Good in snow.

The Devil approves.

This is why I have you decorate, Neamhchiontach. This is inviting. 

I don't know if he's being ironic so I thank him for the compliment nonetheless and usher him back down the steps. We have church.

Why does Sam insist on his early service being so early? 

Because if he does it late less people come. People like to get God out of the way early and then they free themselves up to do other things. Half of my sentence comes out in an unrecognizable yawn and I laugh because I can't understand myself.

Sam seems very busy lately doing other things. 

My gaze is a warning. I don't say a word.

Interesting that he can lead you to sin and then redeem you all at once. One-stop shopping. 

Caleb. Please. 

No familiar nicknames, no casual teasing. My formality is a second warning.

What is Lochlan doing, Bridget? 

You'll have to ask him. Maybe things are smoothing out. Maybe he's able to release his hold just a little. He's relaxing. I don't know. Like I said, ask him. 

(Don't ask him if he spent last night clutching me so tightly against him while he slept that I couldn't breathe and didn't care and he lashed out with a fist when Ben tried to untangle me but he was mostly sleepfighting and didn't know so Ben settled for wrapping a hand around the back of Lochlan's head and spooning behind me. That seemed to calm Lochlan back down. I didn't die overnight. I was still breathing this morning but I was flushed and overheated. I woke up not even knowing where I was for all the lush colors I forgot about while I slept.)

(For the curious, everything else in the house is white. Jesus. Five shades of white paint. White carpets and rugs. White trim. White white white. Matches the snow. Hard to keep up with when you have a black cat and ten people with impossibly dirty fingers living in the same place but I try my best.)

(I should learn to stop telling stories in parentheses.)

I might, Caleb says.

I've forgotten what we were talking about.

When we get downstairs Ben is ready. Lochlan is working for Batman today and forgets Sundays are church. He hasn't liked church since I was ten and we went to ad-hoc open-air tent revivals, lead by whoever felt the need to spread the Word. Those were confusing to me, riveting only in a sense that I couldn't understand people's devotion to something so seemingly intangible. They told me I would get it when I was older. That I would feel it. I'm still waiting for that day to come.

Ready? Ben is holding his keys and wearing his boots.

(The ground clearance of the R8 means it is staying home now until the snow and ice is gone. Caleb says if this keeps up he'll go back to driving a Bentley. I asked why he doesn't just get a truck and he said he wasn't a savage.

Just a snob, then. 

Probably, yes. I'm not a truck person. 

No, you certainly aren't.)

We are ready, I tell Ben and we grin at each other. I know the minute he turns the key in the truck the full-volume Amon Amarth (best hair in the business) CD I had playing when we came home last will fire up and blow Caleb's horns right off. I can't wait.

The four-poster field of dreams.

He smiled that smile when he came into the room. He is leading another by the hand. They look devilish and sweet. Lochlan puts a finger to his lips and walks right past me with Sam. Sam leans over and plants a soft kiss on my cheek.

I don't understand but I don't look a gift horse in the mouth either. Lochlan was afraid I would get closer to Sam and now he's engineering it firsthand. He's being affectionate with Sam to a fault. Lochlan is neither gay nor is he even bisexual but he's feeling the love. Maybe it's a crush. Sam is crush material if I ever saw it. He and Lochlan have a lot in common. They're both shorter than the rest. Sam's hair is almost curly, it's wavy and rumpled perpetually. They're both fair and thoughtful and super affectionate to me, and maybe Lochlan finds God through people. He once said any faith he had was in me, maybe he has some in Sam too.

He's here with us, isn't he? Lochlan reads my mind. He says it quietly, with mischief.

He's showing him what we've done. We changed the lighting, hanging almost a dozen electric Turkish lanterns in shades of greens and turquoise and copper, some by the bureau/closet area, some over the cozy little couch and chair nook, and some on each side of the bed. We updated the curtains and pillow covers in rich shades of teal and green velvet and we...added to the bed. We added a double with extra length to the extended king that was already in place. Ben himself made a new extended width frame so the posts keep it all together in one huge expanse and I tripled the curtains draped over copper rails. Now we have an absolutely beautiful room with space for everyone. Or anyone we invite. Or anyone who happens to show up. Now Ben can sleep sideways, if he wants and still has room to stretch his arms over his head without them hanging off the bed. Sometimes we get turned around.

(Go big or go home, Fidget.)

Bring the Reverend or bring the Devil or maybe bring them both. I can do whatever I want. Or I can keep it all to myself with just Ben and Lochlan or maybe nobody but Bridget. I can make sheet-angels. I can dream for miles.

I wasn't dreaming last night though. I was awake throughout. Sam left shortly before sunrise and my dreams wore out my brain to match my body. Which was good. I needed it.

The new Friday.

All these broken souls
They never make me whole
They don't know my heart
All these broken souls
Each one more beautiful
They don't know my heart
I'll send out my soul
To worlds more beautiful
But they won't know my heart
It's the darkest part

Another song off Vessels, the new Starset album and I am set for a cozy day of waiting for snow and learning to knit. I already helped take down the final exterior decorations and begged (and won) to leave up the carnival lights. Because lights.

The snow never came. The wind picked up a little and briefly the sun made an appearance and so we ran outside with shovels and a hoe and chipped away more of the ice on the steps leading down to the beach. Slowly we will make it safe again, as we have half of each step clear now so we can go down single-file, but that's less than ideal. It's supposed to rain heavily on Sunday, and that should finish off the rest of the snow and things will be back to Pacific Northwest Normal.

(We don't have salt. I have a dog and I don't want salt in his paws and it's also bad for the vehicles/concrete/brick/planet in general. The mad rush and riots of Vancouverites in the news trying to get precious rare road salt makes me laugh. SHOVEL. And if you can't physically shovel but you can run up to the firehall and shovel salt into a bucket, well then just...eat me. I don't know. The whole thing seems like a bad joke.)

Whoops. I promised I wouldn't editorialize but really having come from the two other (massively wintery) places I have lived this is...well, okay, nevermind.

Lochlan built a huge fire when we came back in. What do you want to do for the rest of the afternoon? His cheeks and his nose are pink from cold. He looks adorable.

Lets go get burritos and bring them back and watch Russian horror movies.

He only hesitated for a second at the strangeness of my request and then he smiled. Get your coat. 

When your brain doesn't tell you where it's heading.

(My 0 to 60 isn't measured in miles, it's in how quickly I can go from heartwarming to heartbreaking. August told me that once.)

I look like some sort of gentle torture victim today. I have a fine eczema rash almost all over my body at this point and four of ten fingers have cracked from the cold. I'm also covered in feathers, having drew the chore today of changing beds. That's eight king-sized beds, three hours of laundry and a lot of physical labor. You can't bounce pennies off flannel but I don't know a soul who doesn't appreciate climbing into fresh warm bedding at the end of the day. On PJ's day for beds he opens a door, fires a armload of clean sheets toward the bed and the sleeper must do his own hard labour putting it all back together again.

Maybe I do too much? I don't know. It's in my nature to spoil those I love but in the long run it's better to torture them. I should roll them in feathers too. These pillows leak something fierce. I can't find any holes in the outer casings though so maybe it's just a funny and annoying thing that very good pillows do. Ben bought these and then he bought some for everyone else too. I would roll him in feathers but he would just eat them.

Why are they sticking? PJ wants to know. He's been judging me all morning as I struggle from room to room with a big bundle of clean sheets for each bed. He's clucked and tsked and shook his head and he started to roll his eyes until I threatened to pluck them out of his face and replace them with dryer balls.

He found that funny. I guess he didn't think I was serious.

I put moisturizer all over. I guess it didn't finish absorbing yet. 

You're tarred and feathered. 

Yes thank you. I can see that. 

It's a fitting punishment, I think. 

I've never done anything wrong in my life. Recently, I mean.

Christ, Bridget. You asked Santa for the Devil. It probably doesn't get more wrong than that. 

I'm sure there are things that are worse. 

Like what? 

Pulling bed-changing duty and not actually doing it. I throw his bundle of sheets at him and let him make his bed by himself. I'm itchy all over. I need to go find a bathtub full of oatmeal and painkillers. Or maybe just tranquilizers because all of these feathers are freaking me out and I keep expecting to turn a corner and find Jacob standing in this house, wings and all.

Futureproofing.

I'm not a good person, Neamhchiontach. 

Somehow this seems disingenuous. He has cake. How bad can he be? (Asked the little girl who was only taught to be wary of strangers and had no idea she should ever be afraid of her friends.)

He doesn't wait for me (or her) to answer and instead keeps going.

If you don't mind, I'm going to cut our visit short this evening. Lochlan will be here at nine to collect you. I've already filled him in on my intentions and he's probably as relieved as you are. 

I came here above duress. 

I know, and it's encouraging but in order to rebuild trust we need to have time and not rush. 

The end justifies the means, you always told me. 

I was wrong. 

He sliced two generous pieces of cake and asked what I would like to drink. It took me a minute because he is the king of ordering for me, guessing that he knows me well enough and I pause before telling him whatever he has is fine. He counters with orange juice. He does know me. We work on our respective plates and he outlines a future I didn't think I'd see in this lifetime or even the next. Utopia without black holes to fall into. A support network bordering on incestuous if only we were related. I guess some of them are so it counts. A do-over. When I get to the last bite of cake he asks why I believe him, where the blind faith comes from in the face of a monster such as himself, why I trust him from the outset after all this time.

That's easy. We are growing old. My children are the ages now that he and Lochlan were when they made their plans to take over the world and honestly knowing how fragile life becomes after losing husbands and little brothers and faith too it's easy to see that there isn't time left for anything but finally setting things right.

That sounds naive and pretentious at the same time, Bridget. 

It's the sugar talking. 

Then we laughed until we cried. I got a hug. Not an ominous one, not an I'll see you later one jagged with threats, but just a hug. I felt a little hope in there and a little bit of regret but more of the former than the latter coming off the Devil in waves. I don't think he's going to blow this chance. Everyone else does but I know him better than I know myself. Kind of the same way he knows me.

A date with the Devil. Hope he has cake.

Caleb calls me out into the snow at 6ish this morning. Everyone's stirring. I bring my coffee and have boots on and pajamas. My hair is sideways and I jam it back behind my ears. Lochlan rolls his eyes as I go out the door and wonders out loud what he wants.

Caleb is holding a small box. He looks at it while he tells me that he understands that I am afraid, that he hopes to change that some day. He apologizes for asking for a good faith visit with him, telling me that he is thankful I was able to bring about the reconciliation between himself and his best friend, that his friendship with Lochlan is important to him and it is not contingent on nor is it tied to his relationship with me, but that he was hoping to be on close terms with us both. With everyone.

I nod and sip my coffee.

Are you alright? 

I don't know. Maybe. I look at my coffee. I'm freezing. It was -4 on the readout of the weather station in the kitchen and I didn't wear a jacket.

Go inside, Neamhchiontach. Maybe we can talk later. It's your call. 

I nod and he leans down and lands a kiss against my forehead before I turn to head up the steps.

Bridget-

I turn back. Yes?

You asked for me. That was the catalyst. What gives?

I know. It happened so fast. I thought it would be a longer fight. 

Was it a test? Are you disappointed in Lochlan? 

I am never disappointed in Lochlan. I look at Caleb now. My chin is up, my expression stubborn.

It's a fair question. 

No it is not. 

You forget-I'm part of this now too. 

I know. 

Will I see you this week? 

Tonight. 

Seriously? His face morphs into this huge excited eighteen-year-old's grin. I never could resist it.

Eight good? 

Eight is fine. Maybe just come over for dessert and see how you feel. Okay?

Okay. I feel weird and now I'm frozen to my bones, so in I go. Once inside I realize I didn't get to see what was in the box. Probably tonight. Maybe it's my soul. I was even smaller than this when he took it.

Most days.

Ben and I spent the afternoon trying to do handstands and walkovers into the snow of the pool. It's back. It's weird being here in the snow, I can't get used to it and Ben can't do a walkover. He can run and do a back flip into the snow easy but I was afraid he would break his neck and asked him to stop. In turn he said I looked really freaky walking like a circle in slow motion back flips with an arched back and only my hands and feet touching the ground.

They teach that at the circus? He asked.

Summer camp. I could do it before I got to the circus, I told him.

When we got too cold to stay outside we headed toward the patio and Caleb appeared like a vampire. Ben was conciliatory, giving me a shove in the Devil's direction but I came back to Ben on his downswing.

I looked the Devil in the eye but my mouth went dry and my hands started to shake. Ben and I have plans to spend the afternoon, sorry. 

Caleb made an oddly gracious reminder about good faith promises and then a hasty exit and Ben stared at me until we were alone again.

Bridget, did Caleb somehow force you to ask Lochlan for a truce? 

No? 

Because for someone who wants her freedom to go to the Devil you seemed more than a little afraid. Has Lochlan addressed this? 

I'm not ready, that's all. I didn't expect them to sort through this after so long. 

You bluffed. 

I didn't bluff. I think I just...overshot. And now instead of an open promise I suddenly have an extra rich clingy boyfriend. 

Oh MY GOD. HAHAHAHAHAHA (See the Guardians of the Galaxy 2 trailer? At the end when Drax goes DO ME NEXT HAHAHAHAA. Yeah, that's Ben.)

What's so funny? There's Lochlan back from Batman's early. Great. Ben's going to twist this because it's funny to him.

Your wife is afraid of her new boyfriend and may have bluffed, thinking you two would never make up but then you did and she doesn't want to go to him. 

That's not what's happening. The longer we go in between the harder it is. I don't know if I can trust him. Or you. Or anyone for that matter. Or Ben. Especially Ben. I regard him with narrowed eyes.

This is bullshit. Lochlan says.

Yes it is. I agree.

What do we do? He asks. He's cold. He just wants to go inside.

Nothing. I'll find my courage tomorrow maybe. Or the next day. 

Bridget-

It's fine. Really! 

But they both look at me like I'm crazy, which is nothing new either.

NYE

We met on the plains of Point Perdition just before eleven, instantly had an argument and retreated, lighting the fields on fire behind us so we wouldn't be followed. The power went out, the generators kicked in and the snow fell so thickly it was like cotton from heaven. We opened some champagne, toasted to a new year and Caleb briefly appeared again, this time at the side door, no harm no foul, to wish us a happy new year and invite us for brunch the next morning. We agreed sometimes a rocky start is better than no start at all and left each other on good terms. Well, most of us did. Sam had his feelings hurt somehow and tried to magnify that into a reason to keep the very quiet tiny party going but I bailed on the blackness all around and fell asleep with the dog at my feet, safe in my bed before one. When I woke up at three the lights were all blazing again and everyone (Ben is the late night ringleader) was mostly awake and still talking, watching movies and generally doing this otherly-human thing of staying up super late. I can't do it. I'll barf. But I did get up early this morning and put away most of the Christmas stuff, started some laundry and made myself a huge mimosa with the rest of the champagne. In a double-sized A&W mug I found in the cupboard so I should have been useless by brunch but no. I was just hungry.

(I think they all thought it was going to be a repeat of 2012. I don't think we're there yet. I don't think I was ever there to begin with.)

Hello 2017.

What a gift. What potential and hope resting in a number.

Let me go boys let me go
Push my boat from the highest cliff to the sea below
Rocks are waiting boys rocks await
Swoop down from the sky and catch me like a bird of prey

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

Ben's way is best. Stand on the telescope platform in the pouring rain and sing out loud to whatever's in the headphones. Singing into the void of fog has a meaning I can't even articulate to you on this day.

2016 wasn't easy. I turned a corner with grief still skulking behind me like a mugger, ready to take everything of value from me but it seems like it's not breathing down my neck in quite the same way anymore but I'll never let my guard down, I promise. Credit to Sam and to August who have been tireless, putting up with my creative dissonance to everything they suggest and my inappropriate distractions, too. We persevered. We made it somewhere.

I rarely summoned the ghosts to come hang out in the garage.

Once again, I didn't go to Burning Man.

I had the Lizard King to myself for a brief moment and he turned out to be even cooler and more foreboding than I expected. We're still friends but I can't sleep with him. He's the big brother I worship and that's where we work best.

Ben and I sorted out what sort of relationship we have and we're happier than ever. He's more relaxed. He's creative. He's not fighting life all the time. He risked a lot for me and I will forever spoil him with whatever his heart desires for the rest of my life for what he did.

I married Lochlan. Best day of my life. We rode the Wonder Wheel forever. Our vows were too deep to avoid falling into and we wound up falling into a hole no one wants out of. He's grown the most this year, shifting from selfish to helpish, as we like to say. Maturing past his belligerent seventeen-year-old outlandish self into a calmer though still mischievous version of that boy and I think I'm more in love with him than I ever was.

And Caleb is back in my life, bringing a whole new black-tie, white shirted level of chivalry and formality to the table that I missed dearly. I feel like I can say what I want finally. I can say I am afraid of him sometimes. I can say I'm angry that he stole critical, pivotal things from me at a time when I needed them most. I can say I vilified him when maybe it wasn't what it seemed. I can admit I hid behind unfortunate numbers and legal technicalities to torture him for our inability to hold to a promise I didn't even make and I can look at him and sometimes see nothing but Cole in his eyes, in the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he touches me when he's being kind but I can also hold my own here and he knows his place in this version of our lives. The one that starts at midnight. The one with a different number on the end.

Happy New Year. May it be what you want from it, may it bring you peace. Fuck you, may it bring ME peace. That's what I need now. Not just for me but for the Collective too.

I'm only telling you this because I liked the sandwich part.

My memory thief sleeps while I watch him. He has no idea that I just snuck into his rooms while he slept. I could rob him blind or stab him or maybe just steal all of my memories back but it seemed more peaceful to hide up here, at the top of the front staircase past his little den packed with books about world religions and his endless notebooks and in his room, proper, with the rough plaid blanket he loves so much covering him from his chin to his toes. He looks so cozy.

The blinds are open, his windows overlook the woods in the front of the house. The trees are still laced through with snow, the snow still threatens to remain until 2017 and my memories are still safely locked up, held by him, just like the little copper box with the bird and everything Jacob ever wrote down because it's been said that just glancing at his handwriting can send me into a tailspin so fast you might lose your hands trying to stop me.

I must have lost my train of thought or maybe I didn't have a ticket because when I look back at him he is awake and gazing at me, not really seeing me but probably wondering if he is really awake or still sleeping.

What's wrong? he asks.

Nothing. I like your view. 

Ah. You don't have this from the library? 

Not at treetop level.

I see. Where's Loch?

Also sleeping. 

Ben? 

Sleeping too.

I figured you'd keep your polysandwichery going until noon. What gives? 

I just needed to think. 

Heavy decisions, Bridget. 

It's for the best. 

Best for whom? 

Me. Caleb. I don't know. Lochlan said to be selfish. It's the most he's ever asked of me. 

But he asked anyway. 

He knows me better than I know myself. 

But he doesn't have all the answers so here you are. 

Fortune tellers and their crystal balls aren't real, Sam. 

Did you have your fortune told, Bridget? 

I did. 

And what did it say? 

That I would be loved by many yet kept by few. That passion would fire me and the sea would lull me to sleep. That things would never be exactly as I wish and that I would always want for more. And that I should watch out for the accountant because he tends to short the pay on the last day of each month.

So tell me exactly how that isn't real, Bridget? 

I don't want for any more than this, Sam. I really don't. 

What about if Jake were still here?

But he's not. He's now a fairytale. 

Are you the princess?

Sometimes. And sometimes I'm the monster.

Or maybe you are just as God intended. 

God's a real prankster, isn't he?