Why, yes, they did have the World Cup on in the OR prep area. I really wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry so I continued doing both.

The gratitude here today is fresh-baked and still warm, as my wanderlust was quickly drowned, never to be seen again, dissolved in an acid bath of sheer panic.

I held it together well, though. Go me.

I even not only found the hospital and paid for parking but I found the ER and navigated registration, triage and the long wait afterward.

Then I did it all again on Wednesday. LOL

No, seriously. I did. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Where are the boys. Why can't they do this. REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

(Be an adult)

(No)

(Tough. Do it anyway)

(Fine)

By yesterday morning I was so done with the whole thing. I need sleep. I need a shower. I'd like a meal, or better yet a drink. I'd like a little break. Here I was teetering over the edge of exhaustion, a trickle into a stream and now it's a waterfall and I'm keeping my white-knuckle grip here, best as I can.

But we lived and now we're home.  To freshly-made beds, freshly scrubbed bathrooms, freshly-watered gardens, laundry caught up, and reunions full of laughter. Finally.

The only difference is that now, one of us no longer carts around a ruptured appendix.

(Not me. I still have mine. I'm tempted to have it removed preemptively, however.)

Honor among thieves.

This is the calm before the storm
This is the sea between the isles
And this ain't the time to chase the dawn
This is the time to count the miles

So hold your fire and clear your mind
You won't get left behind

I can't sleep. The night is cool and quiet, the house muted. Someone left a light on in the kitchen. I wander quietly through rooms, turning off lights, closing curtains. Checking doors and windows. I touch the door at the end of the hall before the foyer. PJ's domain now. Used to be Lochlan's. I miss crawling in with Lochlan when he wasn't the way he is now. When history didn't jam itself down between us like a wall, separating us until we can no longer even touch without the world burning its reaction into our lives with a swift flash of flame.

I miss a lot of things.

I miss being everything to you. He says it softly behind me. Pulling on pajama pants, following me as I made my rounds, me oblivious to any sound he would have made, Lochlan's been behind me this whole time. But the house is muted for me virtually all the time, not just in the late hours before dawn. I wouldn't hear him if he were an intruder and yet the person I trust most in this world just walked up behind me and stuck a knife into my heart.

I start to shake my head as he pulls me in but he twists the knife and leaves it jammed between, cracks forming in the wall that keeps us apart. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.

Don't fight it. You didn't need them when you were with Jake.

Because I had you. 

No. Not most of the time, Bridge. You didn't. You had him. 

It was fleeting. You act like it was so long-

I watched you fall in love with him right under my nose. And there was nothing I could do. That changed me. Watching you slip away changed who I am. And I've been trying to get back to who I was before that but I'm just not having any luck.

The tip of the knife now sticks out my back and is catching on everything. I thought pain was a feeling. Now I know it's an object one has to get around. Or through. But not over. Never over.

So what can I do? Here it is. The part where my trust strips back and shows the raw pain on the inside, the part where he said goodbye because he couldn't manage his own feelings. He never could. I thought I do better but the fourteen-year-old he kissed goodbye all those years ago still regards him with suspicion while she waits for the other shoe to drop. And that's why she goes to them. And keeps him at arms length even as she swears she won't.

Trust me. 

Oh, that's a big one, Lochlan. 

You trust your demons. You trust your nightmares, Bridge. 

They've never left. 

I won't either. 

Those are just words, Loch. You're so good with them. 

Not compared to you. Your words have torn me apart and rebuilt me. I'm asking you to stop. To trust me. I'm not playing musical beds for the rest of our lives. I'm not. Something has to change. I've tried everything. We need to try this. 

We did it before-

That was then. This is now. 

Why is now different?

Because we deserve this. She. She deserves this. 

But he doesn't mean Ruth. He means the fourteen-year-old he left standing beside the fair gates.

How do I just forget that and go forward? 

Believe in magic. 

It's a risk. 

So is everything else you've ever done but the Bridget I raised would jump with a laugh and not hesitate. 

The Bridget you raised has been through too much to be that girl anymore. 

See, that's where I think you're wrong. He pulls the knife out and I bleed all over the floor in my own death before being resurrected in his flames once again. Let's have the greatest love story ever told. Like we always planned.

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.