Different but not new.

I missed you, Poet. 

I am packed in tightly beside Duncan on the couch. I don't want to move. Ten weeks was a long time, even though it was barely nine if you're being picky. And here now Gage has just begun to rumble about heading out for a few weeks and I just want to keep everyone inside and bar the door.

Duncan nods. I missed you. I missed everyone. You know? I got out there and the whole family dynamic was completely different and I decided I would just float through it and they called me on my shit so fast I don't think I had even settled in. But I'll give them credit, they did it. They supported me through the whole thing and here I was supposed to be support for them. 

They're good people, Dunk. Good Humans. 

Yes. They saw your pictures and thought I was missing you. Since they know about the setup here they made assumptions.

So you set them straight?

No, he laughs. Not really. I just left it because I can't explain it so why the hell not? (At this point Duncan would lift a beer bottle and take a drink but since he's not going to do that anymore he just sat back and looked at me.)

Duncan-

Hey, why don't you make some tea? That would be good. Planes are dry. Then I have to give the kids their souvenirs and I want to crash for a day or so. The stuff for the big people I shipped separately. It'll get here next week.

Okay. 

I reluctantly get up and go to the kitchen. Over the years Duncan has become what Caleb always was when I was little. Cooler than everyone else in spades. If you had his attention or approval it was a warm flood of awesome inside and you became briefly invincible. People would hang on his words, look to him to wardrobe and opinion cues. People would feel rewarded if he spent time with them.

Basically he's the God of the Shallows over here. He writes poetry and cares little for things he can't change and he had his shit together when he left.

And suddenly he missed me too much to cope with it reasonably? Oh. Oh no. Not you too. You're supposed to be cooler than cool.

Now that he's back I see the light spilling through the cracks and he's not together, he's a mosaic of a beat poet/lizard king. He's shaken and weakened somehow and I find it more than a little sad that everyone suddenly deals with life with Bridget by keeping themselves topped up until they can't face me anymore and then they take off and get cleaned up and come back total strangers.

Fuck this. I want my lizard kings.

Dalton comes into the kitchen to help. I'm relieved that he's back. If I had known he was that bad off I wouldn't have let him go out. He looks vaguely worried. It's never fun to have the roles reversed, little brother looking after the big brother. It's unnatural and scary.

I shake my head and rub Dalton's hand. He had to go. Maybe he needed the long break to get sorted out. He'll be fine. 

I know. He's tough. I just hate seeing him...what's the word?

Vulnerable.

Yeah.

He's always been that way. I lie. That's the only way the poetry has to get out. Through those tiny hairline cracks. 

I love the way you spin things, Bridget. 

Me too. I'm glad I'm home. Duncan's in the doorway, smiling. God. Amazing how much you miss someone when you think you were doing well pretending otherwise.

(I don't know if I'm saying that about myself or about Duncan. Not sure it matters.)

DUNCAN'S HOME!

DUNCAN'S HOME!

DUNCAN'S HOME!!!

Happy Easter, from our house to yours.

Hush now baby, baby don't you cry
Mama's gonna make all of your nightmares come true
Mama's gonna put all of her fears into you
Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing
She won't let you fly but she might let you sing

This morning the rain cleared up long enough for us to have Easter breakfast outside (far too early) at the long barn door table in the orchard, the table freshly pressure-washed and freakishly splintery on my end, at least. Sam stood up and said Grace, Christian took most of the bacon when the plate was passed and John took the rest, and Henry complained loudly that he was too old for an egg hunt anyway (cancelled due to weather) and then almost in the same breath said he missed the egg hunt and huge quantities of chocolate the Easter bunny would bring before he was too old.

Not to worry, the Easter bunny made his annual appearance anyway, coattails flying, shoes shined, eyes freakishly glossy and huge in the full bunny-head costume that has been shared duty between the boys for the past fifteen years. Henry saw him first and shrieked with excitement, making the rest of us laugh when his voice cracked.

We watched as the giant bunny scurried around the table, spilling eggs onto everyone's heads/plates/laps, then ran up to the house, throwing eggs into flowerpots, shoes, under chairs, balancing them on the door sills and on the gazing balls and then finally coming back and dropping the final egg down the front of my dress.

I fished it out with a frown and gave it back. The bunny took it, mimicked wild gut-busting laughter, and set his basket down. He walked over behind Loch, manhandled him up out of his chair and stuffed the egg in his mouth. Then he grabbed the basket and ran like hell across the lawn and through the gate.

Back home to the boathouse.

Sugar baby never ever learns.*

*(This will not be a tale of Ben's romantic endeavors because I think I broke my pancreas and cannot properly tell stories right this second.)

So...growing up mostly on a tiny peninsula in the second-smallest province in Canada, we were fucking sheltered and I've always read about but never had much opportunity to try some of the holiday candy Americans cite as tradition in popular culture. So the quest to try all those American chocolate bars and such is ongoing and ridiculous now that I have moved around a little and live fairly close to the border.

(And you all sit down there and lament the lack of Kinder eggs. Really, the chocolate tastes weird and the toys have sucked for years now.)

So this week? I found Peeps at the grocery store. Fucking yellow marshmallow peeps. No one wanted them so I only bought one little box of ten.

Opened them tonight. Passed the box, but even the kids didn't want any. I touched one and it was really soft. I thought they would be brittle and hollow and taste like chemicals. I bit into one with everyone watching and to my delight it was only a sugar-coated marshmallow!

So I ate five more after the first. So delicious and sweet!

And now I want to die because my stomach hurts. I think the last four remaining peeps will be paired up and forced to joust to death in the microwave with the little plastic swords from the bar because I don't think I can eat anymore.

They're laughing. Not the peeps, the boys, though maybe the peeps too. Sugar makes me hallucinate. I don't even know anymore.

Maundy Thursday.

Last night we had a rainy, windy, positively wild bonfire down on the beach for three. A bottle of sparkling water, fancy wine glasses that wouldn't remain upright (we resorted to passing the bottle) and the driftwood shelter that also threatened to collapse before Ben and Lochlan spent a few minutes reinforcing it. It was pouring rain. We brought a couple of pizzas and a stack of blankets down there too. We had grabbed a bunch of candles too but at the last minute I took the big LED lantern which they said was a good idea but I had only brought it because I knew the walk back up the formidable steps would be in the darkness so I'm not as together as they think. The candles were useless.

Ben called it an early picnic to celebrate our anniversary weekend and he very specifically included Lochlan because we are the Three Musketeers. The three wet, cold and well-fed musketeers. Lochlan was so pleased to be included and made an incredibly touching speech about how humbled he has been by Ben's generosity and my open-mindedness and then Ben trumped Lochlan's speech with one of his own and they both made me cry and so I couldn't say any words at all lest they come out in one small strangled sob.

When most of the pizza was gone and the rain got even heavier we stowed everything in a pile as far back as we could where it seemed...dryish and made a run for the cliff, Ben with the lantern and my left hand, Lochlan with my right hand and a good grip on the railing the whole way up. It's not a climb you can rush and so we were soaked to the skin by the time we reached the gate.

Once upstairs Ben ran a hot bath and I was first in, dunking my head under the water. Oh, so warm. So so warm. I would have fallen asleep underwater but he lifted me out of the bubbles, wrapped me in a towel and threw me into the bed (why they keep. doing. that.) and I was asleep before I said goodnight, I think. I don't remember.

This morning we made the long trudge back down to the beach to collect the blankets and pizza boxes and candles. Loch smashed the glasses and the bottle at the far end of the beach to make future sea glass for me and Ben rung the excess water out of the blankets because he's the only one strong enough to do it properly. I just hunted for pretty shells until they were ready to make the climb back up.

Ben said that last night marked the beginning of what is to be the Most Romantic Weekend of my life.

Oh, well. Okay then! I have the happies all over the place.

Learning curve.

(I deleted yesterday's entry. He made amends. Well first he made threats but then he made amends.)

Caleb's apology came in a little blue box, weighing in at around one carat each, I think.

Pretty earrings. Who are they for? I push the box back across the table. He frowns.

They're for you. Because I feel awful about the way our trip ended. 

I bet you do. I look out the window, because the view is better.

I'm sorry, Neamhchiontach. I'll make this up to you. 

Then you can start by being nice for once in your life instead of trying to fix everything with more money. 

He sits and stares at me with nothing more than an expression of familiar interest. I get restless under his microscope and finally he speaks again. Point taken. I'm guessing you will be fairly busy over the weekend so I wanted to get a chance to speak with you early and explain that my remarks were not so much about you but about my life experience, age and means putting me in a position to look after you. 

Oh, was that all?

Yes, and it came out all wrong and I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?

Will you take the earrings back?

If that's what you would like then that's what I will do. 

I'll think about it. 

That's all I can ask for. Do you like the meal?

Once again he ordered a catered breakfast for two without even asking what I wanted. No. He looks crushed and it's worth it.

McDonalds, right? It would have been better. 

Always. 

I'll remember that for next time. 

Who says there will be a next time?

If I rang you super early and described a....a...Mcmuffin thing you would be in the car before I was finished. Probably still in your pajamas. 

That's not a flaw, it's a perk. 

I'm lucky to have you in my life, Bridget. 

I nod and finally stare straight at him. Yes, you are and don't you ever forget that. 

When no one was looking I put my head down on my toast, butter soaking through the bread and coating my cheek, my hair and one unfortunate hearing aid. My new t-shirt was spared. This one says RUN YOU FOOLS.

Tell me about it.

We got home at four this morning. If you ask me my name I don't think I even know it right now. I couldn't chew until PJ reminded me to eat the toast in front of me. Well, in front of me being now stuck to the side of my face, honey side up.

Lochlan spent from four to five this morning swearing at me, stripping me, firing questions and not waiting for answers. Ben told him twice to cool it but let him slide about fifty times more and I finally burst into tears, yelled at both of them, telling them about the chair under the stupid knob. About how difficult I made things, about having some kind of confidence in me being able to look after myself for once and Mr. Cynical Logical only laughed and said if the Devil had wanted to get to me he would have and I wasn't safe with the chair or with anything else and I shot back that I must have been because the Devil relegated himself to simple requests instead of force and if Lochlan was so worried than maybe he should have come with me. In fact, I asked him to come with me and he couldn't because he had meetings here and WOW. Convenient that business is suddenly more important than my supposed safety.

Ah, yeah, but only if it's his business. Not mine. Not the dealings on behalf of the collective or the trust. Nope, that's not important at all, Locket.

It took us until almost six to stop arguing and forgive each other and by then I'm pretty sure I was near quiet hysteria. Second night zero sleep. Death is fine, I'll take it. Nothing matters any more. Lochlan grabbed me by the head, rocking me against him and reminded me he yells when he worries, as if I could ever forget. I did everything right outside of staying home, it has to be enough. He knows. He nods against my head and it hurts. I'm starting to hallucinate things and my knees buckle hard. Loch scoops me right off the floor and tosses me into the unmade bed and that's pretty much the last thing I remember until lunchtime, when hunger woke me up and I tried to catch a little bit more rest on my plate.

My head hurts. I'm dehydrated and Lochlan, apparently is next door, full of confidence and shit, as usual.

I send the rest over to get him and tell them if anyone needs me, I'll be asleep until the kids get home. PJ tells me he'll bring dinner up but no. I want to see my kids so I'll be back at four.

And now I can't sleep. FIGURES.

(I didn't know about this until he knocked on the back door and asked if I could spare a work day for him. He waited until I agreed to point out it would be on the East coast.)

He ordered coffee and fried potatoes for me for breakfast this morning, knocking on the door of my room, plate in his hand at six-fifteen. I took the plate, thanked him sleepily and closed the door in his face again. I didn't put the chair under the handle again like I had it over night but I think he got the message, after he failed to understand why I upgraded our room using charm and his credit card to a two-bedroom suite, quickly found out which room had the nice view and threw all my stuff in there and went in and locked the door. I yelled through the door that he could just text me the meeting times and I would show up and he finally yelled back through the door that he had a car arranged and not to be ridiculous.

Oh, okay.

Who's ridiculous? His imaginary emergency meetings all over the world or my twelve-year-old maturity level?

Well, okay, both. But I'm making an effort to be a better Human and he's just wrecking all of the efforts I make.

Not to say I didn't have a wavering at around three this morning when he pressed his head to the door and called for me. I wasn't sleeping. I don't sleep when I'm alone and everyone knows it and so I really wanted nothing more than to tuck myself in his arms and pass right out but that never works and isn't fair to anyone so nope. I can wait and sleep when I get home.

I've had fourteen cups of coffee so far today. I can make it seventeen minutes without having to pee and I've given myself a reverse manicure over the course of the morning, chipping off all of my nail polish, biting my fingers down to blood and then finally resorting to sitting on my hands not to gnaw on glistening white bone.

I keep checking the time and the weather as if we'll have time to try Coney again this evening but I asked my evil magic eight ball and he said that all signs pointed to no. He isn't in the mood for favors at this point as he hasn't gotten any in a while and apparently that is my fault.

Nevermind he could buy whomever or whatever he wants at this point. The only thing he wants isn't for sale, never sleeps and lives on sugar and childhood dreams and has no business zipping around the island of Manhattan in a too-tight (Jesus, nachos and Joseph) too-warm boucle dress and stripper heels because I can't pack worth shit under duress and had no idea what to bring so I defaulted to his executive assistant dress code which was just another bad idea here.

Five more hours. Gotta go. One more dinner meeting.

So. Fucking. Tired.

Because the Devil coerced me, making me travel to New York today, I turned the tables and blackmailed him right back. If I had to come all this way for two stupid meetings tomorrow then we were going to make the opening ceremonies today of Coney Island for the season, or at least get there in time to enjoy it before dinner.

But planes and airports and traffic. They suck and we got in very late and everything is closed now for the night. And I'm spooling up to be far more difficult than usual. So is he, though. Great.

Twenty-nine hours left of this shit and I'll be home.

Beareal forest.

Bear sightings #1,#2, #3 and #4 tonight as we came across a mother and three very tiny cubs climbing trees and playing beside the driveway. They were scared of the noise of Caleb's car and took off into the greenbelt before I could take any pictures but they were cute! I like to keep track of how many times I see bears living here. It's a sport now.