I think it's called bonding.

(Sometimes you just have to say the right words to me and then my thoughts fall neatly into place where they are supposed to be, instead of the way they usually are, scattered haphazardly all over the floor of my mind.)

But you do trust me. You trust me to make sure we don't starve, you trust me to be there on the platform at the other end of the wire. You trust me enough to always ask me first if I can help you even when I'm the biggest asshole alive, pushing you off out of fear, taking you for granted when I should  be counting my lucky stars. You know I'll be there even if I say I won't be. I'm the constant. I'm the sun, for Gods sake. I'll be there. Every morning come hell or high water. Every night until my death. 

We got a huge umbrella for over the Adirondack chairs on the stone patio. This girl burns like fire so it became a necessity. I love to sit outside. I'll read/eat/sleep there whenever possible but I found myself heading for shade more often than not as of late. The grotto in front is very buggy and also devoid of men so patio it is. They tan. Even Loch eventually burnishes a bit to go with his golden red curls. Even Ruth eventually tans.

But me? Nope. I'm a galaxy of giant freckles floating in a pink sky. 

So with the new umbrella situated just-so I resume life in the backyard and soon enough the Devil appears to inspect the latest purchase. He approves but most likely only because I can be touched if I'm not sunburnt. Priorities.

He passes me a whiskey on rocks and sits in the chair beside me.

Much better. He says. 

And how, I nod. 

Come watch a movie tonight? I heard your nineties dinosaurfest is over finally. Lochlan and I finished watching the third film late last evening. 

What movie?

Whatever you like. 

Chose from my wishlist then. He smiles and runs the bottom of his glass across my propped-up toes. I think he could have a foot fetish if he were any less regimented but nope, he keeps his weaknesses to tying & crying (me not him).

Maybe we could have a swim.

Can we talk too? 

About?

Just where I stand with the various allotments and property. I guess I felt as if it was connected to me continuing to work for you and now that I don't have to do that anymore since you've officially-officially retired then I don't know what assets are mine exactly or if there are any, what I should do with them? 

I'd be happy to advise you. We'll go over everything before dinner. I told you what was yours already. It surprises me that you don't consider it to be so. 

I guess I get distracted. A refresher would be great. Should I plan to be there for a while? 

A nightcap or late dessert after the movie would be nice. I won't keep you til morning or anything like that. I don't want to awaken the beast but I do need some time with my favorite girl. It will be worth your while. 

How's that?

Curious little thing today, aren't you?

You retiring has me thinking about the future, that's all. 

His eyebrows go up. He's amused. I never mention the future. I'm usually too busy living in the past.

I got to leapfrog right over Monday. Yay!

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. Over the weekend we worked our asses off, then we went to see Jurassic World (so fun!! Go!) and it inspired Lochlan and I to watch the other three movies too.

We seriously only came up for air long enough for sex and more nachos.

Kidding. We just locked the door and never bothered pausing the movies even once.

Then we called PJ to bring refreshments. The man commands a high price when he's waiting on me. If I don't want anything he brings me everything. If I want something I have to bid on it. Those nachos cost me a new stereo for his jeep.

They were worth every penny. He even put green onions on them. Spoiled rotten, I am.

Loch is, PJ says with a wink. Someone has to treat him right. 

Oh my G-

WHATEVER.

Today is another work day. There's no time to be dramatic or write or do anything. It's all work. We've scrubbed the floors, vacuumed all the levels with the swanky new vaccuum, watered all the gardens because it feels like it might never ever rain again (AHAHAHAHA) and changed the beds, which means four epic loads of laundry and a lot of climbing around trying to tuck in fitted sheets and also it means hauling the night owls out of their beds which is a little funny.

Yes I could let them deal with their own beds but if I do that PJ would next change his sheets either if he planned to bring a date home or sometime in 2020, whichever comes first.

(I kid. He doesn't bring dates home anymore. Would you?)

Duncan would never change his sheets at all. Yuck.

On the upside? We spun the music wheel and are listening to the Bee Gees while we work. Which is some sort of audible torture for some of the boys but not for Lochlan and August. They're both singing loudly in falsetto. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.

It's been a really good weekend and beginning of the week actually. Kind of like old times, in a way.

Saturdays like no other.

He wrapped one arm around my neck right in the middle of dessert out in the sunny vineyard at the long table when half the boys were carrying dishes back to the house and the other half were engaged in great conversation away from their seats. He kissed my temple, telling me I had a reprieve, that I did well in his absence not jumping ship on our arrangement, not digging myself a deep hole of grief to go into and not shutting him out upon his return. He worries, I should note, about what he's going to come home to when he travels, which is why he prefers to have me come along and then he always knows what to expect always, that it's easier on him.

It's not easier on me, I tell him as he lets go, just as he sees Lochlan coming down across the lawn. I take the last bite of my cake and pick up my dishes. Caleb grabs my wrist and my teacup drops to the ground. He says that because he loves me so much he'll delay our date until midweek. That my reprieve earned by being unpredictable, somewhat stable is a one-off, unlike our occasional evenings.

Lochlan reaches me just as Caleb lets go and takes my dishes from me. Movie? 

Yeah. 

Let's go then. It's nice and cool inside. 

I say my goodnights and follow him between the rows, back to the house.

A Saturday like any other.

When I present this morning, the Devil thanks me for having his car detailed.

We did it. I didn't have it done.

You did it?

Yes. And Sam. Keith helped. 

Ahh. Very good. I appreciate that but you didn't have to. I have a service for that.

It was cheaper. 

I left you money. 

I spent it on ice cream and glitter. 

He smiles just a little and then asks if I had a restful week in his absence. My composure hit the floor. Not really. It's shaky. I'm going to cry. I don't want to cry.

What happened? The fights?

Fights. Yeah. 

He isn't mature enough to handle you. 

Because a girl who spends hundreds on dessert and craft supplies is such a fucking enigma. 

EXACTLY. 

What?

Most women are into trips, purses and new kitchens at this age. You want to blow bubbles and spin in circles until you throw up. That's a difficult and wonderful thing to process for any man.

He never had trouble before. 

He grew up. You did not. 

You just said he wasn't mature. 

Emotionally he isn't prepared to take on an extra human when he can't look after himself.

Nice. I'm supposed to listen to you tell me this? It's a conflict of interest. 

You're a child with an extensive vocabulary and a knack for breaking hearts-

Stop that. 

It's an intoxicating, deadly combina-

KNOCK IT OFF! 

Cue the child, right on time. 

Did you have a nice trip?

I did but I missed my family. 

Okay good. Here's your car key. Henry will be over later. See you later too maybe. 

Alright. Oh. Before you go. Here. He goes to the counter and shuffles through some papers and then comes back to me with a pewter envelope. And keep the car key. Just don't leave it where they can get to it.

I take the key and the envelope but I don't open it. I'm busy juggling composure and false bravado. Now he throws fear at me and I can barely hang on to it.

It's been a long week. I need to spend some time with you. 

It doesn't work like that. 

It works whatever way I say it works. 

Children don't take orders, they're exempt. 

Bring your glitter. I have some uses for it. 

I'm not coming. 

Yes. He smiles. You will. Besides, Pyro only seems to behave and treat you properly when you're in danger, so I'll just keep you there and it will be business as usual. 

When in doubt, feed the little beast.

He knocked on the door and I refused to say anything from within.

He knocked again.

Go away! 

Bridgie, I'm sorry. Could you come out? I'll buy you dinner. 

What is it?

If you could eat anything right now, what would you eat? 

A hot dog and a brownie! With some chocolate milk. 

Then that's what we'll get. 

Really?

Sure. 

I opened the door thirty years later and he was still there. Only I don't want a hot dog and a brownie anymore. I'd like to get some Vietnamese food and then maybe an ice cream cone with a walk down by the water.

Then that's what we'll do. 

Really?

Sure. 

"The herpes of the craft world", they call it.

While I slept fitfully last night in the windless ten-thousand degree heat, Sam was exacting his revenge. You would think his identity as a minister would mean he might have gone easy in matters of vengeance, but no, he did not.

All of my shoes? Full of glitter. But only the right one of each.

My purse? Full of glitter.

My favorite tea mug? Yup.

My shampoo contained a large amount of glitter.

My favorite lipstick was dipped in glitter.

The pockets of my hoodie were full of it.

Every chair in the house was coated in a fine layer. It was on the dog. It was on Dalton. It was in PJ's beard.

I finally had to get away from it. So I went down to the beach with Duncan.

And guess what I saw?

Yes. More glitter.

I almost cried. The vacuum cleaner I have isn't so great. Marginally better than the shop vac but not by much so I figured I would disentangle myself from the hoodie, borrow a pair of shoes from Ruth and drive to the store to buy a new vacuum cleaner. We came back up (I'm laugh-crying now) and I got organized and got into Caleb's car, figuring I was safe and didn't get any glitter in his precious R8.

Then I turned it on and twisted the air conditioner up high.

And glitter blew out the vents.

PB&J (Princess Butt of Jokes).

Don't ask me to write about him today. I'm not going to.

Instead I should tell you I snuck another handful of not-yet-ripe cherries off the tree only to realize when I was eating the last one that they had fruit fly larvae in them.

All told we lost half of that crop since after I was done quiet-screaming at PJ and he googled to show me I wasn't going to die, we picked the rest of the cherries, inspected every single one, and wound up with three whole cups of untainted fruit.

I'm going to make a pie, that way I can cut them all in half to be sure they're safe but I may only eat Twinkies, Kraft Dinner and pop-tarts until the end of time because critters. They're in just about everything else.

Thank you, Google.

In other news, Sam's Kia was glitter-bombed last night. Not in the vents, just thrown all over the outside for fun. Unfortunately the perpetrator (ahem) is rather short and had no idea the sunroof was open and so she's pretty sure the worms were some sort of Divine retaliation.

Did you  know the shop vac won't pick up glitter?

I didn't know that either.

At least Matt thought it was funny. He keeps texting me today, telling me there's glitter on everything now. Every time he lists a new place where he has found it I say GOOD because life should be covered in glitter.

But not bugs.

The child and the fool. Doesn't matter who's who. You can actually ignore this one. It's nothing new.

Break the inside
Hurt in a way you'll like it
Eager to find
Find me another heart

This is how we argue now and it's ludicrous. He does laps around me with the unicycle and I stand in the middle of his circle, eyes closed. We don't talk. I just stand there. It's dumb.

The minute he's in charge I am infantilized again, right back to the good old days.

Brush your teeth, Bridgie. 

Here, Peanut. Have some more carrots. Do you want some milk?

(Do I want milk? No, I don't want any fucking milk. I don't think I'm going to grow any more.)

I'll close this window. It's cooling off. You'll freeze. 

It's late. We need sleep. 

Come here. 

And on and on and I counted about ten or so direct orders in as many hours before I stopped listening altogether. The only reason I came outside tonight is because he asked nicely if I would. As in, Bridget, would you please come outside with me? If he hadn't said please I would still be inside tucked under PJ's arm, reading my book.

Here I am. And there he goes again in another circle. He's waiting for me to talk first. He'll be doing circles all night because I don't plan to.

Seven more circles and I sit down in place, legs crossed, shoulders folded in around me. Making myself small. Chin on my hands, elbows on my knees. PJ comes out, watches this spectacle for a moment and then goes back inside, shaking his head. He doesn't get involved unless he thinks I need protecting. I don't.

Well, some parts do. My heart. My head. And maybe Loch is right. If I would just listen to him, he could direct my life like a film and things would be that much easier.

For him.

I have a personal credo to do everything the hard way, it seems and so I rail against that.

You know, before he left, Ben talked to me too. We have a mutual approach to you. If it makes you happy, it's okay. 

Oh, bullshit. If that was the case I would sleep on the beach every night! Among other things! CHRIST.

That would be dangerous and you'd get cold and...what? What other things?

Things that would MAKE ME HAPPY! 

THEN PICK SOMETHING ELSE TO BE HAPPY ABOUT. Loch roars it back and PJ comes back to the screen door, watching him. I wave him away with one hand.

Treat me like an adult. 

He stops in the middle of an arc and jumps off the cycle. What did you say?

Treat me like an adult. An equal. 

Bridge, this is bes-

Jesus, you won't even CONSIDER it, will you?! I made it this far without you. Surely by now you can see that I'm not a child anymore. 

You made it this far without me? Consider that if you had been 'with' me it would have saved both of us a lot of pain. 

Who's fault is that? I'm on my feet again. He presses his nose down against mine and backs me right across the walkway. PJ comes out and starts to come down the front steps.

PJ, we really need some privacy here. Please.

Right back into the fire. Lochlan is the one who left. He's the one who refuses this role time and time again.

It's the Devil's fault, Bridge.

No, it's yours! 

Then let me try and fix it. For the last time.

What if it's too late? 

We're both here, aren't we? It's not too late, I swear it, Bridget. Jump like your life depends on it already because I think it might. 

What if you aren't there to catch me? 

What if I am? 

But what if you're not? 

Those who are on team Caleb will be pleased to know he didn't make a tactical error in leaving Lochlan and I alone to further bond in his and Ben's absences. True to three decades of historical precedence we can't actually get along long enough to do that.