Stretching the truth until it's ruined.

We have barricaded ourselves in the library to wrap presents and it isn't pretty.

I'm a professional. Straight edges, crisp folds, minimal use of tape.

Ben is a savage. Balls each present up in fifty yards of wrapping paper until it's crinkly and looks like the day after Christmas, holds it outstretched in one hand, runs packing tape around the whole thing three or four times and says, Looks good to me, and puts it in a pile on the floor.

Do you need more tags?

I look up and Ben is sticking labels on his tongue and eating them. Tags? For what?

To put the recipient's name on each present.

Oh..well, fuck. I don't know what's for who. You can't tell what's in them now.

I nod helplessly and look at Lochlan. He's found an old Douglas Preston/Lincoln Child hardcover that he hasn't read so he's reading it. Right now. Stretched out on his back on the floor. There are two small neatly wrapped presents beside him. We've been in here for two hours.

You all done?

Huh?

Nothing. How's the book?

It's really good. Don't know how I missed this one!

I sigh inwardly. I love Christmas but the work and the sudden ability of everyone to turn into hapless children when it comes to getting ready for it is frustrating and threatens whatever Christmas spirit I have been trying to conjure for days now.

I'll be back in a minute. I get up and leave the room, closing the door firmly behind me. I walk and walk until I'm on the beach and it's low tide so I sit on the log all the way down at the end and wonder if we should just go back to donating our gift money to Greenpeace. Or maybe just stop celebrating Christmas altogether but as the former wife of a minister that thought makes me sad.

Which is weird because I'm not particularly religious or even all that spiritual anymore. I'm just selfish and sad and far too busy to be all meta and navel-gazing like I am now. I square my shoulders and march back across the rocks and up the hill to the house, planning to kick ass and take names but when I go in everything is cleaned up and put back in the cupboard and Ben and Lochlan are nowhere to be found.

They went for lunch, Duncan tells me helpfully through a mouthful of his own food as he sits and reads in the kitchen. They didn't think you'd be back up so soon. Usually you stay down there for hours. 

And you guys take each other on dates while I'm down there? 

Only if someone's watching you. And someone's definitely watching you today. 

He nods toward the window at the boathouse and realize I'm going to have to make my excuses in person for yesterday. I didn't show. I never agreed to anything and I failed to respond to the Devil when directly ordered to. As I said, he doesn't like it when I don't react.

Are you going to be here for a little bit? 

Duncan smiles ruefully at me. Bridget, you need to take care of this. You can't run out, provoke the dog and come running back to hide behind me. Sooner or later the dog will chase you all the way back and bite, oh, nevermind. Here he comes now. Stay or go? 

Stay. Please! 

Caleb comes in the side door and up the steps into the kitchen. He nods. Duncan. 

Cale. Duncan nods back and takes a sip of his juice. Caleb stares at him and realizes he's not going to afford us any privacy on purpose. Bridget. I was expecting you. Are you otherwise engaged?

I'm wrapping presents with Ben and Loch. 

And yet I saw them leave an hour ago.

It's very intensive work. We need breaks. 

Right so then it's a good time. 

Duncan snorts. I'm right here, Dude. She's not going anywhere. 

Caleb thinks about this for a minute and walks around to my free side, the other side from where Duncan sits and leans in to my ear. Tonight you should come down and go over our notes. I wouldn't put it off much longer. 

Duncan whistles and looks up at the ceiling. I see his hands clench.

I'll check with Ben. 

Bring him along. We'll make it a nightcap. 

I said I'll see. I remind him and he hesitates for only a minute before turning to leave. He turns back and tells Duncan that I don't need a babysitter and that Duncan isn't needed here and Duncan laughs and asks Caleb if he is new. That I definitely need to be watched and cared for a little better than Caleb is capable of and unless he wants to be wrapped like a fucking present he should probably leave.

Caleb takes my elbow and half-pulls me with him to the door. Duncan is tense like a spring on his seat. He can be up and over to us in a heartbeat. Caleb leans down to my ear just as he lets go. You should tell your dog his bark isn't much to worry about. 

Funny, he said pretty much the same thing about you. 

So newly charming.

This morning was a bit of a clusterfuck. I put Lochlan's money that he gave me towards his share back into his bank account and he yelled about it. I made tea and forgot to put the bag in and didn't notice until PJ took a sip and swore because he wasn't expecting a big swig of hot water and then in my rush to fix it I bumped into Dalton's morning wood which I wasn't expecting to be right there with him in his pajama pants saying hello even though he had taken pains to wait until I had distributed the mugs and retreated to my space at the island before heading to the sink and when I swore at him he chastised me gently but obstinately, because I was in the wrong and he was in the right.

To get away from the perfection army, I went to see Jacob and Caleb was there instead, anxious to intercept me before I got in league with my ghosts because these days all you have to do is mention one or the other and I'll go visit them because what better time than now? 

We need to do a little pre-year-end cleanup, Bridget. Can you help me today? 

I nod because refusing never went well when it comes to work or money. Just play. If it's play he'd bide his time forever but business is business and it cannot wait. I roll my eyes at the irony. He's retired and worse than ever for working when he should be relaxing.

What's wrong? 

It's a Monday masquerading as a Thursday, I explain. I hope he knows what I mean. I don't want to have to tell him about Dalton's excitable morning breakfast helper. Usually the boys stay put until that goes away and then they come out but Dalton is more than a little comfortable in his own skin and forgets or assumes that I will somehow predict his body and steer clear.

(Why would I ever steer clear of a boy?)

Caleb nods. I know what you mean. (HUH? OH. Right.) How about we head downtown for a coffee first and then we'll get organized?

I nod again.

Is this going to be a one-sided sort of day? I was hoping for a little more companionship. 

Maybe you should find someone more likable then for today. Dalton might be up for it. I wave his confusion away. Long story. Big story. Long, big story. Nevermind. I stifle a laugh-sob and pull myself together.

Caleb takes my hands and brings them together as if in prayer and then pulls them up to his lips. He kisses my fingertips and smiles down at me. I have no idea what you're talking about but I think we need a day to just go and maybe skip school and have some fun. Would that be better?

I nod again before forgetting and saying yes, even as I have my doubts. Last week when Sam said the same thing and we went off and bonded over ice skates and hot chocolate and strolls through the shops I came home and got yelled at, this after being yelled at the day before for not leaving the house. Not sure they like me making decisions so may as well let everyone else do it and I'll reap the benefits (and the punishments too.)

At least all the surprises are intentional and not just from dreaming.

Lochlan is sitting on the front porch with me going full Elvis treatment on John Lennon's Starting Over. He does a mean arrangement of this song, but the Elvis part always makes me giggle uncontrollably. He winks and postures with the guitar from his chair and then puts it down and says, what have we here? when we see an unfamiliar car come down the drive. Because they have the gate code he stands up.

It's just Matt in a dealership loaner.

Ah. 

Wait. 

I don't go and get Sam quite yet. In case Matt is here just to collect something he forgot. The timing is suspect because Sam is usually at work right now and he's downstairs sleeping instead, after staying up far too late talking with August and Ben last night by the fire, the Christmas tree lights left on for a quiet light by which to sort out his head and his heart.

Hey. Sam is home. He's sleeping. 

May I...uh. Can I see him? 

You don't have to ask. I was just warning you in case you didn't want to see him. 

Of course I want to see him. I went to the church first but they said he came home to nap.

Did you move out prematurely? I hope so. I stand there, dealbreaker that I am, trying to be nice in hopes that Matt will reconsider his opinion of me.

We tend to work things through more proficiently if we don't sleep in the same space after talking. 

There's another room upstairs you can stay in if it would be easier. 

It's fine thanks. I've got it covered. 

Okay. I stand completely helplessly in his way until Lochlan gently pulls me away from the door. Matt smiles gratefully at him and goes inside. As well as Matt and I get along on our own, we're still strangers and I'm enemy number one after all this time and it makes me sad.

Death on the beach.

Now my feet won't touch the ground
Now my head won't stop
You wait a lifetime to be found
Now my feet won't touch the ground

We need to discuss Christmas.

You're welcome to come and spend the days. Henry's off from the eighteenth. You know this.

I didn't mean Henry. I meant you.

He's wasting no time in exploiting Loch's newly minted generosity. I should tell him that generosity is only extended when Loch gets comfortable and the minute Caleb starts squeezing me again that will change. But he knows.

I'm here. I'll be around. 

Maybe we can make some plans. A movie night or something? Dinner? A weekend away?

Breakfast?

His eyebrows go up. He assumes the best all the time. Love that about him. You and your McBreakfasts. 

Hey. Be kind. I like fried food in the morning. 

And at night? 

I'd rather drink my dinner. 

Speaking of drink. Why is everyone suddenly on the edge of falling off? 

Holidays are hard. 

Yes. I'm well aware. I miss my brother more at this time of year, I think. 

Do you though? 

Don't you?

Yeah. 

Cole loved Christmas. It was the one time he was truly content. He loved the snow, the lights, the magic. He loved the traditions and the tree and the children's excitement. He loved opening presents.

Whoops. I went wading into Caleb's memories and missed the dropoff. Suddenly I'm treading water, far out with the black water underneath, my heavy skirts pulling my head under.

But I fight.

Everyone loves Christmas. Have you met Ben? 

Lochlan doesn't. I don't.

Everyone has their reasons for their feelings. But he knows and today he's turning screws because he doesn't want Sam's sudden blindingly-bright, painfully-loud needs to overshadow his own loneliness. Suddenly a wave of sadness comes out of nowhere, destroying my efforts to save myself.

You've both been alone. 

Ben's been alone. 

You can't draw a map using Ben as a guide. You should know this by now. 

So it looks like I'm in a boat with Loch this year. Maybe we'll row over and save you. Or maybe well pretend we didn't see you in the first place. He pushes my head under and swims away, taking his memories with him. The water fills my lungs and then retreats, leaving me coughing and wretching on the rocks, wondering what I did now to piss him off.

Oh, right.

Nothing. I did nothing. And he hates that the most.

I'd still save him first so the sticker is just a redundancy.

Here in this world
How would you know
What the angels look like?

Benjamin turned forty-seven last week and for some reason I can't explain he is happier now then he has ever been.

I made a huge chocolate cake for the huge birthday boy and he ate almost half of it and promptly turned into a huge hyperactive child. So we took him bowling and tried to dilute the sugar in his bloodstream with bad bowling alley pizza and failed miserably. He also managed to crack a ball just by touching it.

That's my Benny. Tough as nails, awkward as a duck on ice skates, sweet as that cake I baked. He offered to pay for the ball but was told it had just come out of unheated storage and they were having problems with those balls all week. He nodded very somberly and pointed out he has no problems with his balls ever. Loch and I were both doubled over snorting by now but the creepy guy behind the counter didn't notice and thought that just maybe Ben was a pro bowler.

(Ben is not a pro bowler. I don't believe he's even an amateur yet but he had an awful lot of fun.)

We had his official birthday dinner last night because we were waiting on Danny, Schuy and PJ to come home and they did while I was telling you about Sam last evening and then telling you to fuck off. Yes, I was cooking and wrapping and preparing for a party all the while swearing at the world. A fierce little multitasker, I am.

You know I love you but I get easily frustrated by your judgements. You try living here. Wait, you try being me and tell me you'd do better. Tell me you'd want to do better. I'm just happy that Ben is happy. When he is content it is as if I am too and I don't know why that is but I like it.

And he liked having his birthday stretched out into almost a full week of celebrations. When he was growing up it fell close enough to Christmas that he would be deprived of a full birthday party on account of the holidays and a lack of cash, with two working parents who were too busy trying to keep two six-foot-something boys fed, let alone have anything extra. So I like to spoil him thoroughly and he says that once again I have.

I sat on his knee after dinner (it's becoming a thing), his arm around my waist, his lips on my shoulder as he tried to keep his shit together while he listened to the speeches we give when someone turns another year older. When it was my turn last I stood up and said the words I wrote down a while back, as I have a year to work on these, you see, and as I spoke his eyes did that wonderful thing where they glass up and spill over and shine and when I finished he grabbed me back into his arms and told me he loved me. That he loves me more than anyone else does, and that he is so proud that I am with him. Then we had presents, and then we had things I can't write about because my mom wanted to hear about his birthday.

One of his favorite gifts this year out of everything was a novelty sticker for the glass by the front door that has a picture of the beast from Beauty and the Beast and it says In case of Fire, please save the Ben inside.

Fuck off.

If you're too judgmental to understand satire, sarcasm or just plain tongue-in-cheek irony, maybe it's time to find another blog to read. Jesus Christ. I write prose for a living.

Do I have it all?

Not even close.

But it's ironic that I am a magnet for ruined people just like me.

But seriously, if you have time to send me crappy letters, you have time to look for new things to read.

The moment I knew I had it all (except for the things I really wanted).

(Sundays are for honesty and ridiculousness.)

Sam's love for me is not all that romantic, so get over yourselves. His loyalty, however, is the supreme force to be reckoned with and when pushed, he (like me) will burn you the fuck down with it. Matt thought it would be easy to win over and he's struggled and when it got bad enough he'd take an assignment to get away from it but things haven't changed and things probably won't change. He gave Sam an ultimatum and Sam didn't budge an inch.

Lochlan looks at me last night, fire reflecting in his eyes, whiskey diluting his blood and he says why are you so good at this?

I shrug. You taught me to charm people for a living. And so that's what I do.

Why can't you turn it off?

Why would I for him? Why would I for anyone that I love? You said, if you want that brass ring give it everything you've got and so I do. A hundred percent all the time for all of you and nothing for anyone else.

This isn't how I meant. The brothers twisted everything we did and made it into something irreversible. Something too powerful.

You're not happy with me anymore?

It's not that. It's just you built this army but now you can no longer control it.

I can. But I try not to. I let the chips fall because anything else and we would be a cult.

We are a cult, Bridget.

I know we are. But are you happy, Lochlan? 

Very. I can't even explain it. I thought my jealousy would be worse than Matt's is. Worse than anything but it doesn't seem to be an issue sometimes. 

Only with the Devil. 

Not even with him so much anymore. 

My eyebrows go up and my brain starts churning but I don't reply. Too busy wondering if Sam can actually weather the storm of knowing he's alone except for the odd warm front of affection that gets forecast now and again.  A front that isn't really appropriate but that no one would dare complain about all the same.

Two more disciples for my collective. No one's on the fringe now. Not even Caleb.

Oh noes.

Oh noes.

Oh yes.

Oh shit. 

Bowling for Bridget.

Found another Little Caesars and found a reason to go in (dinner) and we bought everything they had ready (hot-n-ready? WTF YES PLEASE) and brought it home and after fifteen minutes in the oven to get things back to piping hot (we don't live near town) we were happily eating. So happily. I'm currently plotting a crazy bread revolution. Because damn. Ben pulled me onto his lap as I was clearing plates and held a leftover box up with the other arm and said, she weighs this much more now. He was rewarded with the sort of adoring laughter that used to meet Cole head-on across the dinner table with the same crowd.

It kind of weirded me out but I was so sluggish from the pizza that my brain crawled along at the pace of a turtle and I let it be dismissed along with my hunger.

Lochlan used to look for the good in being hungry. He quoted Hemingway. He would have me count streetlights or highway markers or hours or stars until food. He sometimes had to stretch them out more than he wanted. Cole never wasted a minute on hunger. If he asked at three in the morning and I nodded that I was hungry he would go make something or go out and get takeout for me.

Ben is sometimes a lot more like Cole than anyone else but only in the good ways.

Or I mean mostly in the good ways.

Ben released me but took the plates when he stood up and told me to go check in on Sam and Matt to see if they wanted some of the pizza we had left and I went down and knocked on their door. No one answered so I knocked again. I heard Sam tell me to come in and so I went inside and walked down the hall looking for him. I finally found him in their bedroom. He was sitting on the side of the bed. The closet was almost empty, and so were half the bureau drawers and Sam was holding an open bottle of whiskey. I don't know if he had any but I have to assume he did.

He's gone. He's gone like Lisabeth and I'm alone now except for God. 

And he threw the bottle at me and I didn't even duck or close my eyes.

It knocked me down and then shattered all over me and the wall in the process and Ben came downstairs and Sam was saying sorry to him but Ben told him to shut the fuck up and called for the rest who were more than a little surprised because Sam has been sober forever without so much as a flinch in the wrong direction. Even through the miscarriages. Through everything. I tried to point out what seemed so obvious and boy, was that dumb.

You really loved him.

No. I really love you. That's the problem. And I didn't drink it. Not a drop.

Everyone turned and looked at me as I sat on the floor in a pool of glass and whiskey and I didn't know what to do except wish there was a rewind button for life so we could say oops and roll it back and get another chance.

I believe him. He's a truthful kind of guy.

Now that he's upstairs in the kitchen drinking coffee with my army in the relative safety of the knowledge that as long as you admit your feelings up front you can stay here forever. Apparently that's all I ask for. Your soul (because I don't have one of my own) and your undying loyalty (because I'm scared).

Annnnnnd...Matt is home!

Cross your fingers because this morning Joel told Sam he was being very immature about what amounts to an extended business trip. I might have taken a bite out of Joel to protect Sam's feelings because how would Joel fucking know anything about anything?

Instead of a relaxing Friday night everything is tense and crazy. I just want Sam and Matt to have some uninterrupted time to work through whatever they need to. Without me. Without Joel. Just the two of them. I'll be downstairs with Ben's huge headphones listening to Ella and Louis and getting shitfaced alone.

Because I can.

Pick a flower, hold your breath.

Yes, I cried when I heard the news. I have a pretty short list of people I adore who don't live in my immediate vicinity.

And I'm pretty sure I'm the only person on this planet with the entirety of the lyrics to Still Remains tattooed on my back. Sandwiched between the giant scrawled words in Caleb's handwriting, Neamhchiontach and Croíbhristeoir, because it was the one song Jacob couldn't actually sing successfully (he was a minister with a Stone Temple Pilots cover band if you're green to SWP) so I put it there as a challenge, that maybe he could someday sing it all the way through in heaven. It's a difficult song to breathe through, the same as today is a difficult day to breathe through because we lost a huge shining light that makes up fully half my life's soundtrack. A tiny man with big showmanship, a man who entertained me for nights and hours, in person and through my headphones, and left an indelible mark with his words. A man who had his demons on his heels the whole damn time he lived. I hope they've left him now.

Rest peacefully Scott Weiland. And thank you for everything.

(Croíbhristeoir means heartbreaker. Everything Caleb has ever called me in kindness goes on my skin as a label for all eternity, but this post isn't about him, because he is still alive.)

I'm so fucking sad. 

Jesus Christ.