On marrying this perfect stranger.

What is wrong? 

Ben is standing in the front hall, his entire frame holding open the front door and the screen door and still managing to block out all the light. I kick at the toe of his motorcycle boots with one sock foot and he smiles so gently I wonder if he had to practice to make it look that soft. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days. I noticed because I didn't wake up razor burned nor did I go to sleep that way. He looks a tiny bit wild and a whole lot of sweet right now and he watches me frustratingly kick at his steel-covered toes and try and come up with some words that will work for him.

What if you stayed home and we hung out? 

(I'm losing my mind here. I've already made all the boys that are home lie in a circle, heads in and took their picture from the loft. They did not appreciate nor did they understand it.)

I could do that but you have to sweeten the pot. 

We could chocolate fondue things!

I'm pretty sure every tooth in my head has a cavity thanks to you. Something else?

The kids have no cavities and I only have like four so it can't be from my influence. I think you just have soft teeth. 

If I do they're the only things that are soft. 

I don't doubt it. We could...go snowshoeing. Ben loves snow like Bridget loves cake.

Needs to be sweeter. 

We could go snowshoeing...naked?

That sounds like a fine idea. Let's do it.

Wait, what? We'll get arrested. 

Not if we do it in the bedroom, Bee. 

What will we do afterwards? I try and wink salaciously at him and he's not even looking, he's taking off his boots.

Watch movies? Better yet, we'll make a movie, a documentary about naked snowshoeing in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest and then we'll send it to Loch. 

He's a terrible critic when it comes to docs, Benny.

He'll love this one because it stars us. We'll get him to facetime while he watches it so we can see his reaction to our moves.

Our moves? There are moves in snowshoeing? I thought you just walk. 

Oh, Bridget. There are so many moves in naked snowshoeing. I'm going to teach you everything I know. 

You've been snowshoeing before? 

No, but how hard can it be? I can guarantee one thing, it won't be as hard as watching you ask me if I would stay home today while you broke your toes on my boots and my heart with your eyes.

The easter egg hunt this year will take place on PJ's face (why that sounds so dirty I don't even know).

Someone left a bag of mini Cadbury Creme Eggs on the counter. They're not there now.

*Shiftily looks around*

The concert was amazing but on three hours sleep now I have the intelligence of a mashed potato, the reflexes of a manatee and not enough energy to finish words, let alone sentences.

PJ says this is nothing new so I wound up and threw a mini egg at his head. Nailed him right in the beard where the wrapped egg stuck and he said he would leave it there for a snack maybe later but then every time I saw him I would double over laughing so he finally took it out and did eat it and then went back for more.

So yes, whoever they belong to..we're...sorry? Or something. You have to guard your chocolate in this house. You just can't go around leaving it everywhere, unattended, unlabelled.

PJ says Perhaps it was a gift?

Perhaps, I repeat and smile with chocolate all over my teeth.

I actually think Lochlan left them there as a treat for me since he had to leave so early. This is why there was so little sleep. Batman and Lochlan had a last minute work trip and so we took them to the airport and I was too tired to cry, if you can believe it. Maybe that's the secret. Exhaustion. Though they say exercise and being tired is so great and I ran and ran for years and nothing changed except now my legs don't ache constantly and I buy really cheap Nikes instead of the spendy Sauconys.

Lochlan didn't want to go but it's only three nights and really Ben seems to be doing well and PJ is in charge and so now or never, I guess. Batman will be bringing home his new personal assistant (they need to be imported I guess). Loch is going to bring home British chocolate which he says will blow my tiny little mind but I reminded him that's been done and there just isn't enough left to risk so I'll make do with a tacky souvenir plate of Kate and William if he's in the mood. They should be buying plates with our faces on them, he tells me as he kisses me goodbye.

Well, fuck, NOW I'm going to cry. Great.

Kind of love it when Ben leaves the house with the rest of us and it's not for food.

My eyes are blind but I can see
The snowflakes glisten on the tree
The sun no longer sets me free
I feel the snowflakes freezing me

Let the winter sunshine on
Let me feel the frost of dawn
Build my dreams on flakes of snow
Soon I’ll feel the chilling glow

Tonight, finally, after a delay, is the Black Sabbath concert. The last one ever, as it were and so everyone is going. Everyone except the children, so that means if you see us and want to come up and say hello we really don't mind. If the children are with us we go into full Avengers Assemble-mode and it's a little scary. People sometimes get reallllly excited when around someone they kinda recognize and at this kind of event it's far more likely. Long story. Anyway, if you see us and you want to come say hi, just be gentle, LOL. We won't bite but we also don't like a big fuss.

(Caleb is even going. He'll be the inappropriately dressed one in a blazer and nice pants.)

I'm excited. I have maybe fifty pounds of eyeliner already on and am broadcasting Snowblind to the point. PJ is very appreciative of my swaying around the kitchen singing it. Or maybe it's these skinny jeans? I should probably stop before he gets a full-on metal boner but who cares?

I'm even going to break my own golden rule and drink a beer tonight.

In public.

(If the jeans can take it. They're tiiiight because metallllll.)

Because this is the End.  Goddamn it. I know I'm going to cry. But also SNOWBLIND.

 LIVE.

This is the shit dreams are made of, right here.

(I am such a boy. Eyeliner included.)

(All the destruction, it was quiet.)

All of the interesting turns of events from birthday to now and Caleb is fixated on the title of yesterday's entry as if it's a label I have put onto him, stamped across his forehead as a reminder to learn from my mistakes and grow.

But let's face it. I'm done growing. I was done at eleven or maybe ten. Maybe the Midway food stunted me or maybe Lochlan froze me in time, perfect to fit under his chin or maybe I don't learn from mistakes and therefore are doomed to repeat them over again, ad infinitum. Maybe Caleb wasn't ever a formal enough of a relationship to be considered a mistake, more of an ongoing kind of dalliance that we've never solidified into anything further, as I was always otherwise engaged. Literally engaged. Positively uninterested in ever giving a voice to a marriage of monsters.

In consideration I have thought about it many times and I often wondered if I did, if he would change. If he would be nice or at least somewhat less cruel to me. If he would be kind instead of frightening, loving instead of forceful. Sweet instead of always mean. His charm, his frailty is a mask and as long as I keep that in mind I do okay but his charm is also magnetic, dangerous and deceitful and I am no match for the Devil as I am forever frozen in a time period I would have gone back to if I could find the way. Not for the bad things but for the good and now no one seems to understand that when I write 'My Yesterday', it simply means this is how the day before today went and nothing more. It's not a proclamation or a hidden message. It's just a descriptor. A marker. A heading. It's a story.

It's a shame, is what it is and now I'm going to move on. Fifty-four is almost a year away and so I can let out a long deep breath and plan for the next catastrophe which seems to be the mystagogue in this house, who pretends to be a minister but I swear to God sometimes Sam, like August channels just enough Jake to warm my cold broken heart in the form of these men who keep me going to see what they do next. He's lying on the floor in the living room with headphones on listening to music, which would be quiet and acceptable save for the fact that he's singing so loudly he woke the whole house up.

(He found that Shooter Jennings song. Man. What an amazing fucking song.)

That's exactly what Jake used to do each early March when Lent was under full steam and we all stopped going to church regularly enough for him. He would make sure we were up and at 'em so that we wouldn't be late. We didn't all live together back then so he would drive around town knocking on doors and singing and checking his watch when they would come and open the door in pajamas, rubbing their eyes, probably hungover with no intentions of hearing his service.

And it works now like it worked then. Perfectly.

So off we go. Maybe I'll add more later. Maybe I'll go back to bed.

My yesterday.

BRIDGET.

Friday morning, 8:05. A heartbeat after the kids have left for school and the Devil has come to claim his due.

Where did you get them?

Everyone is all up in his face before he finishes the question and he struggles against them while I stand in the doorway. He's screaming at me to tell him and then in a moment of silence I shrug.

Where did I get what? 

The benzos you put in my drink.

Are you saying you think something fell in your drink?
 
It's a sad day when you feel as if you have to poison me to avoid meaningful contact. 

I didn't poison you. It must have been some kind of accident. Love how you call it 'meaningful contact' now. That's amazing. Everyone is staring at me with amusement and I have no poker face so I burst out laughing very inappropriately.

That's an extraordinary length to go to, Neamhchiontach. 

The stress of trying to hold out dissolves me and the tears come. I must look insane. I don't know what you're talking about! I thought you were tired. I was relieved, I admit. I came home. I didn't do anything to you. 

He softens just enough that they let go and those who have some manners leave the room. Bridget, I'm sorry I frighten you so much. I wanted to end my birthday the way I began it. Alone with you. 

I'm sorry. I whisper, well aware that it sounds like guilt even though I'm apologizing for leaving his house before his birthday was over.

(My inner twelve year old kicks me in the shins and scowls. Lochlan leaves the room. For fucks sakes. Social engineering is as exhausting as a birthday to me.)

Did you put something in my drink, Neamhchiontach?

No. Maybe you're just more tired than you realize. It was a long day. I smile through tears and he wipes them off my cheeks with his thumbs.

His eyes though.

Blue right through with obvious doubt.
 

Just like normal people.

Pierced your arrow through my heart
Wanted me, now want me gone
In your hiding, you’re alone
Kept your treasures with my bones

Told me lies, told me tales
Lived for bad, and hit the rails
Hate you, boy, with what I know
Picked my love up with my bones

Through the door at 10:06 pm after Caleb nodded off on the couch. I took our glasses into the kitchen, covered him with one of the fur blankets from his bed and let myself out, locking the door behind me.

When I came in the side door Lochlan came off his chair like there might be a spring underneath him. PJ had him blocked before he even registered that it was just me.

You're here! 

I told you I wouldn't be there long. We had a drink and I'm home as promised. I think he really enjoyed the day. Thank you for helping keep the peace.

His composure fought an incredible battle on the inside. I could see his expressions cycling through as he went for neutral and wound up with pain, relief, stubbornness and love all mixed up together. Then he bailed on the whole mess and just pulled me into my place, tucked under his chin, in his arms, underneath his flannel shirt, pressed against the t-shirt that is so old it feels like his heartbeat is the thrum of huge heavy butterfly wings muffled by clouds.

Three seconds later another chin lands on the back of my head and the sandwich is complete as I feel Ben's hands press to my ears. Okay then. Jesus. They painted me a reckless liar. Wait, I am one. This feels awful.

You okay? Ben's question is as weighty as Loch's relief so that I get crushed underneath my own guilt.

I'm fine. We had a drink. I'm home. 

He let you go?

He can't 'keep me'. He fell asleep. It happens. People get tired.

The Devil isn't 'people', Bridgie. 

I shrug and push myself out of the embrace. PJ checks his eyebrow raise and asks if I want tea. I shake my head and ask if we can watch a movie or something. Lochlan gently reminds me that it's late and he has to get up early so bed it is. Off we go.

Why did you stay up then?

I was holding out until PJ let his guard down and then I was going to come get you. 

Loch-

Just don't, Bridget. 

You don't trust me. 

I don't trust him. You know damn well if he wants something you can't-

Can't refuse him?

Can't fight back. He absolves me with that. He forgets the minute I am home, always. 

Sure I could. I'm tougher than I look.

He shakes his head and then pulls off his shirt and the t-shirt underneath. You think he..I don't know, do you think he's going to leave you alone? 

I don't want to ruin this perfect victory of a day, complete with cake, balloons, presents, touching speeches and self-reliance with disappointment so I just strip off all my clothes, climb into the middle of the big bed, bracelets and all and forget to kiss the boys goodnight.

Stumbling into a flat run.

Beware the bottled thoughts of angry young men
Secret compartments hide all of the skeletons
Little girl wants to make her home with him
In the middle of the shore, she wonders
'Don't know what you asked for'

Fifty-three this morning looks haunted, quietly unsettled as we take a thermos of coffee down to the beach to greet the horizon, a line cut with damp sugar. I'm teaching him to appreciate the simple life even as he attempts to appropriate the magician's rituals for his own. The coffee is a compromise. He wanted to bring champagne. Which is different than scotch but somehow still the same. It's cold and rainy this morning and the birthday boy looks at me for a very long time before I give in first, toasting him with the metal cup full of scalding black gold.

Happy Birthday, Diabhal, I've made my speech privately, ending with the expected formality of a wish, as this day holds so much more weight than any other of his year. Birthdays are sacred to the Collective and treated as such.

Which one of them is keeping you from me? Look what happened to the last two men who tried. As of today I am three years past my goal and it's further out of reach than ever.

What did you do, wake up and say this should be the day where you turn the evil up to eleven?

I need a name. If you're protecting Lochla-

It's Bridget.

Pardon me?

I'm doing this. Because I said I would and I am. If you're going to kill me please not by heights or fire. I prefer to be drowned or asphyxiated in the throes of passion. Humane, as it were. Maybe a drug overdose but make it good so I have no idea what's going on. Now if you don't mind can we not fight today? This is a very special day. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and he laughs. I peek at him with one eye all squinty and he's smiling but his eyes are still incredibly sad.

I'm not going to kill you today. It's my birthday, Neamhchiontach. And you're right. The simplest things are best and being here with you to greet this day is a gift in itself. I know you probably met a lot of resistance. I do appreciate it. 

I'm not doing you a favor. I want to be here. 

Is Pyro chained up inside or something? 

He's at work. 

He doesn't know. 

Sure he does. His spies are all over this. I point back behind my head and Duncan is casually scanning the sweet morning skyline from the telescope platform.

Okay, well then how about I go get some things done and I scoop you up at one? Since dinner is here and you've gone to so much trouble let me take you out for lunch. 

I'm game. Can we just have ice cream? 

We're having cake tonight. Don't overdo it. He indicates the candy vista stretching as far as the eye can see in glittering shades of lavender and orange over a darkened teal early sea. My legendary, unchecked instant childlike disappointment is a goddamned firestarter.

We'll see, he changes his mind when he catches my expression as it runs to hide. He smiles again, eyes still sad.

It's your birthday. You choose. But no more threats against Lochlan. He hasn't done anything to you.

That slight spark is enough to reassure my pounding heart that he is okay as the smile finally hints at his eyes until the comprehension of my words extinguishes it completely. I can't coordinate my feelings. I want to be Kevlar and I want to be comfort. I want to be somewhere else. I bite my own tongue chewing on my shoes as I attempt to change the subject before he notices what I have done.

 Are you coming back up? I see Duncan has already come down from the platform and is heading for the stairs. I have my answer.

I'm going to stay for a bit still. Give me the coffee, would you? 

He takes the thermos and walks me back carefully to the bottom of the steps, kissing my cheek hard as he lets go. As I grab the railing he heads back to the other end of the beach. He turns to see me looking back at him and holds up a finger.

Wait? Stop? Think about this for a minute? I have something else to say? Be careful? Soon? See you at one? I have one man left to destroy? I don't know what the finger means so I ignore it, turning away first, climbing the stairs slowly, hand on the rail as instructed because he just broke one of the house rules of buddies on the cliff stairs because they're fucking dangerous. Less dangerous than he is, though, I suppose, birthday or not.

Damn the dark, damn the light.

And if you don't love me now
You will never love me again
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain.

He finishes his bite and then points to my plate while he wipes his mouth on the napkin. Finish your lunch, he orders.

I am busy editing photos on my phone and my sandwich is mostly untouched.

In a minute. 

Bridget. 

Just a word. Just my name. But it's loaded with pretty much every bullet we've ever shot at each other when he says it like that.

Like a dad.

Not like a lover.

Which is where I get confused. The ten year old sits up straight, wipes her braids off her shoulders and digs in, swinging her feet until she kicks off her shoes (she hates shoes anyway) and then has to withstand five long minutes of lectures when he reaches under the table to get them and has to spend an exorbitant amount of time untangling the double knots he tied for her this morning. Then she stands up while he ties them again, back on her feet. These are new. Nikes with a blue swoosh. They're for tennis but she hates tennis. Too much running and it's boring. She writes the words to Fleetwood Mac songs along the sides with a ballpoint pen and wonders if she'll soon be old enough to have the kind of heartbreak they sing about. Then Lochlan stands up, pulls his sleeve down over his hand and wipes her whole face off.

I bet if I stood up right now he would be tempted. I should test hi-

Bridget. Come on. We've got things to do. 

He totally would.

The killing kind of love.

We're partners in crime
You got that certain something
What you give to me
Takes my breath away
Now the word out on the street
Is the devil's in your kiss
If our love goes up in flames
It's a fire I can't resist

We're making preliminary plans for when Dalton comes back that involve sending he and Duncan downstairs for a sibling-flat kind of scenario and Sam is moving up to Duncan's room. Duncan likes it. Dalton will love it.

Sam doesn't want to be down there any more. Too many memories. I get that so I'm moving heaven and earth (that would be Duncan and Dalton, respectively hahahaha) to see that he gets what he needs. If Sam's frame of mind slides anymore he's going to be at the bottom of a big hill. But I had to ask the inevitable question because it could be an issue.

What happens if Matt stays over again? 

He won't be. Hey, I gotta go. I'll be home in time to help with dinner. He kisses my forehead and he's gone.

Oh. Well, why not, Sam? I ask my blueberry pancake. PJ tries not to laugh from where he is loading the time machine.

That's a musical apartment. 

It's what it was intended for, I guess. Whoever needs it most. Maybe I should go live there.

With Duncan? PJ smirks at his cleverness and I throw my pancake at his head. It misses wildly and sticks flat against the window above the sink, sliding down the glass in a syrupy crawl like a huge tangible honey moon.

He can't help it anymore, laughing out loud. I look for something to throw next.

I think your plate is full, he reminds me as I wonder what the fuck he's talking about. My plate...is empty. I just THREW the food on it at him and missed. Oh, wait.

A figure of sp-

I know what it is! 

What are you doing about Thursday? Feed the Devil, kill the Magician? 

No, I'm going for a birthday champagne and then I'm coming home. 

Does Caleb know this? 

Yes, but he doesn't believe me.

Does Lochlan know this?

Yes, but he also doesn't believe me. 

Duncan might be the best choice in this scenario. 

I know, right? 

More about Dylan in one single post than in the last decade.

This morning very early we saw Dalton off for his whirlwind spring. I will miss him. He's my hippie, the Teflon Jesus we all know and love. He said he expects face time* every day. I don't know when that's going to happen with the time zones but we'll make it work. He's not as huge on affection as his brother so somehow it's easier to say goodbye, though I still cried. Dylan was with him. He gave me a quick hug and I swore at him because he won't let me write the oh-so-many good things I could share with you because he doesn't want to live online. Most of them don't, I don't think. They, like me, regard the Internet as a sort of instant-encyclopedia, good for looking up why the old guy in Colony looks so familiar, oh, it's Captain Brass from CSI kind of forgettable trivia we seem to fill our brains with when we should be filling them up to the brim, to overflowing with memories, just in case. Use the Internet to keep in touch? No way. That's why we live in a commune, silly.

Love you, Fidget. Be a good girl. 

I'll do nothing of the sort. You have condoms?

No, I plan to bring my raging chlamydia-infested junk home and rub it all over you. 

Hey, just no. Even Dalton is grossed out and Dalton has loved and left them all. He just did it well-wrapped.

Kidding. I love you. Take care of Benny for me and everyone else and make sure they take care of you. 

Or we'll kick their asses when we get back. Dalton is stern but holding tough so he doesn't lose it. We hate goodbyes. Hate them, hate them, hate them.

Just get back in one piece, guys. I hug them both at once. Too hard, too long. I have issues.

When they leave I wipe my eyes, pull up my underpants and head straight for the bank where I put a few thousand bucks each in their accounts just in case. Just in case they gotta eat. Just in case they need a quick flight home or an emergency room bill paid. Just in case they didn't pack condoms. Just in case there's cool merch or VIP when things swing this way. Oh, I don't know. Bail money. God forbid, think up a horror scenario and I've already imagined it, though Dalton is a well-seasoned traveler and Dylan is not my child so I should worry so much less than I do but I really love it when everyone is present and accounted for at home on the point and the gate is locked across the driveway best.

I thought Ben might have a hard time seeing them go off officially but he didn't. Duncan did that super-stoic cool lizard-king thing where he doesn't react but he's got his sunglasses on and it's cloudy so I know he worries and I hugged him and told him they will be fine and if something goes wrong we will swoop in and rescue them and he nodded and smiled and squeezed me back but he didn't say much on the ride home either. The torch has passed. The marginally-younger, unencumbered, unburdened guys are going out and the older ones in recovery or with families and tired bones are staying home. It's not a life if your thoughts are always back at home, it's just a miserable,  lonely kind of party. But they'll do well to make some decent money and gather just a few more stories to tell around the fire pit later this summer. I can wait. Or maybe I can't.

*(Back in the day when the kids were in diapers and the castle was cold, Ben would call maybe twice or three times during a whole run, because we didn't have cellphones. That was unbearable. At least now we can check in daily. Hourly, if need be. I like it a lot better.)