White spots, short wings, mate for life.

The clouds and the thunder roll back in over the point and the fairy tale ends, real life picking up and running with the narrative for the new week. A busy week. A trying week, and it's only Monday. God help us.

The rain is coming back and it makes me happy. My garden loves it. The cauliflower are the size of volleyballs. The lavender is strong and beautiful. The grapes are coming in so fast we can't keep up and the peas and beans are flowering like mad, as are the tomatoes. I have a huge rosemary plant, and an equally impressive oregano one, and I feel accomplished when I look at the gardens. Like I can at least do one thing right. I inherited my grandmother's green thumb and I'll never waste it, that's for sure. The only difference is this year we're doing two cucumber plants instead of seven, because last year things got a little out of hand.

Plus it's therapeutic.

Who's going to knock that?

Lochlan finds me out on the bluff where the strawberry patch is, wind in my freshly shorn hair, skirt billowing around my ankles as I water them diligently. Rain or not, some plants need a ton of water. I'm making sure they get it.

He came and went the past few nights. Leaving just as things were getting good only to reappear when things were on the downswing. He's subtle like that, generous like that, and now he's here to make sure Caleb's most recent gift isn't going to put him on the outside for yet another night.

Peanut. What's this? 

Yellow beans. 

Ah. Everything's growing amazingly. 

I nod.

Bridgie, I know you're mad at me.

I'm not 'mad' per se-

Ruffled. 

That's a good way to describe it. Like a bird. I'm a bird.

You are like a bird. Like a magpie. Finding pretty things and flying away. 

I say nothing. Here we go with the stay-puts and the stick-beside-mes as if he can undo history and fix all of this shit in one go.

I just wanted to know if you feel better. If it works. If this is what you want. What you need. I don't know. I just want to know that it's worth the sacrifice. If it isn't then we should change it. 

I shrug. I don't have the answers I think he wants.

Do you feel better though?

Let me put it this way. I felt like I've felt all along but then just now you got here and now I feel better. Relieved. Safe. 

Oh, that's the best answer I could have hoped for. He's got tears in his eyes and I feel so small suddenly.

Loch-

Don't say it. Leave it at that. That was all I needed to hear.

This time I'm actually going but I promise I won't talk about it at all.

The rain stopped but the fun didn't and the love is real. I got breakfast in bed. And pinot gris too. I got a text from Sam reminding me that church was at 745 if I needed a lift. I did not reply and I didn't hear his car leave but I wouldn't anyway, on average.

I got drunk..ish on a Sunday morning and I have no regrets. I don't spoil myself much, actually unless it's with men. My swims are regimented for time, I cook at home for an army of twenty on a nightly basis because eating out is stupidly expensive. I don't drink unless someone offers and I don't go for massages, manicures, haircuts by real hair stylists or anything. I don't shop for clothes. I don't shop except groceries. I don't have a housecleaner. I don't have an assistant. I have a lot of help, mind you but at the end of the day, I run everything, I schedule everything and I run myself into the ground.

So fuck it. Not today. I'm on the verge of tears perpetually. I'm so tired. I'm so not up for life today so today I'm calling in sick. 

I got a Daniel and Schuyler sandwich, and I'm not ashamed of that. They bring the affection ten-fold. Daniel is stronger in the dark then in life. He runs on love, as I do. He's confident and sure here. He's fierce and loyal yet playful and accommodating. He's experimental. He's like his brother. He loves Schuyler with a devotion I admire but he's also loathe to pass up a chance to hold me, or love me.

Schuy rarely participates. He's content to give Daniel whatever Daniel could possibly want but this weekend he didn't hold back and it was new and fun and exciting too. It was rare enough to appreciate but still familiar enough to let go.

It was a catalyst, as this morning Caleb sent me a three word message, because he knew they didn't leave and he knew it's been days and days now. He knew I wouldn't have any regrets or second thoughts and he knows that I need a way out from this life sometimes. I don't get bored, I get restless and there's nothing wrong with that unless you never find a way to make that feeling stop.

Fine. Burning man

YAY!

The fab five.

Heavy rain from late evening until the early hours of this morning and I slept like the dead, wedged in gently between Ben and Lochlan, who also slept soundly, only waking when one of us would shift. I wake up foggy, in a panic, wondering if they're leaving me but they always touch me to reassure me that they're not.

Without words. Who needs these words? We roll on touch around here, you just don't know if it will be a punch or a hug half the time and though everyone will insist that boys will be boys I'm now insisting on respect. Some of them have zero self-control and though it may have looked cool and tough to go around with a black eye or a good cheek bruise in your early twenties, in your early fifties you just look like a fucking degenerate.

Look it up, Peanut. Maybe that's what we are. 

I don't know how Lochlan's ever become such an accurate walking dictionary over the years, I've never seen him with one but here we are.

Daniel cut my hair for me yesterday, back from a lazy almost-bob into a pixie again. He proclaimed it adorable, got confirmation from Duncan and PJ and then invited me to come watch Queer Eye all weekend with them, eat Polynesian takeaway in bed and drink pinot gris.

(Note for the always vigilant: Schuyler won't be drinking the wine. He will have juice or sparkling water. Yes, he's in recovery. No, he hasn't fallen. Not sure why I have to spell it out every post. Trust me. If someone in recovery falls off the wagon, pretty sure I'll write about it post haste.)

I said I'd be delighted, wondered what I should wear and then Lochlan mowed him over like a freight train.

One thing you don't do in this house, or in any house for that matter is attack Daniel.

Ever. 

Daniel was helped up and pointed out to Lochlan that he could have said no, that he doesn't need to resort to violence, and that he's living a civilized life now where brute force isn't necessary to make one's point.

Like a Queer Eye episode for the emotional, reactionary guy. For the jealous guy. For the guy who's just trying to hold on to what he's got.

And to his credit, Lochlan threw himself on Daniel and we all shouted but it wasn't a second attack, it was a hug. A big mushy hug and they talked in each other's faces about love and Lochlan apologized and thanked Daniel for his patience (Danny's delicate, for sure, but still bigger) and boy did Loch feel awful for a long time after that.

But while I still did not get to go to what sounded like a fun way to spend a rainy weekend,  Lochlan did proclaim my haircut to be awfully cute and he promised me we would have an equally fun rainy weekend in bed with Ben and with whatever else my heart desires.

So I brought Daniel and Schuyler with us.

Under the surface of the water you'll hear the way I hear above it.

I spent the day sitting on a big round towel in the shade by the pool, eating egg salad sandwiches and salt & vinegar chips, drinking lemonade and reading my book (still slugging away at David Sedaris's Theft By Finding, which finally went from weird and sad to hilarious so I can't wait to pick it up every chance I get), while Ben snoozed on a chaise nearby and Batman swam laps or as near enough to laps as you can swim in a huge kidney-shaped pool.

It's so lovely and quiet, breezy and yet calm. No hearing aids. No sirens. No yelling. No music. No anything. The perfect late summer day if ever there would be one, and so I don't wish to miss it. The bunting flags bounce and twist in the wind and there are boats on the water and I already had my swimming lesson review, in which Sam asked if I remembered anything at all and then we had a twenty-five minute debate on the risks of wearing jewelry in seawater versus chlorinated water.

We agreed to disagree and I had a pop quiz in which I had to do my own laps, front crawl, back crawl, tread for five minutes and then demonstrate my knowledge of CPR, using a half-awake Benjamin, who hijacked all of my attempts to be serious with his tongue and left me howling with laughter and covered with spit. I did get a damned good kiss out of it, and Sam said I passed my review later on, because he was laughing too hard and had to walk away for a bit to compose himself.

Officially they're all a full whoppingly ten percent less nervous when I'm in the water now, or so I'm told.

Newton's third law.

Watching Caleb at our big Fourth of July dinner on the patio (because the long outdoor teak table arrived just in time. The chairs did not. We winged it. It was fine) I see that he's struggling to find his place here so I went and sat with him for a while. I'm only a true body language expert on people I know very well and so it's safe to say he relaxed somewhat visibly, taking an open position in his seat, his expression blooming into a contentment that belied his curiosity about my...uh....schedule. For lack of a better word. For my future plans? When he can see me next? Who am I going home with tonight? He caught my eye and so I did what I always do.

I pointed at Duncan.

Caleb swore out loud and looked away, which brought the conversation to a halt. Everyone looked to me.

Nothing! What? Keep talking. 

The conversation restarts slowly and I take my glass and excuse myself, heading to the pool, where PJ and John are floating on loungers, PJ almost asleep, John reading a book. They look content.

Where is Jay? I ask and PJ wakes up.

He's around. Go back to Lochlan, Bridge.

I just want to make sure everyone is good. That's what a hostess does.

I'm the hostess.

You're sleeping.

A good hostess sets the tone for the evening. He winks at me before closing his eyes again. I take a few steps past the pool and he says my name again in warning.

Fine.

I go back to the patio and Lochlan puts down the guitar, pulling me into his lap. Drink?

Five, please.

I would have cut you off at two.

Okay. As long as I can have them both at once.

He laughs and a drink is put into my hand, and the plain lemonade is whisked away. Go slow, he warns. Like he did when I was sixteen and stupid.

Yes, Daddy. I tell him and he flushes with irritation.

Jesus, Bridge.

Ooh. New pet names for each other. I always wanted to be Jesus-Bridget.

They're not pet names. Leave it.

Fine.

I drink my first drink and then accept my second/the last one and I can't finish it. My eyes are so heavy. The string lights get brighter and the air cools down. Soon the pool is empty and the lights are turned off around it too and everyone has amalgamated to the patio proper. Some with beers, some with vitamin water, some with tea. We light sparklers and celebrate the Fourth of July on behalf of our favourite former Americans turned Canadians because we're gracious like that.

Or maybe, like Lochlan, we're grumpy like that. See how fast he went from contentment to ire and how fast Caleb went from ire to contentment? I swear to God for every action with one, there's an equal and opposite reaction of the other and here we go, Bridget's Summer Learning series is here again! This summer we're doing physics. Weeeeeeeee. Pretty sure my favorite years so far were sex and outer space.

But not together.

I mean...

Though, if I had a chance..

Yeah. I would do that.

SIGH.

Don't pity me for she'll not stay
She scorned my love and turns away
Farewell my love for all I've done
By the setting of the sun

Farewell my love of yesteryears
We roll upon the tide
Tomorrow's day should lead the way
And life begins tonight

I needed something to snap me back to place, and here it is. An audible signal. A droning intonation bent on the melody formed by the wind whistling through his motives, threading a story that is watertight. So watertight it floats on the tide, back into my hands before being drawn out again, unreachable, only to come back in again, close enough to touch.

Lochlan is learning the song, and in between his efforts he pulls me into his arms, stripping us both of our disguises, our false fronts, taking us back to blood and bone, to rhyme and reason, to grit and grift.

Aye, Peanut. This is not so complicated. We have the music, the sea, each other and...PJ to get the groceries. 

And Ben to keep our heads above water. 

Indeed. The mood flattens in time to the end of the song, and he begins again in earnest, head down against the wood of the guitar for several minutes while he worked at the tune with diligence.

Lochlan-

Bridget, if we have a dance every now and then and a roll in the clover and a good long hug and enough firewood for the winter, our babies are close, we've got each other and our friends are nearby then I consider it a good life. 

What about the Devil breathing down your neck?

I swear on my life it wasn't my neck he was breathing down. I'm going to call it the cost of being civilized and a good chance to keep him in line and otherwise I don't want to think about it any further. Tonight is for music. And the sea. And each other. Alone. Together.

Don't forget the clover. 

Oh, believe me, I haven't. 

Light standards.

Today people were assholes.

No, you can't change your food order fifteen minutes after you've ordered. 

No, you can't have any more time to decide. You're taking up space. 

No, you can't send it back with two bites left. 

Yes, people make mistakes. Sorry your chicken sandwich was the wrong chicken sandwich but that's what you ordered because I asked you. 

Yes, the coffee sucks. So that you'll leave when you're finished, instead of lingering.

Of course the table is dirty. You sat yourself. 

No, I won't go home with you. 

No, you can't have my number. 

And please, for the love of god don't call me Baby.

Ready to quit now, Bridge?

No. Tomorrow I'll show them. 

Bridget, you can't change people. 

Oh yeah? Look at you. 

I'm a lion masquerading as a lamb. 

Good enough for me.

Devil's advocate.

Gratitude today comes easy. Food on the table, help in the house, the safety and health of everyone I adore beyond compare and Caleb and Lochlan, not only getting along but both still upstairs asleep in my bed when I left this morning in my diner-dress, BABY on my nametag just to see who's paying attention, memories playing in my brain just to see who's keeping score.

Caleb invited us back for a nightcap after the fireworks last evening but we instead extended a drink invitation to him. He was on his greatest and best behavior and damn, I love him for it.

Personal Jesus and the boomerang girl.

(Lochlan doesn't want that memory left up there on top like that but I don't change my words unless it's a safety thing. He thinks it sounds so ominous that he wanted me to remain small forever. It isn't, I promise.)

So here's Sam instead. Barging into my peaceful weekend once again with his good friend Jesus. They each take a side, forcing me to my knees where I am made to remember who gave me this life.

(Technically the Devil, though I've learned not to say that out loud anymore.)

What are you in gratitude for this weekend, Bridget?

That pizza can be criticized as a choice instead of being a vehicle simply to assuage our hunger. That we can afford expensive jazzfest tickets and even parking to go. That my raspberries in the garden are ripe. That my children are healthy, happy, not hungry and spoiled even but that they still recognize their values lead the way. That the tires have air. That I get hugs and am loved. That we have more than five forks that match. That I found good music and can indulge in it as a welcome distraction. That the store had my favorite candy. That it rained. That it stopped raining. That we won a Fortnite match and went for a long humid walk. That Jake went to heaven and I'll see him again (THIS PART FEATURED MUCH CONVINCING ON THEIR PART LET ME TELL YOU FOR FREE). That I'm better today. That you love me. 

Finally, I hit on something that soften's Sam's expression.

We all do, Bridge. 

I know. He helps me back to my feet.

I swear you think up the strangest things to throw me off. 

No, I just grab from whatever's happened in the past few days and remember the little things are as important sometimes, as stepping stones to larger things. It isn't always fireworks that impress, sometimes it's the sparks that leave you breathless. 

Jake said that?

Loch did. 

You shouldn't worship your friends, Bridge. 

I'm not-

Good-

He's my life.

A sound from the doorway made us both turn and there's Lochlan, irritation fading from his expression at finding Sam grilling me to wonderment as my words hit home for him in the most joyful way.

Rhetoric? He breathes.

Not even, I confirm. The truth. 

Eight and thirteen (in the very beginning).

She brings the sunshine to a rainy afternoon;
She puts the sweetness in, stirs it with a spoon.
She watches for my moods, never brings me down;
She puts the sweetness in, all around.
She knows just what to say to make me feel so good inside.
And when I'm all alone I really don't feel that way.
Oh how I need her so,
I know she'll never go.

Lochlan is making me laugh today. He's in pajama pants, with a guitar in his arms, and he's performing his old, well-worn, rearranged version of Yes' Sweetness. He's been singing it to me since I was very small. Like we're talking single-digit small. And he's still singing some of the same songs today even though I recall specifically requesting Sister Golden Hair today. Hrmmmph.

Who sings this?

Yes.

No, I asked you who sings it?

The band's name is Yes.

Well, THAT'S dumb.

He bursts out laughing. Actually it's pretty cool. Short and sweet. Like you.

I'm not short!

Okay, Bridgie. What are you?

Dimmer-you-tive.

Dim-IN-u-tive. That's a big word for a little kid.

Wow. I'm going to go home if you keep making fun of me.

But then you won't be able to hear the song that I'm singing for you.

Okay, I'll stay but you have to be nice.

Bridget if you get any bigger I can't give you a piggyback so I like you this size.

You do?

I do.

Well, then what if I grow?

Christian or someone bigger will have to carry you.

What if I never change?

Honestly, I hope you don't. You're perfect just the way you are.

How can you say that? I'm only eight.

It's not the outside, it's the way your mind works. Everything is stars and magic. Keep that. Be this way forever.

Only if you will too.

How am I?

You're just...you. I like you.

I like you too.