They called it a revelation and then they called it a sin.

Both Sam and Joel fought for my morning today, because clearly I've gone off the deep end again. I can be very reckless. I can hold grudges and I can pretend I'm punishing Lochlan all I want but he tells me with the meanest, most incredulous laugh this morning that the only person I'm hurting is myself. That he's done taking the blame for being high-scorer in the broken heart game, that maybe if I could think of someone besides myself for even half a second I would realize that I passed him and got a trophy in that game years ago, and that he's got hardly enough left to form a whole beat inside his chest. He got louder and louder and his accent got thicker and more incomprehensible until I couldn't separate the words any more, but I could see everything on his face.

Everything. Right there. Spelled out so easily in his eyes, in the set of his teeth. In his shoulders drawn tight and his fists clenched up.

Sam said my name but I couldn't take my eyes away from Loch's.

I'm sorry. 

But you're not sorry, Bridget. 

I don't do it to punish you. I do it so I don't get so attached. 

I'm not the dumb kid I was when I was twenty, don't you see that?

Nineteen and three-quarters. 

Semantics, Peanut. I'm not even the dumb kid that I was at thirty. Or forty. Why can't I make you see this?

It isn't you. 

Then what is it? Please, God, tell me what it is and we'll fix it. 

I don't trust anybody, including you, and I'm sorry but that's never going to change. 

I can fix this, Peanut. I can fix it with time. You'll see. 

I'm not worth the effort. 

I'll be the judge of that.

Tearing through the firmament.

I went to fetch some ice cream in the middle of the night and was struck by the view. I stood there until I got cold and then he appeared behind me, telling me the view of me in my tank top and underwear was better than that of the entire Pacific. I could agree with that. I like visiting the Pacific but she's stingy with her treasures and brings more turmoil than charm. She's no Atlantic, that's for sure.

We take our bowls of chocolate ice cream back to bed and he asks very seriously if I want to go home as he traces his ice-cold spoon down my knee. I nod. I'm busy giving myself the world's biggest, dumbest brain freeze and I don't really want to talk about very serious things. I came here to have fun, with caveats that if it isn't fun I won't come back because he has managed to mess up or completely destroy just about every encounter we've had this year. He marvels that he likes to test me, that he enjoys letting go a little now that there are no secrets.

I tell him there are still secrets, that there will always be secrets. That life is short and difficult and delicious, as I finish the last spoonful in my bowl and hand the empty bowl to him. He takes both bowls and puts them on the bedside table before stretching out flat on his back and letting out a long sigh. I curl up beside him and he pulls the blanket up around me, wrapping his arm around me until I am flush with his chin. He kisses the top of my head and asks what would happen if we just fell asleep like this, would it be so bad if I extended my visit and made my plans to include sharing dreams? Just for tonight?

I tell him we don't break the rules. That bad things happen if we do. He said we can change that and I shake my head. He asks how anything happens, that it is through planning and solid intent, determination and drive, muscle and tears. That's how things happen. I shake my head again and he asks what then. What makes things happen in our lives?

Fate.

So is it fate that you're here? He asks me as he pulls my tank top over my head and pulls me underneath him once again, kissing all along my throat, bearing his weight with his arms as he works to get me out of my underpants too.

No, it's stupidity and bad judgement and I'm gone in one more hour so make it count, Diabhal.

And he laughs, because that's what the Devil loves to hear.

On building a better mouse trap.

This morning I was standing in the driveway talking to Lochlan, who is still restoring project campers when time permits so a day off sees him working more. He doesn't actually stop, never has. I don't know if the profit matches the hours. I know it surpasses the materials he buys but by how much he won't tell me. I know he's saving for the future but I wish I knew the cost of that too. He was telling me something about Boxing day when his expression grew more and more pained and finally his eyes flickered up over my head and I turned my head to look just as Caleb's car touched the backs of my knees.

Lochlan climbed down off the roof and charged so fast I only saw a blur of flames and then sparks rising up in the morning fog. Caleb opened the door and got out instead of locking it. He left the car resting against me. I don't think I moved for so many precious seconds it as like the world drifted to a crawl just for me.

The shove sent Caleb against the window glass. Not hard enough to break but he dropped his coffee, not his laptop bag.

Priorities. A one-handed shove back and Lochlan staggers back three steps before I say his name.

He won't listen so I text PJ but there he is coming out the side door in his bare feet, hair sticking up all over. He was looking out the window when he saw the car get too close. He was going to do some shoving of his own.

My own personal bouncer.

But Loch won't let him get a crack at Caleb because Loch would prefer there to be nothing left when he's through.

Caleb laughs. I wasn't going to run her over. I was reminding her of what happens when she won't wear her hearing aids. 

You let her worry about that and fuck off with the stupid stunts. You could have killed her! 

I could do that any minute of any d-

Whoops, there's another shove.

And now, a crowd. Finally he holds his hands up in surrender and turns to me, telling me he's sorry. That he didn't mean to scare me or anyone else, he was illustrating the dangers of running around without all my senses functioning but he used poor judgement and it was a bad idea.

He asks for a minute of privacy. Pointing out that I am safe. That he's sorry. Everything is okay. Stand down, motherfuckers. 

He waits until they all leave, Lochlan so begrudgingly you can see the daggers from a hundred yards and then he asks if he can make it up to me with a nice early dinner for two. The kids are off at a birthday party and a hockey game respectively and Saturday nights see everyone left to their own devices for meals so I say yes before I realize he tricked me into it. That the whole thing wasn't a safety bulletin but a well-executed ploy and I fell right into it, eyes wide open.

Like the army but with baking soda and no weapons save for an oven mitt and an overcooked pie.

Oh well, uh. New Jake told a fib to Sam (of all people) and said I had recruited him to help with baking all next week. Sam wanted him to help with some construction projects at the church. Instead of calling Jake out on his lie I confirmed it in spades and 'reminded' Jake we start at six in the morning each day because then we can be mostly cleaned up by three when the kids get home so it's easier for everyone to make lunches and then to get dinner started if we aren't still washing things and letting things cool. He shook his head and pushed his luck a little further, saying that I must have forgot that we agreed he would come over whenever he got up.

There's always a place where covering for someone stops, though as I pointed out yes, he did say that but then remember, I told you that wouldn't work after all so you agreed to six? PJ nods and confirms that yes, Jake said he would be here every day at six.

Then I went and called Dylan and Ben (who was on his way home anyway) to find out if maybe they could help Sam. We don't actually need baking helpers, so New Jake is going to get a five-day-long lecture on helping out where it's needed most, rather than where he prefers.

Hot Damn.

Someone asked what my favorite song was. It sometimes changes by the hour and sometimes it sticks for weeks or years even, but right now?

It's this. 

(I would imbed the video but I'm a Luddite and mobile readers just see a blank white space. I don't know how to fix that so click through and watch. It's worth it!)

Growing up, love was contagious.

My dance card is super-full today and I love it.

 Nothing like everyone noticing I was starting to fall behind. Christmas is stressful. There's extra traffic/calories/projects/chores/errands/shopping/ and of course, bills.

I pay bills, thanks. In blood, sweat and tears, no less.

There's extra stress when you get bad news or when you can't just gather up every single person you love in one room. There are teenagers with broken hearts and men hanging on to a wagon with all their might. There are assumptions and expectations and there is ruinous greed. There is pure selflessness. There is heart. Magic. There is something.

There is something.

I always try to figure it out. It used to hit mid-Elementary school concert like a wallop from a fluffy snowball but now there are no more concerts because high schoolers. Picky, funny high schoolers who will hopefully love their presents and while I wanted to give them everything they've ever wanted, I didn't. Because you can't. You shouldn't, anyway.

And then there are the boys who have given up so much but yet take so much at the same time. No more motorbikes, loads more affection. No leaving at the end of the day/meal/activity traded for the glaringly obvious privacy issues. All the juggling and balancing I could ever want for in practice watching over a house full of different personalities even as they sometimes are not all that different, right down to having the same clothes, as I discovered when I went to put away laundry yesterday and found three of the same flannel shirts. I thought someone had lent his out. I thought they were playing tricks on me. I didn't realize maybe they are that much alike sometimes.

Makes them easier to love. I know what I'm up against.

They all kind of stop and wait at once, reaching back with encouragement and smiles and hands held out. Waiting for little Bridget to catch up, tripping on roots and scrambling over rocks as fast as her short little legs will carry her, face and knees filthy, shirt ruined, shoes and braids caked in mud.

It was one of those times where I just came to a skidding halt in the half-light, standing fifty feet back underneath and slightly behind the trees. Frustrated. Incompetent. Not as capable. Scared. And I would wait because I knew he would come back and then I would get a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the ball field and that would be easier than trying to keep up.

Late last night I finally had a chance to go and check on the Devil, who is settling back in and loved the special touches I took in preparing for his return. He kissed my cheek and told me my arrival called for something special and he opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses. He brought one to me and suggested we take them outside to look at the lights.

Outside it was cool so he put his suitjacket around my shoulders, telling me to close my eyes.

Then he disappeared.

I waited forever, starting to shiver. Now it's raining in my champagne and yeah. I told him I could only wait another moment and I started to count. I heard him come back before I got to twenty-five and he said Open your eyes, Neamhchiontach.

When I did, the whole cove was lit up. The boat was lined with lights, the dock, the roof, the path (from what I could see) and then along the beach right around to the end of the point. Tiny white fairy lights, like the ones from Sam and Matt's wedding but on a much grander scale.

Wow.

Caleb held up his glass and said To being with family for the holidays, as if we are related. I clinked my glass to his and drank it all, even though I knew it would give me a blistering headache in the space of five minutes.

He watched my face until he couldn't bear to watch me struggle with my expressions any longer, and then he walked me back to the side door of my house, took his jacket back, kissed my cheek and shoved me inside.

He was always the one who came back for me. The one with endless patience and kindness and generosity where the others would be caring but anxious, always in a rush. always fed up with having to wait or go slow or keep checking. Caleb took it upon himself to carry me. He was the biggest, the oldest, the nicest.

Until the day Lochlan decided it was his job, and that's when everything changed. Now they struggle with who is allowed to care. Who is allowed to help or play the jester or who is allowed to occupy my time, what lines are drawn in front of which shoes and who is bad touch and who is not. Adult problems and childlike solutions. Nothing ever changes here.

Factory reject.

I'm not very good to myself.

I ration things for myself like coffee, warm baths, painkillers, alcohol, sleep, sweet dreams and breaks like a drill sergeant and then I wait until I'm hanging by a thread, til the nightmares catch up with me, til I'm not sleeping through the night more often than I am, until my nerves are riddled with holes, until I realize I walk around holding my breath and the headaches have reached critical mass and then I implode slowly, from the inside out, a distant scream sounding faintly in my ears that just grows louder and louder until I can't hear anyone anymore, can't do anything right and can't pull myself up over the edge of the hole I fell into because I'll suddenly weigh tons instead of ounces and it's too much for me to deal with by myself.

I wish sometimes that the screaming would just start on the outside and drive them crazy instead of me. They would hear it long before I do, before I even know what's happening.

That would be so nice.

But my brain doesn't work like that. Sometimes I think it doesn't work at all. Sometimes I think it was a practice brain with a wiring diagram posted beside it but no one checked to see that it was done right and hoo, boy, will they be surprised someday, when it's cracked open like a coconut and they will peer into its depths and nod somberly.

Yes, this explains everything. 

I donated my body to science after I die but at this rate I'm going to give it to them early, just rip off my skull and hand it to them and say here, it's a present. Just tell me I was right. Tell me you'll never let a practice brain go off the assembly line without being inspected ever again, because it really wasn't fair to me or to the people I love. 

But they're not real so they'll just stand there unfeeling, still nodding robotically like mass-produced bobble-heads. Like me. The test subject. The practice girl. The not-quite-ready-for-the-real-world girl after all.

With no off switch, no filters, hearing messed up completely and the weird uncanny ability to conjure up imaginary holes that she then falls into for real, breaking all her limbs and all of her resolve too.

Why would you fight over that? 

Hooks and loops.

I didn't realize how much I was missed until Caleb came home last night and then proceeded to show up bright and early for breakfast today and after helping to clean up he has proceeded to follow me around for half the day.

My reaction to this? Horrifically, brutally flattered.

I'm that awesome? DAMN RIGHT I AM.

Ben actually told him to skedaddle at one point. I wonder if anyone even uses that word anymore. Oh wait, BEN does. Ben was as impressed as Lochlan was with Caleb's attempts to 'catch up' and 'get ahead of all the news here at home' and various sundry bits of information about how much Henry grew in the few weeks Caleb was away and what the kids got for marks and how Duncan is doing with being home from camp.

(They call it 'camp'. Ben does. Caleb does. Pretty much everyone does as if you can drink your face off, go on a nice cushy woodsy vacation and then come home and be coddled forever. It makes me want to cry. You should have seen the dirty looks when I corrected them by saying re-hab-il-it-ta-tion really slowly like a little asshole.)

Duncan is doing great. As long as *I* don't talk to him he does great. If I talk to him he gets all shaky and weird and 911s someone else to take him to a meeting.

Because camp. Maybe he should have stayed longer. Unless this is going to be one of those things where we spend the money three times over before it takes. I think they throw a wrench in the works just before they send everyone home the first few times just to keep the money train rolling.

But like I said, I'm a little asshole.

Especially when I'm trying to catch the Devil up on news about his son and everyone keeps redirecting me, or telling him to leave. Let me get this done and then I'll send him home. All it did is drag it out for the whole morning and then finally I ran out of news and told Caleb that any further information could be had from Joel who did his due diligence in Caleb's absence and probably has a host of interesting 'notes' about me.

But Caleb looked so sad when I said it and there, I should just wear a sign that says 'Little Asshole. Enquire within'.

I'll make it when he leaves, which at this rate will be never. I missed him a lot too but YEESH. He's doing that thing where he's super-perfect and he's smiling and that's how we know he's up to something. Couldn't even make it a whole day before that happened.

Well. Wow. Here's a longtime wish coming true.

U2 tickets-CHECK.

The Devil is in the details.

Ben calls it Loched. 

The way I wake up barricaded in Lochlan's arms. Stuck against him. Overheated. Completely limber, fluid. Hot. He doesn't let go, not anymore and I sleep wrapped up in his arms with his hand cradling the back of my head, my cheek against his collarbone, my eyes heavy and seeing in dreams.

My toes stick out the bottom of the quilt in the middle, though. I wouldn't be able to do it otherwise. I would self-immolate. I would perish.

In spite of Ben's cutesy term for it, I still don't think he appreciates it at all even as he says he doesn't mind, because he can't sleep any way but flat on his back like a vampire. I don't think that's exactly true because I remember things differently and he often revises small bits of history just to keep the peace.

And it was peaceful but now the Devil is on his way home, having been picked up at the airport by Joel, eager to report, no doubt, trying and failing to straddle the line between trusted and turncoat.

This exasperates me and at the same time I had a great weekend and am looking forward to seeing Caleb because it's been several weeks and I've had more than a few moments where I felt very cold and open, sick to my stomach thanks to his absence only because I can't stand to have anyone missing.

He will take it personally.

I'll let him.

He is on his way (any minute now) and I'm beating double-time from the inside out, fairly thrumming with anticipation. He says he bought all our Christmas gifts overseas and that he can't wait to give them to us. He says he can read and that we didn't have to have his house cleaned and stocked in his absence, that he's decided to extend his time off until the beginning of the new year because enough is enough and his exhaustion was barely touched by a week of rest. That maybe he will let go of some things.

I wonder if he means me.

The boys here are not as anxious to see him, stuck between loyalty to the one who pays the lions' share of this life altogether (me) and the need for autonomy within. Torn by their strong desire to protect me while at the same time respecting history and my own desires to flout the past and find a future in this, somehow.

Maybe.

We shall see.

I have a proposal of my own to present. And while absolutely no one is going to like it, I think it's perfect.