Named for the most beautiful time of year in Newfoundland and rightfully so.

I couldn't handle today so I tried to soothe myself. I had a broiling hot bubble bath this morning, a leisurely breakfast of coffee and fruit with cheese, I read three pages of my latest book (Hoffman's Rules of Magic) and messaged Lochlan a hundred and fifty times but he'll be out until past lunchtime and can't come home earlier because there's an emergency at the job he doesn't have, concerning the work he doesn't need to do. I glared at Schuyler when he breezed through, and I turned down Daniel's offer to take me to get my nails done. I'd rip them off. I'd bite them anyway. I can't self-soothe, I don't know what I was thinking.

I got halfway to the boathouse and abruptly changed directions, cutting off the bottom of the driveway and heading straight across, to the garage. I went up the outside steps and knocked gently.

August opened the door after a minute, wearing yesterday's sweater and pajama pants. He was still sleeping. He looked as if he was forcing alertness and held the door wide so I could come in.

Coffee?

Let me make it, I tell him as he does a quick circuit cleaning up dishes and books from the living room.

Go ahead.

Don't clean up on my account, I tell him as I stare down the Breville. Hmm. I don't even know where to begin here.

I'll do it, Bridge. Have a seat.

Why are we formal?

Today or in general? You and I or people nowadays?

You and I today.

The weirdness that usually follows the confirmation that someone has moved up in the hierarchy, I guess. They become a pariah and we become the losers.

And where do you think you are in this?

He laughs. I'm supposed to keep the questions coming.  Not you.

Does Sam bother you?

Of course not. But he refuses to acknowledge his roles. He chooses at will and when in one mode he'll deny the other even exists. That's dangerous.

Or is it naive?

Probably that, yes.

You can talk to him.

No, if I do he'll assume I feel threatened by him.

Oh. I'll talk to him then.

He'll discount your observations as defensive or unqualified. August makes an apologetic face and then collects the two mugs to bring over. That was fast. I take a sip.  Oh. I might not ever leave. But then that would cause more problems.

Milk?

No, it's perfect. Thank you.

He settles in next to me, throwing one arm around me, holding his cup with the other. I get a kiss on top of my skull and that's the signal he gives for me to unleash the beast that is my mind all over the floor so he can pick up pieces and small glittery bits, turning them over in his hands, holding them up to the light, bringing some into focus while pushing others away. It's a puzzle and he can do it in his sleep. Better than Jake, better than Lochlan. Better than Sam. Better than Claus and Joel combined.

And certainly better than Bridget.

After I finish I settle in, letting out a long breath and he starts. Rearranging things out loud, thoughts, memories finding new places to rest, shining new lights on old things, finding a way to soothe me that I can't replicate without him. His accented voice turns into a constant lull, like a hum and my eyes get heavy, chin reaching my chest, finally at peace with everything. For the moment. For now.

He stops talking and gently takes my cup, bringing me back to wakefulness.

Better?

Almost.

You should go home. Loch's truck just pulled in.

He's home?!

Yeah. Go see him and get a nap or something. You're both exhausted lately. Then send him over for coffee later.

August?

Yes?

Thanks for being here. For the record you still rank over Sam. Maybe over me too. Talk about haunted. My self-disparagement is costly and always shows so dreadfully in my eyes as I speak of it.

We can all be even, August says. Ever the diplomat. Ever the constant. Ever the rock from the rock and we love him for it.

As soon as they find out you don't need them they want you more.

So you were just fucking with him. 

It's a firing squad, and this time I'm in front. Apparently my awful brand of sarcasm is indistinguishable from my wide-eyed truth, which is weird because I couldn't lie if I was at gunpoint, which I'm not, technically (well, today, anyway) but still they leapt to Batman's defence and I was soundly lectured for my flippancy.

He walked into my house unannounced. That means I'm allowed to mess with him-

Is it fair?

Life isn't fair! His jealousy was sending him on a bender, I had to shut him down-

By making it worse?

Better than trying to plead my way out of a moment that was none of his business and-

Yeah, about that-

JESUS CHRIST. I say goodbye to everyone the same exact way and suddenly it's an issue. 

With Sam it's-

The same exact way. Think about it. I'll wait.

Bridget-

I'm not going to defend my actions to the lot of you. I stare them down, a steely ten-year-old's gaze withering them as they stand against the flood of memories that come rushing back, threatening to knock them down and pull them out to sea.

He's just lonely, Bridge. They soften it, remembering, shouldering their weapons. I can breathe again. I'm not going to die today. Not for this, anyway.

I can't help him. I'm not allowed to help him. You all worry about Sam, Jesus. Sam is the least of all the elephants in this room. He's not even an elephant. He's...He's...I don't know but it's not an issue. 

Sam salutes me lazily. Gee. Thanks?

You know what I mean! 

Don't fuck with men's hearts, Bridget. Nothing good can come of it. 

Fuck with mine and this is exactly what you get. You ask for things and then get angry when I give them to you. You tell me not to touch them and then tell me it's fine. I don't know which end is up. 

I told you, you decide what you want to do. 

And then you all judge it. 

No, we...

'We judge you'. Just say it. I'm here right now living it. 

Not going to go into Christmas fighting with you. 

And I'm not going to be his panacea. If he's lonely he can come here and spend Christmas with us. That's his call. Otherwise don't make me feel guilty. He was fine to shove me back to Cole when he was the only one who knew for so long. We have a long history that has nothing to do with any of you so maybe just leave it lie. Okay?

Sorry, Bridge.

Yeah, sorry, Bridge. A chorus of quiet affirmative absolution rises and I walk out into the sunrise. Alive for another day. The balance here is tenuous and poorly weighted. If you ever thought my emotions ruled this point and all who live here then you failed to consider the virtual tide of their emotions, their immediate instinct to protect each other in addition to me. Adding that to our combined and separate pasts, it makes for some long days, some hurt feelings and one hell of an incredible peace when it all levels out again.

I head across the lawn as the sun comes up purpley-pink behind the woods. It's freezing and rain threatens the dawn but I don't have my coat. I follow Batman's lead, barging into his house via the french doors off his kitchen, where he sits with a cup of coffee and his iPad, quietly reading while Jay makes some toast for himself.

I'm sorry, I blurt out, not even waiting for privacy.

No, I'm sorry. I have no right to claim ownership over you without doing the heavy lifting. 

That was my thinking. 

I could change that if you-

I shake my head almost imperceptibly and his face hardens. We have a distance between us that no amount of touching while ever bridge. I sharpen the only arrow I have left, found in the grass on the way over here. I hold it tightly in my fist as I drive it straight through bone, plunging it into Batman's cold heart. Sam's got it covered.

When your 'good' shoes are wet from the rain so you marry someone in your Chuck Taylors.

Not me. I didn't get married. I'm already married. This was Sam, who headed out to perform a quickie Monday home wedding to kick off someone's Christmas holidays and he did it in his brown pants, a belt buckle with a skull on it (who lent him that?), his darker brown corduroy jacket and bright red Converse All-Stars. Lows at least. So that you can see his sky-blue socks.

I straighten his collar as he kisses me goodbye.

Good luck, I tell him.

Love you. See you after dinner. Ish. 

I nod and he's gone. He gets weirdly nervous before weddings so he practically ran out of the house. Good thing.

Did I miss something? I turn and Batman is standing in the patio door. He's holding a book that belongs to Gage and my scarf that I left in his kitchen. Also, presents. He's holding a stack of flat presents.

Sam was leaving? Did you need him for something? He has a wedding at two. Just text him though and he can reply when he gets there-

The kiss. 

What kiss?

And he said he loves you. What is going on?

If you didn't come here to be nice-

Where's Lochlan? 

Downstairs helping Ben-

Oh, I see. 

What do you see, exactly? 

A year or six or ten of falling for Sam, maybe

Or not. Hard to fall when I've loved him all along. 

So what happens now?

Nothing. Jesus. Where have you been?

Under a rock, I guess. I didn't know you were a thing. 

We're not a thing. We have a thing, but we're not a thing. 

What's the difference? Is there any?

Right, yes. Come in and shut the door and I can explain it to you and then you'll get it. 

It's like we are, then?

We're NOT-

You know what I mean. 

Okay, yes it's like that but different.

How, Bridget? How is Sam different?

Well, for starters it's way more often. 

Glad I'm not a Puritan, and other Sunday reflections.

(I watch a lot of movies when I'm sick, okay?)

I haven't been going to church much and this week Sam quarantined me, saying I could miss the candle-lighting and the Christmas carols in advance of next week's Moon & Stars (outdoor) Christmas Eve service so that I don't make the rest of the congregation sick with my cold, now a roller coaster of really great days and really bad moments mixed together

So I stayed in bed and watched The Witch on Netflix and wow. What a lot of hype. I will give them a couple of points, as the sound design was epic and the tension so tight you could twang it like a fork, but the heavy-handed puritan babbling that never stopped (obviously hugely central to the plot) and the ending people describing all over the internet as a 'big payoff' were just not cool.

They could have prayed less and explained more in actual dialogue. I watched it with headphones and I didn't know why the family was banished until I read a synopsis but apparently the father explains it in his prayers. Great. I guess I need BETTER headphones. I can't see how being in a theater or having perfect hearing would have helped in this case, especially after polling my friends with perfect hearing who saw it and also had no idea what they did to be banished because they couldn't hear the details either.

Also the ending is not a big payoff. It's not a twist nor is it the least bit satisfying. I kind of honestly spent everything after the first ten minutes staring at my laptop in horror because it fires off on all cylinders, letting you know that in exchange for that quiet suspense you'll bear witness to a whole host of uncomfortable and sometimes beyond violent exchanges that will leave you wishing you never saw it. It just isn't good enough of a movie to justify the shock value and I want my ninety minutes back and the ending is a predictable cop-out of the highest degree.

At least it was free.

But then again, so is Jesus. And I promise he doesn't actually demand that level of devotion. I'm pretty sure that was the scariest part of the movie to me. Seriously.

(Presbyterians are going to email me their rage now, you watch.)

(Also: when did Netflix start cutting the credits off completely before bouncing back to the splash screen? Shame, indeed.)

The porgs! I need more of them! (No Last Jedi spoilers, I promise).

Payback was this morning, when I woke Lochlan out of a sound sleep.

Let's go see Star Wars. 

No. 

Oh, come on. If we don't someone will tell us what happens and it will be spoiled. 

Yeah. You're right. 

So off we went for a sub-eleven in the morning show. Who eats popcorn at eleven in the morning? We do, that's who. I didn't even have coffee today. I'll just have two tomorrow.

Glad we didn't wait and have the plot spoiled, now that I'm on the other side. I would have spent the whole film waiting for the spoiler-parts and instead got ambushed with how good it was, how well it fit in to the timeline and how glorious one particular shot was that took my breath away.

But now it's done and it feels like Christmas is upon us, because there's always a Star Wars movie in the holiday somewhere.

It's playing now and it's worth the trip in spades. I couldn't say that about the last four Star Wars movies so take note.

Bitchy McSnorkynose (I didn't make it up, that's what he said when he didn't know I was coming down the steps behind him since I'M UP NOW, LOCHLAN.)

Burn me alive
Set me on fire
And watch me die
Burn me alive
Watch me ressurect
Right before your eyes

Lochlan managed to sleep for twenty-odd hours and he was up at the crack of some miserable hour raring to go.

Want to go out for breakfast, Peanut?

I...no. I want to sleep. I feel terrible, as I think Matt brought his cold to the point. I snorgle a response from under water and Lochlan laughs. Jesus, he's so fucking loud and chipper I may have to sleep elsewhere just so I can get some rest.

Later. Eight. Or ten.

But...eggs Benedict.

I hate you.

No you don't.

Bring them to me here.

Do I look like your servant?

You brought me breakfast in bed last time.

That was last time. I'd prefer not to be apart for a while.

What's a while?

The rest of my time off.

Why is this?

So you don't get ambushed by the others.

Ah, you talked to Matt?

In a way, yes.

Did you talk with your fists again?

No? Why would I do that?

It's how you and Caleb talk to each other.

That's different. We're heathens.

What is Matt?

Some outsider who hurt Sam.

Is this where you finally admit you love Sam?

If I do will you come to breakfast with me, Bridgie?

No.

Hey, I can carry you to the truck and you can eat in your jammies.

Jesus. Should I call you 'Daddy' while I'm at it?

Fuck. I hope when I come back at ten you're less cranky.

Promise. (he said TEN! GOODNIGHT!)

Thank fuck.

Great. Now I'm wide awake. Yes to pajamas in restaurants and yes to extra hash browns, please.

Two truths and a man.

(Inwardly I felt as panicked as he looked. Outwardly though, I was ice.)

Matt's here. He seems to be a hallmark of the seasons changing these days, as he and Sam refuse to commit but can't be apart. This is maddening and heartbreaking and yet it's exactly what happens when there are complications in a relationship.

Complications like...bees.

You've been with Sam for almost a year now. Matt lobs it gently toward the water as we walk. It's a flat sentence and so it skips once, twice...three times before sinking below the surface.

He's keeping track.

I wait for him to drown me in the surf, taking me out of whatever imaginary competition or obstacle he thinks I am but he walks on, picking carefully over the rounded wet rocks that force us to consider each step we make with an undeserved concentration.

(It's a metaphor. Roll with it.)

I don't respond. I wait. I'm a good listener when you need me to be.

What is he to you? What are you to him?

Comfort. Faith. He's a constant. He's a lighthouse.

You've got ten guys who could fulfill that role. Why'd you have to touch Sam?

It's a broken question from a broken man.

He touched me first. 

Bridget-

You weren't there for him.

I was working.

You don't put work first in this life. Maybe Sam and I have seen that and we know it. Maybe you're just learning it now.

What does the future look like, Bridge?

If only I knew.

He stares at me. Why do they all stare at me? How do I do this if you're in the way?

I'm not in the way.

Yeah, you are.

Then I'll move over.

What if I want you to leave and not just make room?

Sam made his wishes known over and over and you ignored them. The one thing I'm not going to let you do is hurt him. We just finished fixing him. 

Oh, is that what you think you've done? 

Got what I wanted. Thanks Santa! (I mean Schuyler).

Lochlan came home early this morning. I swear he would have outrun the plane had he been able, and when I made it to arrivals he was in a flat run toward me before I saw him, almost knocking me over when he reached me. His carry-on meant we didn't need to wait around and we were off. I handed him his truck keys, grateful he wasn't too tired to drive, and he offered breakfast if I hadn't had it already. I had, and he ate on the plane so we settled for drive-through coffee which I promptly forgot about and it's still out there in the truck because I don't get coffee on the go, I can barely handle it at home where I'm not moving.

He looked tired but had a productive trip and then shortly before lunch he went to see Schuyler for a rundown and Schuyler gave him the rest of the year off (!) and a health Christmas bonus too (!!), for going on such short notice and fixing everything.

Lochlan was fixated on the bonus but I was ecstatic at the thought that he now has almost three full weeks to not think about anything, not do anything and just enjoy Christmas with Ben and I, as Ben is going to work less, though still some and really besides Lochlan coming home that's the best news of today.

Well, that and I remembered what a latte was finally so I didn't order one by mistake and then go aw fuck! 

(They're half milk and I don't have milk unless it involves Lucky Charms.)

He doesn't want anyone to think he's a big softy. I don't honestly give a shit.

(I'll write about him if I want to write about him.)

Daniel and I split a bottle of wine while Schuyler and Benjamin made pizza for us and then after a few spontaneous carols Ben said we were heading out. That surprised me as I brought my pajamas with me and my phone charger but I didn't protest. He said we were going to take a walk so I could sober up. We hugged the boys and left them with most of the pizza for leftovers (a total surprise since Ben is a bottomless pit) and off we went, hand and hand into the night, heading out their front door and up the road, the long way around in the fog.

He put my hand in his pocket with his hand still around mine for warmth. He walked slow, so I could keep up. I was warm, flush with the glow of too much Shiraz and not enough food but this wasn't a dinner about food, it was about company and it was nice to have a normal dinner party and it was nice to leave it on a good note.

I don't get to see you so much these days.

You don't surface much. 

Sorry, Bee. Big projects. That's why Loch-

He's not even home. 

I know. I took a break so you wouldn't be alone. 

I'm glad. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

Lochlan's back tomorrow?

Yeah. Hopefully. Unless there are problems. 

Naw, he'll be back. 

Yeah. 

That's why I didn't let you stay next door. I wanted you to myself for a night. 

All you have to do is as-

I can't ask Lochlan to give up more than he has, Bee. 

Ben, you don't have to-

It's tough. You know? I gave you back and I wasn't ready. 

I'm right here. 

Stick around okay?

I'm not going anywhere, Ben. 

We don't talk to each other enough. We don't tell each other I miss you. We should. 

I woke up this morning half-crushed by his arms holding me against him. His skin wasn't cool as usual. Instead it was broiling. He didn't sleep like a vampire, he slept like a Jacob, he didn't disappear in the night or in the morning and it was like the first days when we were trying to sort out being together when I thought it was forever and he thought he was a bookmark. I still refuse to see it like that because every time he's around we fall a little deeper, we find our way back.

Don't disappear when he comes home. My plea is sleepy but clear in the dawn. Don't leave again. 

I won't, Bumblebee. I'll be here.

I mean all the time. 

When am I supposed to work then?

You were supposed to stop. 

I didn't stop, did I?

No, you didn't. Instead you vanished into thin air, which is a pretty incredible feat considering how big you are. 

And you're still drunk. How do you remember these conversations so well?

I have to concentrate so hard so I can hear you so they just stick in my brain like toffee. 

Sounds delicious. 

No, it's very noisy and I don't like it but it's the way I am.

Plus none.

There he goes, swinging from nice back to not, from acquiescing back to making the rules, from being sweet and kind to making sure I've earned all of these bruises as punishment for whatever it is that he maintains I've done.

Which is nothing but tease him slightly and it was more than enough to send him into a tailspin of dark misery that he saw fit to share and I needed to run from and didn't because we have a trauma-bond.

Hell, yes we do.

Caleb keeps vetoing every single thing I suggest, after he asked me for a Christmas list. Every single thing I offer he counters with something outlandish, expensive or inappropriate. Finally he throws up his hands and asks me to stop, that he'll find something and that I'll like it.

Just because.

Then why did you ask me? This is so stupid, I think I've decided it's the hill I'm going to die on today.

Because I thought maybe you might be reasonable. 

My suggestions are reasonable for what you-

Oh, please finish. For what I am to you? Think hard before you answer, Neamhchiontach, for I like to reward you not for what I am to you but for what you are to me. 

Redemption. 

Hell. Yes. 

Too bad you can't buy your way out of this. 

It is. 

Well...too bad! 

Oh, I see we're just going to slip into some childish frustration now. 

Best I've got. 

Indeed. 

Okay, I'm leaving. 

Why leave when we can fight our way through dinner?

I already have dinner plans. 

With? 

Danny and Sky. We're making pizza. I'd offer to bring you along but they specifically said threesome. I say this just to watch his ears  light up and burn. They said nothing of the kind.

(It's implied, though.)

Does Ben know you're going? (Lochlan is away. Yesterday's sweetness was a going-away party. Not for more than a few days but I am well-supervised for his absence and I miss him enough to cry already.)

Yes, of course. Now I'm just annoyed.

Maybe I'll send them some instructions and they can talk you into something nice for Christmas. They appreciate the finer things. 

Good luck with that. 

Good luck with your dinner. I'll watch for your return. 

Don't bother. I'm staying for a sleepover. 

The face he made was enough of a Christmas gift for the next fifty years of my life. I grinned back.

Adios, Diablo. 

Don't throw Spanish in on top of everything else, he whispers.