Diametric opposition.

I was forced into banking appointments this morning (Neamhchiontach. They need your signature, not mine.) and in between offices Caleb looks at me and asks me if I actually believe everything Batman tells me. I laugh nervously, because I do. He's fairly honest with me, after all.

No, of course not. 

Because it would be really out of left field if I asked you to marry me now. You're already married twice over. He laughs nervously too. Unless I was going to third-wheel myself which would be ludicrous. 

Yes, it would. 

He glances and me and his jig is up. It sure would. 

I'm not laughing now. I really hope that's not what you're doing and I hope that if you have anything you need to share with me that you wouldn't trick me in order to tell me. 

I'm an open book. 

I pick up my Dior bag and put it on my lap. This is enough of a Christmas present anyway. 

I don't see many of these around. It suits you. 

Everyone carries Louis Vuitton. 

Would you like one of those?

No, I wouldn't. I don't like them. 

Our next banker comes in and we're off to the races again. This is year end contributions ahead of tax season. Contribute now, write it off later. Well, not write it off, just defer the taxes until later when I'm in a lower tax bracket or something. Caleb had better live forever or I'm not going to be able to do my own finances pretty soon. It's suddenly more complicated than ever.

The next office is also empty and so we sit down again, still weirdly nervous with each other. I dig through the bag. The lining is slightly too big and I lose my lip gloss in the folds. First world problems, yes, I know.

How is Lochlan dealing with things?

What things?

Your visits to me, for starters. 

For starters- (I glare at him) there was one visit and he's...well, he's fine. 

Oh. That's unusual. 

He's coping. He's a bit defeated, as it were. He doesn't know what to do with it so he's been very patient. 

Caleb nods and the door opens and I sign more things, surprising even Caleb when I ask for my forms for tax purposes on the spot instead of waiting until February to receive them in the mail.

Are we done? We step outside. A group of women on their way to lunch give Caleb the once-over. Then they look at me with green-tinged open disregard and finally they settle on the handbag. They all carry fake Vuittons. Or maybe they're real. I don't care. He smiles at them and they giggle and rush off. I frown at their retreating gaggle and ask again if we're finished.

For now, though I was really hoping I could parlay our location into a lunch date if you don't have immediate commitments. 

I do actually. I have a lunch date already planned. 

He waits for more information but I don't give it to him except to ask if we can head home so that I'm not late. We don't say much on the drive, and once we're home I take my paperwork and my bag and kiss his cheek before running inside, and upstairs to change into warmer clothes. Jeans and a flannel shirt and a sweater and my docs and I run out back and down the steps to the beach and Lochlan is just smoothing out the big woven picnic blanket on the sand, anchoring it on all four corners with smooth round rocks. He turns just as I approach him and smiles really huge when he sees me.

I wasn't sure if you'd make it back in time. 

Wouldn't miss it for the world. 

Pluto close up.

(I wish I could save her from all their delusions)

Batman weighed in early this morning, offering me breakfast on the moon. He handed me toast spread with the milky way and filled my teacup full of stars and then he tore off all of my skin and asked me how all this space felt.

I didn't know what he meant. I just know the golden rule has always been not to make him angry, because I've seen his anger directed at others and it's more frightening than space is dark.

Playing coy is not the best course of action right this moment, Bridget. What have you done? 

This is none of your business. 

Funny, when you need protection from him it's my business. When you need some tricky financial transaction it's my business. When you want Cole to go away again it's my business. You're my charge. I was tasked with keeping you safe from that animal but you aren't letting me do my job. 

Whatever agreements you made with Cole died with him. I didn't ask for help. 

Right. YOU didn't. 

I swallow my stars in one gulp. Loch did?

Not in so many words but it's written all over his face. He's trying to give you everything you want and he hopes he's making the right decision in backing off and all it's doing is making you reckless and untrustworthy.

You think I should talk trust with Loch. 

Batman's eyes twitch.

He's the one who told me he'd never leave and then he left! Everyone leaves. Want to know the only person who's still here? Consistently? Caleb! He's never fallen in love with someone else, never not been there when I've called. Never walked away from me. Never thrown me away. 

Then why don't you just go marry him! 

Maybe I will! 

That's what we're afraid of! 

WHAT? 

That's his latest proposal. Full legal marriage. He'll give you everything in exchange for your heart. And it comes with some admissions of guilt that he wants to wait to tell you once it's a done deal. Bridget, he's going to ruin everything and he's using all of your weaknesses to do this and I'd like to beat him to it. 

What did he do? What's he going to admit after we're together?  

See, I was right. You'd be just curious enough to entertain the idea just to get the answers you want. I'm close to finding out but I still need time and he knows I'm digging. 

Of course he does. He knows everything. What is this really about? 

Protecting you and Lochlan. 

Or maybe just having the advantage over a rival. I'm just a convenient toy for you and Caleb to fight over. 

Bridget, it isn't like that. 

How about you stop feeding Lochlan's insecurities since they don't exist anyway and worry about your own life! 

How about you open your goddamned eyes!

THEY ARE. 

I DON'T THINK SO. 

Woah. You're loud. 

It's because I'm scared too! It's too easy for Caleb to get inside your head. 

Always was. Damage at such a young age does that. 

I thought Claus and Joel and Sam were helping fix that. 

I'm not fixable. I'm barely tolerable. I'm defective in the extreme. Possibly radioactive. Everyone can be near me for a short time only and then they die. You should run. 

Stop it. 

Stop what? Telling the truth? Maybe I deserve whatever fate he has in store for me. Karma. Just desserts. I don't know. Maybe I should let him do away with me. 

It would be a slow death that would continue for decades. 

So business as usual. 

Bridget-

You know what? Enjoy the rest of your universe. I'm full. 

Flicker and flow.

Those Christmas lights light up the street
Down where the sea and city meet
May all your troubles soon be gone
Oh Christmas lights, keep shining on

Lochlan is practicing walking and singing while playing the guitar. This is new for him, something that comes easily now for most of the others. Sam has recruited all of us for caroling for the next two weeks. Because we keep failing to show up for services and it's advent and that's suddenly an unforgivable offense to Sam.

(But he's a little cranky and quick to anger these days and we don't blame him a bit.)

At least we get to pick the songs.

We're going to do Walking in the Air, Christmas Lights, Old Borego and Oh Holy Night because those are my favorites if you veto Red Water (Christmas Mourning) like Sam did, because he said it wasn't exactly Christmasy.

What are you talking about? I asked him, it's totally Christmasy. 

The others are fine. Practice those. 

Yessir. Right away sir. 

He cracked a little grin (FINALLY, YEESH) and shooed me off. So here we are. Walking and trying to sing. Trying to play. I have bells in my pockets and a triangle in my hands. We both have colds just in their infancy which means we'll be unable to breathe, let alone sing by the middle of the week but Sam insists so we will persevere.

You know, if Lochlan and I don't kill each other first. Because he generously told me to go and do what I need to do and not worry about what anyone says. Even him. This is the same thing he always says and then the regret is a thousand tons of concrete pouring into my heart after whatever fleeting pointless connection I make with someone else takes place.

(Explaining it doesn't excuse it so I'll spare you any effort I make. I can be sorry and still want it so badly and no, I don't know what's wrong me either.)

He strums and forgets the words and looks at me suddenly. He is so pale I am startled and when I gasp he just says at least it was a little longer in between times this time. But he says it so slowly and painfully I forget the words too and we just stand there with the guitar and triangle in between us like musical chaperones and he finally breaks the silence and says,

We really need to practice these songs, Peanut. 

I don't feel like singing. 

Me neither, honestly but like the Von Trapps said sometimes you can distract yourself from the things that scare you by singing. 

What are you scared of?

Losing the only thing I ever wanted. 

Don't (the things you have to do to survive).

He pulled me down onto my back and bent his head down for the most gentle kiss, letting his lips linger against my cheek, closing his eyes again.

I'm glad you came to me. 

I can't stay. 

Don't say it now. 

He pushed up my shirt and then threaded my arms out of the sleeves and pulled it over my head. Then he pulled off my jeans and resumed his place beside me. I began to twist over onto my back, putting my hands together behind myself but he shook his head. No, not tonight. Let's just..not do that tonight.

Instead he so very gently brought me with him down to hell where we languished for what seemed like hours before that rocketing trip to heaven. He came with me, perfectly synchronized and then slowed to an exquisite crawl as we made the descent back to common ground. He continued to move within me, his arms locked tight around me as he smiled down at me and kissed me so gently I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming and this wasn't the Devil with me at my most vulnerable, where he likes me best.

Stay and sleep and we'll go out for brunch at a better hour than this. 

I need to go. 

About Christmas-

Like I said, we're all spending it together. 

No, your gift-

I saw the email about an order pick up at the jewelry store. You should reconsider this. I send everything back. 

This is a multi-part present. You'll see. Don't dismiss it until you see what I've done. 

I shrug. It's your money to waste. I check my Breitling. My initials are engraved on it. I couldn't send it back. I don't know if I would have sent it back. It's beautiful and it's a watch so there's no romantic connotations attached. Also, it's ten after five and I need to go.

I get up and go to the bathroom, taking my clothes with me. A quick shower and then I put everything on and come out. When I walk out he's sitting up on the edge of the bed, naked and glorious. Checking his phone. Already planning his day, I imagine as most workaholics do. He needs his own twelve-step program. Maybe we should send him to camp.

He stands up (God help me, but he's a different person in the dark. All tattoos and sinewy strength you wouldn't expect) and smiles at me. I'm glad you didn't wait any longer. He holds my head in his hand and stares down at me while I gaze up at him, letting his hand hold the weight. Swinging back against his arm. He smiles wider. What? 

You didn't tie me down. You didn't bite.

You're disappointed? 

No. Just surprised. 

Don't be. You extended a kindness to me, Neamhchiontach. I'm showing you how kind I can be in return. Oh my God. That moment came when he looks so hopeful and his eyes look just like Cole's when he would be seeking forgiveness from me. A debilitating turn of heart.

It's so...temporary. 

It won't be any more. I promise you. 

One last kiss in the dark and I'm gone. Back to the kitchen. Back into my rainboots, sweater forgotten on the floor of his room. Back across the bricks in the driving rain, hurling myself through the side door into the kitchen. Lock the door, hit the alarm, run through the house and back upstairs, taking things off as I go, back through the door at the top of the stairs and down the hall and through another door and then I pull off my shirt and climb back up the center of the bed softly and slip underneath the covers just as they both sit up and grab me. Loch's hand slides into my wet hair and Ben's arms tighten around my shoulders and Loch says Don't go to him just as Ben says Don't leave like that anymore and I close my eyes because they're also unexpectedly gentle and quiet about it, even though we're all talking at once.

Don't, Bridget. Don't do it. Don't let him in again. I've worked so hard to push him out. 

I didn't ask you to do that. 

Don't risk yourself. Don't go without me. 

There are things I don't want you to see. Things that haunt you. Things that manifest into demons later, inside your head. Just like what happens to me when-

Don't love him. 

It's not the same. 

Close enough. 

If he tells you it's different don't believe-

Don't go.

We go back to sleep, eventually, four arms to hold me down, four to hold me and keep their own nightmares from swallowing them whole and as I fall asleep again I dream Caleb is biting me until there's nothing left but white bone shining through, my heart beating fast in it's cage still protected from him. Kept from him for all eternity. It's never going to be the same so don't. Don't lecture me. Don't worry. Don't tell me I don't know what I'm doing.

Just don't. 

Three a.m.

None of the dogs are up now.

I pull my pillow down so it's sideways in bed and crawl out over the covers and down to the bottom. I pull on my shirt and jeans and slip out of the room. Ben snorts in his sleep and turns away as I close the door.

The alarm isn't set because I forgot to put it on. So no disarming beep will sound. Convenient. I pull on my rainboots and sweater and run across the driveway to the Boathouse.

This dog isn't up either.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and wrap my sweater tightly around my ribcage while I watch him sleep. He wants to hurt me. Wants to own me. Wants to pull me away from everything I know and mold me in whatever image he thinks would complement him. Wants me to live in designer dresses and skyscraper shoes, unable to run, too striking and obvious to hide. Wants me to manufacture a new past that excludes everything I've ever loved and every memory that ever gave me comfort in the darkest depths and be his trophy. Hard won. Dirty-fought. Unreal.

That won't happen.

I can love him as much as I can but it still won't happen. Instead I bring to him what I have for him. Me in the uniform of twelve. Jeans and a t-shirt. Paint-caked fingernails on tiny hands. Broken heart and frightened thoughts. He can take some of that but then I'll go back. Back to the daydreams and the cotton candy and the smiles of those who only want what's best instead of what's better.

He wakes up just as I step out of the daydream and he pulls me into his nightmare so easily it's seamless. I can't even see the edges from where the sunshine ends and the thunder rolls in. He has blurred it into my memories. Composited. Photoshopped. Forced perspective. Caustic coercion.

Doll. What time is it?

Three, I tell him. That's the magic number, after all.

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.