman and Caleb conducted the most gentle of arguments over my head during a late dinner in Caleb's kitchen because it's still too cold to eat outside. I would have continued to fill my own wineglass but I really wanted to leave the moment I got there. After dinner, Batman offered to drop me at the house on his way past and I took him up on it, asking for a raincheck on cleanup. Had I stayed I never would have left, for it's far too easy to pick sides when one is dark and the other darker still.

Caleb did clarify a lot of things for Batman, and for me too. CP does stand for contingency plan. In case his efforts fail and Lochlan doesn't abscond with his unrequited windfall as planned. I laughed when I heard that. Lochlan might run but he'll always always bring me with him. Nothing has changed since I was barely eleven years old in that regard, and nothing ever will.

And boy was Caleb unnerved when I left so willingly.

I was handed back to Ben who is surprised that I am sober. That made me mad. Batman says goodnight and we head down to the theater to watch something silly. We wound up hanging out with Daniel (who was equally lost, without his Sky), watching musicals. Ben fell asleep instantly, Daniel within thirty minutes. Surprise is now on me. I extricated myself from Ben's arms, turned off all components and went to bed. Fuck it. Ben can come up when he wakes up.

When I woke up this morning, I was pressed face first against Lochlan's chest. I laughed and he woke up. He smiled and said he took the evening flight out, that he didn't say anything because he didn't want me to wait up.

Ben was pressed against my back. I don't care if I wake him up. Loch laughs and puts his fingers up to ruffle Ben's hair and then to touch my face. Ben doesn't wake up, even though Loch's fingertips are rough and bitten. He's bitten his nails as long as I've known him in spite of all efforts to help him stop, including dipping his hands in kerosene, thinking he would burn his tongue on the taste. He didn't. It didn't even slow him down.

He smiles at me for so long I may or may not have zoned out and his own smile got sloppier and meltier and then finally he said Fuck it, we need some more sleep. 

I got up at quarter to eight to kiss the kids goodbye as they left for school (letting Ruth know her dad was home and sleeping and she would see him after school) and then I went back to bed, crawling up the center of the bed and then back down under the blankets. Loch is sleeping hard. Ben is not. Ben reaches out and smooths Lochlan's hair. The curls bounce back up and Ben whispers to me, Where did he come from? 

Heaven, Ben. Same place as you. 

Ben cracks up. Oh my God, what a little cheeseball you are. Someone got some sleep. 

Yeah, finally. 

Loch wakes up and grins his foolish face off, eyes closed. Nobody move. Freeze time right here. Right now. 

All three of us reach up with one hand and press an imaginary button in the air.  Done.

While the cat's away the mouse...windowshops at Louis Vuitton.

Lochlan had to travel with Schuyler (ironic but it's business. I could be travelling too, with Ben but that would be personal, god forbid.) and so I am being handed from one keeper to the next, it seems. Ben is busy. PJ is tired. It happens. The rest don't like children, I think. They're all suddenly burdened with things to do.

And so today is Batman's turn. He has no idea what to do with me but he's cleared his day so he suggests shopping.

Uh. Okay? I'm guessing he needs some things and wants a woman's opinion. I should have told him to bring Daniel because I don't have any taste, good or bad unless it's black or covered with words or skulls or even better, both.

We wander around downtown for a little while. He shows me things that are not masculine at all and I finally ask who he's shopping for. He laughs and tells me I have a birthday coming in a few weeks.

You don't..I mean..you're not supposed to...

If I want to buy a good friend a present, I should be allowed to. 

A good friend? I'm thinking...what in the hell does that even mean? It means we're still vaguely awkward. That's what it means.

This would have been easier before. 

When I was younger?

Yes. I still remember your ripped underwear when I took your dress off you. 

I turn around and walk back down the sidewalk because blushing. Because I was so young and clueless and didn't have nice things and probably had my shit together more than I do now. Take that, nice things. You're not helping matters. He catches up and steers me back around.

I just mean I wanted to buy you some things then but I knew that wouldn't go over well with Cole. 

So you opened the account instead. 

Yes. Do you still use it?

I've never touched it. 

He stops and turns pale. Bridget, that money was for you to get what you need. Or to get away from Cole. It wasn't meant to save. 

I'm figuring at this point everyone and their neighbor's dog had a bead on Cole and they all just either were afraid of him too or figured I would somehow magically get out on my own.

(Yeah. I did that. I did it. On my own. Okay, well, I stood behind Jake when I told Cole I was leaving but I still did it.)

If you want it back you can have it. 

Of course not. How much is there?

I tell him and he becomes angry. Did he keep you from using it?

He never knew about it. 

Why didn't you take what you needed?

I had money from Caleb. 

Ah yes. Had I known at the time-

Had you known what?

Had I known you were spending time with Caleb with such regularity I would have intervened. 

You know something? Maybe we should go home. I have a lot of chores to do and I know you're a very busy man. 

I'm not to busy to spend a day with you, Bridg-

Like I said. I have chores. 

Asher was supposed to fix all of that so you would never be too busy to spend the day with me. 

Life never works out how you plan for it to. 

No, no, it does not. 

What did you want out of life? What were your plans?

Twenty years ago I probably could have easily answered that, Bridget. Now I'm not so sure. But I think maybe it's time I had a little talk with Caleb and see what his plans are. 

Is there any point now?

Am I twenty years too late?

Thirty.

Loch sent this to my email this morning:

As sweet as Pixy Stix® taste, they are not produced from sucrose or regular sugar. Instead, Pixy Stix® are made from a cornstarch-based sweetener called dextrose. Dextrose can have a much stronger effect on the bloodstream than sucrose, so those who are especially affected by blood sugar spikes should exercise restraint when consuming Pixy Stix®

Pshaw. I could have told him that but he knew. He always tried to nail my fucking hem to the floor of the camper and I'd be out spinning through the trees in the darkness until three a.m., lit from within.

Really, come to think of it, nothing's changed. :)

Eat, stay, love (In which I get a rare turn at being the grownup).

I was happily drowning out the construction noise from the front yard with the television. PJ and I were watching Eat Pray Love. PJ leans forward pretending he's not tearing up but I can barely keep track of my eyeballs for they are rolling all over the place. Mostly I have confirmation that I'm unique and possibly a boy since I would be the target market for this movie and I hate it. Julia's got nothing to work with here. Julia's lipstick is smeared. Her character just needed to loosen the fuck up at home and stop being such a stuck-up bitch and then she would have known exactly who she was.

I was saved with a text message from Caleb. As usual between the hours of eight a.m. and eight p.m. he just says Need you and I can go without question. In the reverse hours I either have to sneak out (not so hard) or jump through flaming hoops.

(That's a literal thing I've done, jump through flaming hoops. It's not nearly as scary as you would think but if I were to ask to go across the driveway properly Lochlan would be sure to set up too many, or put them up too high or something to prevent me from getting through.)

So I walk over in the rain, taking my time, wondering if I'm supposed to be as wishy-washy, unfulfilled and easy to manipulate as the people in that movie.

And then I realized I just up and go right to the feet of the man who sends a two-word text three or four times a day so yes.

The boathouse is quiet. I walk around the island and into the living room and see Caleb sitting on the couch in front of the window. When the projection screen is up he has a wall to wall view of the Pacific. He's staring at the ocean and I stare at him, noting his quite serious stubble and the fact that he hasn't moved since I was here yesterday to initial a whole bunch of changes to a contract after another meeting, which he's had more of since he retired than he did when he worked. Same suit even, except his tie is off and balled up beside him on the couch and the top three buttons of his shirt are unfastened. The papers I signed are still sitting on the table in front of him.

Are you okay?

Some days are like this now. Some days I'm just...so tired. He rubs his face and doesn't look at me. He's looking at nothing. I go and sit beside him. I sat down to take a few minutes to regroup and it just hit me, you know? Aside from a few days where I have unlimited access to Henry I could literally sit here for days and no one would even notice.

When did you eat last?

He finally turns to look at me. I had a tomato and cucumber sandwich from a place outside the lawyer's before I came home. I ate in the car.

That won't do, Diabhal. Oh, I could have fixed him with the amount of food in that movie but we don't live in the movies so I got up and made him some cheese toast and a glass of milk. I made a piece of toast for myself too.

He joins me at the island. He is almost in tears. Great. It's the theme of today. Tears Tuesday.

Thank you, Neamhchiontach.

You would think you've been watching the movie that PJ and I had on this morning.  I tell him all about Julia. He's like a male Julia suddenly. Doubtful, unfulfilled. Questioning. Fed the fuck up. Just sad.

That sounds awful.

It was!

He laughs and tells me he feels a little better.

It's the cheese toast, Diabhal.

No, it's the company. You. You make the world turn, Bridget. I feel better, actually. Less desperate, at least.

I should write a book about my world-turning powers. They can make it into a movie and women everywhere will watch it on Netflix and roll their eyes too.

Some women will watch it and want to be you. 

Those are the cracked ones. Like bad eggs only the cracks are at the bottom so you don't realize they're broken until you pick them up out of the carton. Show a woman my movie and if she begins to immediately fit herself for a tiara, eats too much cake and moves all her friends into her house you'll know she's a total fucking wingnut. 

What about the ones who roll their eyes? 

You'll know they're okay. 

So you rolled your eyes at this movie. Does that mean you're okay?

I hope so. Can you imagine if I was running around trying to find 'myself', identify my power words and act like happiness was some tangible meal I could eat in order to be fulfilled? Because yeah fulfillment! It's right here in this cheese whiz. Caleb, I don't even think this is real cheese.

It's not. 

But you still buy it. 

Comfort food. He shrugs.

Exactly. Because we know who the fuck we are!

Damn straight!

Appy mare don't care.

This morning they broke ground on the stables.

I'm not fighting Caleb about it. He can do what he wants with his properties but you can bet your sweet ass I'm going to get some tenants for those stalls.

And maybe a llama. Because they're mean and then maybe I'll regret selling the spinning wheel because it figures, doesn't it?

I asked PJ what we can get from the horses besides work and therapy. He thought for a minute and suggested glue so I kicked in him the shins. He's not a horse person.

Yet.

For those who were wondering.

I know he's not real.

I don't think I'm crazy either, but for the three minutes I can conjure up the preacher in my head those are three minutes that the ache inside my chest doesn't hurt quite so much. That's all.

It seems as if there are as many people rooting for me sometimes as there are rooting for me to fail and be swallowed up by my own inability to cope with everything. I'm trying so hard. Unconventionally so and I was given a pass so I use it. Sometimes I feel like I need to be destructive and sometimes I feel thoroughly insane and sometimes I'm perfectly content.

Sometimes I even forget, can you believe it? You can thank Ben for that. Loch too. You can credit them all for the tight net of support I fall into every day whether things go well or not. You can hate them or blame them but at the end of the day you should thank them for everything. For throwing open the big garage doors (all three at once) and telling me to come out of the shadows, into the sun, that it was time to go inside, that wishes don't work like this, that everything will be okay.

That no one is mad at me for spending time with the Devil or with a ghost.

That I should sleep a whole lot more.

That downtime is actually a thing one can do every single day.

That I'm so hard on myself who else would have the heart to be?

They make me cry and that also makes the ache in my chest hurt just a little less too.

I wish I could be crazy. I wish I could let myself off the hook. I wish things sometimes would change but I wouldn't give any of these souls up the way I so hastily gave away my own.

Thanks for the sweet notes. I'm so touched. So humbled.

The mad princess, hurling her defiance at everything that's good (in favor of everything that is not).

(Shhhh. Stand right here and never ever leave and I will try to keep it all the same, forever and ever, Amen.)

And I can't taste anything less.
Every time I'm forced down.
To be with yourself, take all the blood you want.
But not from here.
It's so beautiful to me, it is everything I see.
It's so beautiful to me, but it's nothing that I need.

Matt, Sam and I are having a slow-motion heavy metal dance party for breakfast. They think it's funny when I bang my head because my hair stays up like a troll doll if I stop fast enough. They've constructed a rather gentle mosh pit and yet I can still bounce off either one of them hard enough to make my teeth hum. It's ridiculously wonderful and better than toast.

Caleb at least has the patience to wait for the end of the song before he presses the button on the front of the stereo. I stop abruptly again with my tornado hair holding for 3-2-1 and then it falls, cascading all over my shoulders. I think he's relieved it grew back out so quickly. I look like me again. Matt bursts out laughing, it's contagious and Sam follows.

Caleb does not. He frowns. I think he's a bit put off that I left in the middle of the night. Ambushed with his thumb in my mouth and his other hand wrapped around my waist as he pulled me in close enough to bite. He didn't though so those small victories are the ones I win and the larger failures send me back for another try another time.

He smelled so good though. Like want and soap and good wine. Caleb shouldn't drink wine. It makes him weird. I shouldn't drink it either, it makes me warm on my cheeks and fuzzy in my brain but the invitation of a quick drink on the boat with all the little white lights strung everywhere because it's spring and the soft rain and barely dark sent me running for one of those pretty dresses and a boyfriend cardigan which is a total misnomer, Old Navy. If I put on an actual cardigan of a boyfriend it would hang past my knees and I'd be swallowed by it whole. Better to be swallowed by the boyfriend instead.

Have you forgiven the Collective?

I'm eighty percent there. I tell him and he laughs and tops up my wine. I have to watch this or I'll be shitfaced inside of fifteen minutes.

I was wrong. It only took around ten.

How are you? He asks from his place far across the counter now, close to the door. He doesn't know the mood of the house yet. I'm not sure anyone actually noticed I was gone. Sometimes they just assume I'm with someone or other and don't actually check. I'm a willful teenager with an unlocked window and no curfew. I'm a mess.

I'm a troll doll. Spin me and my hair flies up straight. Look at my tired, glassy eyes.

Fine. You? I play stupid because it's so easy for me.

Just wanted to see if you'd like to go for breakfast. 

I can't. Loch and I are going out for brunch. 

I see. Perhaps tomorrow. 

Not tomorrow, sorry. Church with these freaks. Matt and Sam wave as they leave the room. They're heading out for a morning of shopping before Sam barricades himself in the library to catch up on the writing he always leaves until the last minute. He's great at unstructured sermons however.

I wonder who he learned that from.

My brain promptly forgets everyone in the room. Gotta go, I say breathlessly and run out of the room, right past Caleb who makes a grab and closes on air. I slam the door and book across the driveway and press my back against the side door of the garage as I close it and turn the lock.

When my eyes adjust I see him through the dusty, filtered light coming in through the high windows in the big garage doors. Jacob is leaning up against the long workbench, sleeves rolled up, hair too long, eyes vaguely worried. It's as if he's right here condemning me for all the things I do that I know aren't right.

How did you know I was back, Princess?

I felt it. 

He grins and my heart explodes, stabbing everyone else in the back with tiny jagged fragments, made of glass. Collateral damage, I think to myself. They'll forgive me if I can't forgive myself.

Half and half (in the house of children).

People always want to know what I'm doing-doing, AKA listening to/playing/wearing, watching/thinking. Maybe that's what Pinterest was supposed to be for? I don't know. I like words more in this age of attentions that can barely span two molecules, let alone an afternoon. Pinterest was all pictures. I haven't been interest in pictures since I was six.

Wearing: Lucky brand t-shirts and frayed jeans. Docs. Whatever Caleb hates most. The most expensive, gorgeous lingerie underneath (Jane Woolrich, usually) because I'm a huge brat like that. I wear dresses when I should, no worries. Sometimes I don't wear anything but then I'm not allowed to leave my room. Unless I'm in someone else's room. Muhaha.

Watching: Having caught up with American Horror Story, Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead, we are watching The 100 (they have Olympic eyebrow skills on that program) and considering starting Breaking Bad which when I write it I always start writing Breaking Benjamin. Go figure.

Listening to: ABBA (Okay, I'm not but by virtue of some of the more flamboyant people who live here I get to anyway, RIGHT LOCHLAN?), Demon Hunter. Deepfield. Chimaira.  Rush.

Playing: Knock-Knock (I love this game so much you don't know), Hearthstone (I'm terrible but learning patiently) and on my iphone, Monument Valley (how far have you wandered, silent princess?) because it's gorgeous.

Thinking? You don't want to know what I think. Or maybe you do but I still censor myself as much as I can. It's not like Duncan's here and I need to roll my tongue back up and stuff it in my little head, right?

Do I write these things just to provoke them? Maybe.

***

Lochlan is eating crow and not sorry for it. Tells me I can't go anywhere and then says if we must go he'll come too and I roll my eyes and stuff more birds down his throat and maybe he'll choke on those if he won't choke on the words already.

Enough. Devil's right, Baby. You can't risk this so soon. 

I wait for everything forever. 

How did you get so dramatic? I just stare at him until he clues in. In any case, we said no. Help him to keep going ahead. Help him be strong but do it here with help. Safety. 

Safe is a state of mind I can't reach. 

You know what I mean. 

Naw, I don't think I do. 

Bridget, please. I can't. I can't risk you. Or him. 

What if we went and it was fine? What if nothing bad happened?

Then you would both become over-confident. 

Nice. Oh, ye of little faith. 

The only faith I have is in you. Nothing else. Not Ben, not time, not fate. Just you. 

(Caleb's words about the church of Bridget ring in my head, the bells that call the believers to service.)

But you don't trust me. 

That's not what I said. 

It's what you mean! 

I think I'm done talking about this. In time, you'll understand. 

Jesus, would you stop saying that? I'm as lucid as I'm ever going to get before the downhill slide begins to dementia and then just pure oblivion. Can't wait.

Bridget, would you stop? You're a child! You've got your whole life ahead of you and you keep pushing me away in favor of living the hard parts on your own! Just stop it! 

(Makes me wonder if I'm the one who's crazy. Maybe it was Lochlan all along.)

I won't push you away anymore. I whisper it. I can't hear myself, how can he hear me?

You couldn't if you tried now.

Aren't you scared? 

Always. 

Me too. 

Like a heartbeat drives you mad.

Lochlan is loathe to agree with Caleb about anything at all, let me tell you, whether it be enforcing reasonable bedtimes for the children (they both think 10:30 is fine) or letting me wander on the beach unsupervised (just no, Baby) so yesterday was interesting when he agreed readily.

I polled everyone else that I could find, besides. Then I burst into tears and called them all hypocrites and traitors and backstabbing assholes and they all looked so sad it broke my heart all over again.

Ben's look was the worst because he never said a thing. He came home mid-afternoon and asked if I wanted to help him in the orchard for a bit and then he went for a short run with Schuyler and came home with plans to take me out for pizza (alone) after a hot shower (also alone with him, SURPRISE).

I wanted to ask if we were allowed but I didn't and no one said a thing and he never brought it up even as I sat there and fidgeted and sighed through two whole pieces and probably acted like the biggest little asshole alive. He ignored it right through dinner and then we got back into the truck and I blew up in his face.

Why haven't you said anything about the trip!?

He told you?

Yeah he told me. You know come to think of it I don't know why he told me. 

It would have been better if he didn't. 

Exactly. And that's why he did. To cause problems. 

Are we having problems? 

I see no problems here, Ben. 

He laughs and pulls out onto the highway. We're delusional and pathetic and holding onto each other with bloodied white knuckles and one of these days we're even plotting to leave the continent together so we can get kicked out of a restaurant in Italy for starting one of our now infamous food fights, just like we did on our honeymoon.

As soon as we figure out how to be adults. That's the most ironic part of all. I realize this.