There's no place like Rome.

It's Friday, it's National Lima Bean Respect Day, and it's a day when we're watching the new Chef's Table season on Netflix so I don't have time to write. YEESH, people. Can't you see how busy I am watching pretentious food critic ladies gatekeeping proper gelato?

I know, right?

(Fun fact: Eight years ago when we moved here we went for a walk in Coal Harbour and stopped to get the kids some ice cream. The two tiny cones were $16 and the shop had a tip jar. My tip was to charge less, though in actuality I think I put a quarter in the jar, because I'm only sort-of an asshole.

That was my first inkling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.)

I almost wrote 'canvas' right there. I'm not caffeinated today. We did go out for brunch yesterday and Ben was pretty sure that along with forgetting his hash browns the server also forgot my decaf and probably gave me regular coffee. I could have run beside the truck to get home. I didn't fall asleep until four this morning. And still no one will let me near the coffee machine. Or outside so I can go to someone else's house and get some.

But yes! We're not in canvas anymore. We are in scratchy modal t-shirts though, which is too much fake for my poor skin which only seems to like boy flesh or organic cotton these days and everything else gives me hives again. So I'm hibernating with Netflix and nakedness in my room, just to try and ease the discomfort. I wouldn't notice it as much if I were distracted by my own energy levels but I'm not in charge here. This lady who demands we fly to Italy for the best gelato is, apparently. 

My hashbrowns read my future and other Thursday stories.

Fade away to the wicked world we left, and I become the dark of you
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within, as I become the dark of you
Let go
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world
Save this selfish world

Poor Asher put up with my music choices (The new Breaking Benjamin album Ember, the new Godflesh, the new A Perfect Circle on a loop for almost four hours while we sorted through 2017 in Batman's office. It's done and the pile for the shredder this year was knee-high. Because I'm not doing it, I guess. Between Jasper and I it never made it higher than about two inches. Asher keeps every scrap of paper that crosses Batman's desk, just in case. So he got a lesson in finesse and the art of being an efficient EA, instead of a just-plain thorough one.

He's great though. No airs, no bullshit, no history, no tension. And he's patient, between the music and the four cups of coffee I had between six and ten this morning which left me talking a mile a minute, singing when I decided I was probably talking too much and vibrating the rest of the time, when I wasn't talking or singing. That was fun, since when I left I ran smack into Jay, who was newly awake and heading for the same coffee pot I just finished. Whoops. He took the caffeine vibrations as fear and asked me with the most...Lochlanesque ire I've ever seen, that incredulous, passionate question that shows he's mad but not at you specifically,

Why are you afraid of me?

And I laughed because nervous, overly-caffeinated underslept caught-off-guard Bridget is a cold mess. I'm not. I've been drinking coffee all morning and I should have stopped three cups ago. It does this.

Wow.

Yeah.

Want me to walk you back?

I'm good, thank you. Enjoy your breakfast. I roll my eyes at myself at the banal formality and he laughs at my inability to be cool even as I seem to want so badly to be.

Catch you later.

When I get home I track down Ben. Did you know there's thunder at the beginning of Dark of You? I demand of him.

Yes. We heard it on Friday.

I didn't hear THAT.

Use your headphones. Thunder rolls in underneath my senses now, save for touch. I feel it. I remember what it sounds like. I meet his eyes briefly, long enough to see the concern flicker past like lightning. Why are you trembling?

Coffee.

Jesus, Bridge.

Asher doesn't know that rule.

Ah yes. How is Batman?

Good. I guess. He's in Hawaii having a break from his retirement. I roll my eyes again.

Why were you there? Ben's face takes on that stupid oh-right-Jay-lives-there assumption I hate but deserve anyway.

I was helping Asher do year end stuff. Remember? It's my job.

Your only job should be making me happy. He laughs and wags his tongue at me.

Oh, didn't I tell you? For the rest of the year, it is. I've been fired from everything else. Use me. I try to waggle my eyebrows at him. Between that and the jittery limbs I must look like a little blonde......glitch, for lack of a better word.

He laughs at my eyebrows. I need to teach you how to do this. But I'm not good with faces. I can read your emotions, your desires from a mile away but I can't read your lips and I can't control my expressions to save my soul. Luckily it was saved for me. My stomach growls and Ben laughs again.

All coffee, no food? You sound like there's a family of owls in there.

Yeah.

Let's go out for breakfast.

If we do that I'll want more coffee.

You can have all the coffee you want, as long as it's decaf this time.

I always forget about that.

Yes, I know.

(*Hey, did you know if you google 'Dark of you lyrics' one of the top suggestions in the search bar pops up as 'Dark side of you destiny potato'. Which made me laugh so hard I clicked through and listened to the song. And well, I don't even know what that was but it wasn't the worst thing I've ever heard. How long does it take for caffeine to leave your system again? Anyone?)

Fearless moral inventories (Bridget anonymous).

While Lochlan still marvels aloud at the fact that I'm old enough to understand that he was protecting me at every turn while we travelled and he had to be the bad guy more often than not (and not only do I recognize that but I forgive him for it), Sam is embarking on step four, having skipped right down the line, the first ones easy, fluid, reverent even.

This one will slow him down, as he highlights all of our defects too, a cutting honesty he'll wield like a weapon before moving on to step five, ignoring the fallout until he gets to steps eight and nine, in which he comes back around to make his amends.

It's a necessary evil like so many others and we're used to it. We'll pick him up, helping him along the way and we'll forgive him as we look in the mirror to see that he's right.

(No one is ever wrong when they're telling you what your 'problems' are. It's what you do with that information that makes it worthwhile. Some have thick skins. Some throw punches. Some leave. Some improve. Some reflect the words back and refuse to accept them. Some don't show up to hear them. Some have very tissue-thin, translucent skin and love you for the attention you've given them and never ever forget the words you say for the rest of their lives when they look at you and it makes them want to cry every. damn. time.)

(I'll let you decide who is who.)

It's a ruthless, brutal, even fatalistic life. I've said many times we share certain aspects, certain parts of our personalities that match, qualities I demand and will defend until the day I die. Our vulnerability shouldn't be so prevalent, but it is and it's what makes us us.

Thin skin? Line up over here, behind me. I think I got the worst of it, honestly. And then Matt showed up with some words that cut even deeper than Sam's, because he cares, he said, as if we don't and I realized he's a stranger. A charming, easygoing, quick-tempered interloper who knows nothing about us.  Sam didn't let him stay long, everything is under control and I think Matt just serves to be fuel on a fire that burns so quietly we can't see the spark. Sam will be okay. He's tougher than Ben, tougher than most even as he shares the thin skin I seem to wear on my bones.

I think the whole point should go dry. I know Ben said it's a personal decision to touch the alcohol and it's not up to everyone around the person to shield them. I know all the talks, read all the books, heard all the advice but BUT at the same time if I hadn't been holding that drink Sam wouldn't have taken it from me and all the meetings in the world won't change that fact.

This isn't your fault, they all say. I look around at this Collective, this point, this tiny little universe of mine and I know damn well it is.

I could write a book about it but you'd cry so I'll do it piecemeal instead.

It's a sunny day today, windy with fast-moving clouds. It's cold. I did that thing everyone sort of hates but doesn't where I went to sleep with the blinds up, curtains open, windows open and woke up thinking I might be outside. Sleeping outside is underrated. I want to sleep on our balcony but Lochlan said it's not a good idea.

Why not? 

Because our room is beautiful and it's safe. There are bears outside. 

They're not going to climb the eavestroughs. 

They might. 
 
Really? But I know it's a moot point. If Lochlan has a choice he will pick indoors, under a roof because that's what you do if you can.

Sometimes we haven't had a choice. Sometimes it's a little fun when you're young to get woken up by goats nuzzling you, bees in your hair, sunshine on your face. Apparently if you're slightly older than I was, it's terrifying. Of course it would be. Lochlan bore the gravity of our situation by himself and made it into a magical adventure for me.

Bless his heart, though hard as I try he won't let me do the same for him now.

1984/2018 (Don't know if it matters since it's the same conversation).

Let the calm rise up
So graceful
Every wasted word
So faithful

Tame the fire from within
You won't break me
Love will tie the tourniquet
And suffocate me

He looked cross. Cross and exhausted. Finish up your breakfast, Peanut. I gotta get going. 

I looked out the window and he struck his hand on the table. EAT.

I jumped fifty feet, hitting my head on the clouds, knocking myself out, choking back honey on toast, swallowing bites whole, breathing in juice until I coughed myself blue.

Bridget. 

I look away again, out the window to the sea where no one fights, no one orders, no one yells, and no one disappears either.

Bridget, I'm sorry. 

The sea is so blue-

BRIDGET. 

WHAT?!

Look at me.

No.

See you tonight. He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap, kissing my cheek, stroking it, resting his head against mine. I love you. 

I say it back but nothing comes out. I'm scared if I try harder to talk so he can hear me I'll start screaming for him to stay.

Eleven years ago I would have told you you were crazy.

My birthday weekend was almost six weeks ago, Bridge. He says it openly, not in a whining sense but just flat. As a fact. I was wondering if maybe you're done haunting galleries alone if you'd come over this evening. 

I stare at him. I want to point out I wasn't alone. John came with me because he was free and he shadowed me because no one is comfortable if I just head off somewhere far from home alone. John is the best bodyguard and he got to see all of the Murakami works once more while I talked with Poseidon until closing time. I would make enquiries as to buy the Scherman painting but I also don't know where I'd put it. My walls are full. Everything Lochlan paints goes up. Everything I paint goes up and some of my favourite pieces Cole did are still up. Then there are the photographs. We have a big family. I don't think there's a free space left.

I stare at Caleb some more while I think. Maybe he just wants to twist my arms because I open admitted my feelings for Sam. Those feelings haven't ever changed. I've loved him forever. The part the boys keep forgetting is that I'm not going to leave anyone for him.

Caleb reads my mind and reassures me. I understand. It's just difficult. And I don't want to talk about them. I'd just like some time. Hot chocolate and movies. Maybe stay the night. 

Oh. Will we be up for church tomorrow?

No, Bridget. Not this weekend. It's been too busy as it is. 

He has a point.

***

This morning I bolted, gasping, out of my dream but I was pinned in Caleb's arms, blankets pushed down around waist-level. Not cold though, he keeps the heat on. The sun is peeking thought the skylights which means it's late and he lifts his head and kisses my forehead.

Good morning, Neamhchiontach. These are the best days for me. 

I stare at the framed photograph on the wall. The one of Cole whispering against my head as I wait for his direction during a shoot,  the fairytale ballerina series everyone loved so much. And I know how Caleb feels to pin all of his comfort, all of his happiness on one person. I keep doing it over and over and I never learn either.

A girl, a rainy Friday night, a membership card.

(I may have fixed the issue I had when uploading decent-quality photographs! You can click to make them larger but I can't get rid of the heavy black frames around them. I will keep working at it.)

When the going got tough, the not-so-tough picked up her handbag and went to see Bombhead, which was a terrible exhibit, frankly. Far more seventies-educational than evocative art, and bore the weight of history without comment or expression.

The gallery was EMPTY. I mean, not just lacking in the usual rude crowds but completely empty. I was the only one upstairs.

Back downstairs and still no people.

Empty, I tell you. What a gift.

On my way back down I detoured to spend a little more time with Poseidon. Isn't he something? The photograph does him no justice but he listens well.

Noel Coward said it best: "It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit."

Held out in the rain underneath an industrial beat so hard I drowned and was brought back just in time. A kiss takes the breath I was about to embark on and then I'm put down somewhere warm, somewhere safe, somewhere far more dangerous than I first realize.

Focusing is so hard. It's not bright enough. I'm still riding the high of yesterday and I can't seem to find the floor even as I'm on it. The killing floor, possibly as Diabhal is having none of this.

The hell is this. He says it quietly.

Keeping myself busy while they're gone. I smirk at him and his whole face twists into some new level of anger that I haven't poked in a long time but hell, let's do it. Let's self-destruct, co-destruct, tandem-destruct, whatever you want, Baby. I'm ready.

Where's Lochlan? 

WORKING. 

No, he's right here. We both look and there he is in the door. He wants to know why you've got his wife by the throat. 

While we're both making sure she's taken care of and her children, your child, are taken care of, financially speaking, she's off doing something that breaks the rules. 

Is she? I see Lochlan shifting sides. Ever so slightly.

Did I?

Yes. What's the one thing we told you not to do when it's concerning Sam? That you could do whatever you want, except for one thing?

Don't fall in love. I parrot the reminder robotically, automatically.

Don't fall in love. And look what you've gone and done. 

(Fuck it.) You think I just did that yesterday?

Post selfless.

Wait
Wait
Wait
For wings

Now
Run
Run
From me

I sit up so quickly I get dizzy, whipping the quilts off my head, leaving my hair a beautiful mess. Almost a bedhead-bob. Almost long again.

What is this?!

Godflesh. 

Figures. 

Coincidence. But it sounds like Nine Inch Nails, don't you think?

No way. I don't like them. And it's somewhat insular to compare every industrial metal band to NIN. 

That's very true. It's fashionable to be insular though, Bridget. 

Yes, it is. 

So we can blame our small town upbringings? 

Sure-  Abruptly he pulls me back down underneath the quilts, making me squeal and I forget all about the music.

He called this moon old once, when we were on the road and I made jokes about it for the rest of life.

So you think you're lonely
Well my friend I'm lonely too

Last night was the first chance to get everyone out on the patio for dinner since forever. Heaters were on but it really wasn't that cold until late. We had burgers and salad, olives, cheese and wine. Lochlan played DJ and August helped him, sticking with eighties ballads and mostly light stuff. Caleb sat on the steps with a drink and didn't say much. John played along with the songs on his guitar as he was inspired and Ruth and Henry disappeared to play games with their friends online the moment their plates were clean.

Sam and I sit smushed together in an adirondack chair watching Daniel and Schuyler slow-dance. 

I'm so jealous, I say abruptly, my eyes widening at my own admission. Apparently I'm a little more drunk than I was half an hour ago. 

Of their dance or something else?

I don't know. Maybe of just everything. They have colorful histories but they're so committed to each other. 

And you envy that? Why? Don't you think Lochlan is committed to you?

Sometimes I think Lochlan and I are looking for the absolute best way to hurt each other and it's disguised as forever. 

Wow. Ask for a spare marble, get a cannonball. Do you want to go inside and talk for a bit? Maybe sober up a little, Jesus, Bridget. This doesn't help matters. 

Helps my matters. And no. I might miss my shot at a dance. 

You can ask him, you know. 

No, I have to wait for him to ask me. I look at Lochlan and he looks away when he catches my eye. I know the music took him somewhere, probably to better times when we were scared and homeless. Hungry, ruined. Whatever. He'll still claim it was better than this is. He's stubborn like that.

You two are children. 

Yes. 

I can bring him in and we can talk together. 

Or, you know, you could stop being a reverend all the time and just have some fun. 

Not when my friend is hurting. 

Your friend is always hurting. 

Then I will always reverend, he whispers, finishing my drink so I won't.