How I spent my day.

Naughty or...yeah, you know how this goes.

Shhhh. 

While the team of people are cleaning all three houses (because Merry Christmas, guys) I had New Jake help me cart all of the boys and kids presents into the library (cleaned first) and I'm wrapping and labeling today, up to my neck in ribbon, having gone through four rolls of tape already.

The doors are locked, the music is loud (I'm playing Pallbearer's version of Gloomy Sunday on a loop) and I still have half a thermos full of coffee. Yay! 

He's a hunter.

I feel like the universe is trying to tell me something today. My lipstick is called 'Underage Red'. My nailpolish? 'Black Out". 

***

Christian was over bright and early to scope out the kitchen before going to work. I'm not sure how his, Daniel's and John's first turn to cook involved wrecking MY kitchen when they have a larger one next door, technically speaking. Ours is more of a great room with a whole open seating thing plus a den with a fireplace so you can actually hang out there all day and be perfectly content. I have normal sized appliances. There is never enough fridge or oven space and we'll fix that in the future but not until something breaks because I'm not one of those people who just magically decides they hate what they have and replaces it all.

It has to be necessary.

But next door they have a butler's pantry and a separate station for baking and a cold storage section in the cupboards and a giant double fridge and a gas stove. Marble-topped everything. It's a cooks dream.

I never go in there.

Christian tells me dinner is pork tenderloin, grilled. Rice and maybe turnip. Fresh tomato slices and cake for dessert.

I did stick around for the meal last night and it didn't disappoint. I wasn't sure Keith had any kitchen skills past opening beers. I filed that away for future reference because when I ask for help usually he is magically busy or 'not so good with that stuff' as he told me point blank once.

The big LIAR. It was perfect.

I actually think they're easily intimidated by two things. Firstly, the sheer number of people sitting down to a meal here. In two shifts no less so not only do you cook for a dozen or two but you have to figure out how to keep enough and make sure it's still hot for round two without drying out.

Secondly, Caleb and Ben over the years have taken me to some pretty exciting places where I have proven myself to be both adventurous and discerning when it comes to dinner so there are standards to keep.

?

This is at odds with my incredible love of breakfast sandwiches and deep-fried anything and Kraft Dinner, I know.

I can have both, can't I?

And PJ wasn't watching porn when I went down to see how he was enjoying his break.

He was watching Pitch Perfect. Which just about made my day. That's where the title of my post came from. Worth it just for that one line.

Rises and sets. Rises and sets.

Here I am
Playing with those memories again

A final set of x-rays this morning and Lochlan has gotten his all-clear. No permanent damage that we know of. No lasting effects from inhaling fuel at Ruth's birthday party during his fire-breathing show and most important of all, no well-meaning lectures about considering putting his torches away for good. It won't happen. This man is made of flames.

The relief? Palpable. Tangible. Heavy. I was crushed underneath it just walking out of the hospital and then was pulled out by my hand just as my last breath began to leak my life away.

Told you I was fine, he says. There's no room for gratitude here, he has already moved on. I run to catch up.

There's no harm in feeling grateful that you weren't hurt worse. 

What purpose does it serve? I'll take responsibility for what I do to myself. 

I trip on his words and fall behind but I don't think he's even noticed. He's done with this. Done with doctors and hospitals and machines and instead of thanking his lucky stars that he's in a time and place where he can get help if he needs it he just laments the wasting of the time that he could have used in a better way. When he drops me off in the driveway at home before heading in to Schuyler's office he tells me I worry too fucking much and he doesn't know where I get that from. I turn around ready to tell him exactly where it came from but then he drives off before I even get an I love you or a See you soon out of my mouth, if I would have picked something nice to say instead.

When I go inside Keith and Gage are...making dinner.

And not just any dinner. They are making coleslaw from scratch, eggplant parmesan and actual bread. It's rising on the windowsill with my favorite Irish linen tea towel over it. Duncan is slicing cabbage at the sideboard and Dalton is filling ice cube trays. I am speechless. Gage smiles and elbows Duncan who starts talking as if he is a little kid reading from a cue card, words all mashed together and robot-like. It's adorable.

We decided as a group that since you do so much for us and work so hard that we're going to take turns cooking dinner each night in order to give you the break that you deserve. We love you, Bridget.

Ben appears from the side door. He has some jars of spices stolen from Caleb's house. He doesn't know where I keep mine. I'll need to fix that.

Where is PJ? 

We sent him to a spa. 

No, seriously. What have you done with him?

I don't know, Bridge! He's probably downstairs watching porn. 

Why would you think that?

Wouldn't you be doing that if you didn't have to cook dinner right now?

Yes. That's exactly what I'd be doing. Watching porn.

Ben shoos me out of the kitchen. Then get at it. We have work to do. 

I look at the single casserole dish that Keith is layering food into and ask How many for dinner? 

Huh? He asks.

What's the headcount for tonight?

 Twelve. Give or take John and Loch if they make it home in time. 

You're going to need two more of those pans then. 

Seriously?

Dude. This is like a prison kitchen.

Told ya, Ben says. (So proud, this one.)

I have a headache, I tell him. I think I'll skip the porn and quite possibly the meal if that's okay. 

Five sets of eyes tell me the disappointment they show won't be worth the break I get.

Okay, maybe I'll stay for a little. 

Five sets happy.

Loch is better, I point out. Eyes shoot all over the place.

Just in time for the Devil to come back, Duncan says.

Yeah, I know.

Don't pinch me, he's perfect.

Actually pinch him, because his birthday is today.

Ben is forty-six and hasn't matured past midteenage levels, at best but I wouldn't have him any other way. He can be incredibly detail-oriented, deep-feeling and thoughtful when the mood strikes and when it doesn't he's like a force of nature. Who ever said There's a storm coming probably saw him at the end of the road.

He still thinks it's possible to live on chocolate and fast food and that anything healthy is fair game to be thrown, overhand if need be, at someone else. He has learned to curb that over the years, but only by a little. He's the only member of our family who could put the Christmas lights around the edges of the front roof without needing a ladder or a helper and he's insistent that he's going to go to another meeting even if he's been to ten already this week because he promised himself he would be forever straight. He refuses to get his cholesteral checked because Yolo and double Big Macs, Little Bee. 

And then he grins and he stops looking like Frankenstein's monster and instead looks like the handsomest man in the history of all time and it's hard not to hand him whatever he wants.

I'm pretty sure that's why Lochlan is with us and that it has less to do with me than you think.

I'm sure of a lot of things with Ben.

But I still treat him with kid gloves even as he shoos me away to go find Loch or Sam or whoever (just not Duncan right now, not these days until I tell you it's okay, Bridge) and he'll frown because he says he doesn't need to be coddled but I know he likes it in the same way he tells me he's far too manly and big for 'lady' bubble baths until I lead him right into one and he settles back with his arms out wide amongst the candles and he puts his head back, closing his eyes before asking if I have any of the lilac soap I love so much and could I wash his shoulders for him and so I swim around to one side and scrub him down and he smells so good and is so relaxed at the end he's usually asleep in seconds and then I tell myself I'm never running a bath for us ever again because it saps his energy.

When he awakens the next morning smelling like lilacs and sunshine he makes up for it without fail.

Who am I kidding? He's a night and a morning guy but only for me. Half the time when they think he's able to somehow sleep for twelve or fifteen hours at a stretch I don't have the heart to point out he hasn't/didn't/can't and we were up all night positively fucking each other into oblivion. I can't say that. Pretty sure it's obvious though and that's fine too.

(Snort.)

Tonight is the big huge dinner with both houses here, and yes, I'm making corn dogs. PJ is making lamb (whole legs and all I can picture are fluffy sheep blobs dotting a mountain field) and I am well-prepared for any food fight that may ensue. For the first time in the history of anything I let PJ talk me into having the same company that is coming to clean the boathouse while Caleb is still away do the main house too. It only upped the bill by like a thousand dollars.

Jesus Christ.

Happy birthday Benjamin. I love you so much it's gross. Just like us.

BRB, carving an x in my head.

This begins with food and ends with conviction and bullheaded stubbornness. I don't care what anyone says. This subject isn't up for debate.

Yesterday is nothing
I have half a life to rewrite

So far so good for a Monday. Caleb called to thank me for having flowers and cheese toast delivered to his suite shortly after he checked into the resort. He forwarded a few pictures of his view and I may have proceeded to spend the next half-hour snapping and frustrating my way around the house until Joel appeared out of nowhere and asked me if I still make butternauts.

Of course, I snapped at him, too.

But then I nodded kind of slowly because I do, I make them every chance I get.

He took me to a place where nothing is under two digits  (even a half-glass of juice) and we had a big fancy psychotherapy breakfast but I don't know if I felt better at the end, just full and tired and then we came home and he asked if I would hang out with him for a bit and help him nail down Christmas present ideas for his family. That maybe we could make some more coffee or some popcorn and watch a movie or something. If I wanted. If I was free.

I did and I was but I said no anyway and asked if he wanted to come hang out with PJ and I for a bit, that he was welcome to. He said no but he kissed my cheek and thanked me for the company over breakfast. I hesitated before asking but then just steamrolled ahead. Was this for a report? What does Caleb need now? I blurted it out before I could pretend I was oblivious when I know all along.

Joel looked surprised. That was breakfast. If you think I only speak with you when Caleb is concerned about you then you're mistaken. I care about you, Bridget and I want to help. So if I can still listen or guide you a little bit so you stay in a good place then it's the least I can do and you're a generous soul for allowing me the honor.

I don't have a soul but if you're telling the truth then maybe we can make this work, but only if he remains honest.

Only if you do, you mean.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Bridget, you've left a big black hole in your discussions with me. At first I thought it was a time constraint issue. Then I wondered if it was a conscious effort and now I see that you are willfully redirecting every conversation I start with you about Lochlan. Why is that?

He's not up for discussion.

He's fundamentally responsible for your upbringing and possibly for some of your issues now. If you don't see through some of your illusions about him then he'll continue to hold power over you-

Joel, you could have just come right and said you were still sniffing around on Caleb's behalf. Not sure how I wind up trusting you so easily but I'll be sure not to make that mistake again. Have a good day. 

I walked to the main house and PJ opened the side door just as I reached it. Everything okay?

Sure. They think Lochlan is Charles Manson now and that I'm under a spell. It's just a typical, average day. Call me a disciple. Feed me a line and keep me in another.

But did you make butternauts? (PJ is just thrilled I can extrapolate Joel's deceptions so easily)

Of course. I made whole armies of them.

Then nevermind the rest. Come in and we'll make some more coffee.

If you don't mind I need to make a few calls.

Okay, I'll start without you.

I kiss PJ's cheek because he has the perfect blend of ironclad guidance and generously-granted privacy for me. Then I go to the library and close the doors to call Lochlan.

I relay the conversation with Joel to him and he asks me what I think. I tell him the truth, as he has always instructed me to do. That Joel is probably right and this isn't a commune, it's a cult, only it doesn't revolve around me, it revolves around Loch (which is what I always say anyway), who calls the shots and somehow managed to get someone who hates him to bankroll enough space to have all of us live together as a family and everyone defers to him and it's pretty weird, isn't it? Let's not even begin with the fact that at a young age I was separated from my family and friends in order for him to have one hundred percent control of me. I was taught to steal, taught to listen to him and no one else. I've worshiped him ever since.

He didn't say much. I could sense him smiling though. He'll let me believe whatever the hell I want until I move on to the next idea. If he never confirms Joel's fears then he doesn't have to answer to them and then he can forever feign ignorance even though never once has a single human that we've met ever thought of any of this as normal.

Why would they? It isn't.

And then I realized exactly what Joel was trying to do all morning, most likely as per the Devil's instructions. In Caleb's continued absence? Drive a wedge.

Sorry, Diabhal. It won't work. The sun rises and sets by the redhead and that ain't ever going to change.

SMS (Sunday Morning Shenanigans).

Time to get up. 90 min til service.

It's -10, Sammy.

God will keep you warm. 

But the wind!

But you're becoming a little heathen.

Loch will keep me warm. 

Loch is already a heathen.

Ben will keep me warm?

Ben could bring you to church. He could use it.

Tell him that.

Naw. Too scared.

So how can I make it up to you if I don't go?

Bible school. Every day. Five hours. With yelling. And thumping. 

That sounds like fun. I'm in! 

You now have an hour. 

Not going to happen. I'll wait for your thumps. This bed is too warm. Everyone is still asleep. 

God is awake. 

And such a killjoy.

Does this mean you're coming?

Can I get a ride with you?

Then you have fifteen minutes or so.

Make me coffee?

We'll pick some up on the way. 

Can we get some hashbrowns too?

Are you only coming with me for the food?

Shhhhh. :)

The white stuff.

I hate snow. Have I mentioned it? Still not finding the novelty in it one bit. And I won't apologize for that, though the Christmas lights look very pretty after dark so yes, I will admit that much but nothing more.

I started reading Mr. Mercedes last night. It's glorious. I'm excited.

Caleb called from just outside the grounds of the Taj Mahal last night too, completely overcome with emotion as I have heard happens when you see it for the first time. I never ever will. He misses me. He is beyond exhausted and pushing himself every step. Not sure this is a good idea anymore but he's at the bitter end here, flying to Spain Monday for what he calls a hard reset (total flamboyant, unintentional nerdage), because he needs it so badly. Retirement has been busier than ever and he says he'll slow down but then doesn't.

Lochlan started reading Revival, because he is further along in the Stephen King release schedule than I am, because he's able to focus on things while I flit around like a moth to a flame.

(Surprise.)

I tell him it's because he's older.

Most nights when I have time to read in bed I wind up playing games on my phone instead. PJ and I have a contest going with Henry to see who can get the highest score in Stick Hero. I'm the furthest behind. Henry is so far ahead of us now it's become funny.  We did it with Flappy Bird too until I deleted the game in a fit of frustration. My high score? 5 in both games. I send PJ screenshots every time I add another point and he ignores the messages and then after days will return a screenshot to me that's in the double digits. I give up. I think I'll read instead.

Finally when I can sleep Ben will start to snore and then insist upon waking that he didn't sleep even a minute. He is worn out too but in a different way. He wants to keep me up to fill the time but I really need sleep at some point and can't stay up all night indulging him. And boy does he like to be indulged. He's the perfect enabler to my sex addict tendencies, refusing to deny me a thing. Then Loch will be done reading (he reads downstairs) and come up looking to indulge himself and how the heck am I supposed to resist his teenage grin and those curls?

Right. It can't be done. But then Ben gets all jacked up again and I'm pretty sure the reason I hate snow is because when I'm this tired I pretty much hate absolutely everything.

Except sex.

Because DAMN.

READY (aka I eat like crap).

I am so in love.

Big Bad Wolf (new today!) and even better, Sick like Me.

Not often you see really good videos these days. These are miniature works of art.

Like me.

***

Loch, Daniel, Andrew and I spent all day shopping today. Ben's birthday is on Tuesday. He'll be forty-six. He doesn't look that old but hey, every second month it seems we are reminded that numbers grow less and less important each year. I have some special surprises planned for him for that day. Plus we needed to get moving on getting things together because here I am trying to get ready for Christmas all in around, up and over everything and everyone and though we had planned on celebrating US Thanksgiving we never actually bothered. We ordered Chinese food instead.

So best laid plans and all that. I don't want that same fate to befall his big day.

Everything is wrapped and loaded and I'll bake a big cake on Monday and make lamb chops (or rather PJ will. Ben really loves lamb and I can't stand the smell or taste of it so I'll make corn dogs too. Then it's really a party. Freaking corn dogs!

Sigh.

You just can't take the carnival out of the girl. Sometimes I wonder if Ben had any earthly idea what he was getting himself into with us. I suppose he does. When I asked him for a birthday list he said he has the two things he wants most. Me and Loch.

Oh, well then. I'll just take back all these presents then?

Delhi tonight.

I think Dubai was a whirlwind for Caleb. It was supposed to be the second longest leg of his trip but instead he booked a half day trip to Agra to see the Taj and so sliced a day off the Emirates besides. He will not cut into his week in the Canaries no matter what. He's going to need it. He sounded appreciative but exhausted when I told him just before our conference call began that under the desk I only had underwear and thigh-high rumpled socks on (credit to Lords of Salem. I have a dozen pairs and hadn't worn them much lately but I am now) because I didn't have time to find pants in the dark but sorry if we're going to do this shit in the middle of the night thanks to his time difference then I wasn't going to be at a hundred percent. I was wearing a nice shirt (Lochlan's plain blue flannel button-down from yesterday) and I managed to flatten my pixie enough to be presentable and I asked again why I needed to be present for a strategy update and he laughed and said because I was in underwear and socks, that's why and he loves the fact that I'm committed to making sure he misses me so much he aches.

Which brought a halt to everything as I killed the call and called him privately for a health update. If he says something 'aches' then something is wrong and I knew I should have gone. I wish he hadn't gone at all and I wish he would give in already and let technology take the place of shaking people's hands.

He assured me he is tired but fine and he's going to sleep on a beach for the entire first week of December.

(Did I say I should have gone? Yeah. I should have gone. That sounds nice.)

He reestablished the call and our parties were there waiting. I had to pinch my legs to keep from falling asleep and only contributed two questions to the whole thing but they were smart questions and Caleb looked proud and then finally it was finished and I could go back across the driveway (I need to have it loud so I took the call at the Boathouse) and book upstairs to crawl up the center of my bed, passing out cold (no, literally) on top of the quilts.

This morning Ben proclaimed that my outfit was to be considered pajamas from here on out and I am to come to bed like that forever because wow.

Lords of Salem, I reminded him.

I know. Oh, how I know. he said. 

Lochlan, ever suspicious and rightly so, asked me where my pants were. He's been difficult the past two days. Beyond difficult. (Level 12 difficulty, actually. I function at an 8 or so, if rested. Which I'm not.)

So I told him I didn't wear any and he asked how I got across the driveway half-dressed, in the dark, in the rain. So I told him.

The same way I always do. Quickly.

It was over chowder at lunch time before he actually spoke to me again. It's fine. I lasted until afternoon coffee before I replied back.