Breakfast of shame.

Snack of shame.

Beach walk of shame.

Errand-running of shame.

Early pre-gardening of shame.

Shame shame shame.

And I didn't even follow through.

Imagine if I had.

(No, don't. Please.)

(It's a part two!)This little light of mine.

I took Gage's perfection and rubbed it until it glowed, shining in the moonlight like a new coppery penny.

The candlelight makes him look gorgeous. I never noticed before. If someone keeps their cards close then you can't read them, obviously, and he's got the best poker face of all, it seems.

He takes a sip of whiskey and then holds it out. For courage. 

Why do we need courage?

Because I went from feeling like the big man to being afraid of you. 

Why would you be afraid of me? 

If I screw this up my landlady will kick me out. He laughs.

No she won't. She's kind and she understands this is hard. She's probably wondering if her tenant will still want to stay when he finds out what kind of person she is. 

I doubt it. What do you see in the mirror, Bridget?

A thief, a liar and a cheat. A hopeless case. A horrible wife. 

Your mirror must be aimed at someone else. That's not what I see. 

I take the whiskey and drink the rest. Go ahead, I know you're going to start piling on the compliments now. 

Naw. I told you this night is of no consequence. If you allow it, I hope it's wonderful and memorable. If you don't, I hope I didn't fuck up a friendship I treasure above everything. 

It's not too late, Gage.

Having second thoughts?

Second? Hell, I'm up to ninth or tenth, here. 

But you're still...here.

You're better looking than Schuyler. 

He throws his head back and roars with laughter. If nothing else comes of this night then that is enough for me. 

Is it?

Is this where I make my gentlemenly exit?

It is, I'm afraid. 

He leans down and kisses my cheek. Another time. 

Maybe. 

This feels better than being the subject of your regret. 

Don't think you aren't exactly that. 

Love you, Bridget. 

Love you too, Gage. 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? 

Let's be normal and not weird, though. 

Coming from you that's a horrible suggestion. 

It seemed like such a regular Monday at first.

And just like that, I snapped my fingers in the rain and he followed me home. Up the porch steps with our shopping bags and into the front hall, up the stairs where we dumped half the bags on my bed and then went down the hall and around the corner and down another hall to deposit his bags in his room.

And then Gage shut the door and told me he'd been thinking. 

About what? I ask, thinking it's just a regular, everyday conversation. 

About you. 

What about me?

There's a club...and I might want to be a part of it. 

What club? I ask as he pulls me in close, leaning back against his desk, bringing me with him. Never been this close. Never noticed how good he smells. Kind of like Schuyler but less disapproving, less perfect. Maybe less gay. Though I don't know. I don't get into his business. He comes and goes on the wind. He hasn't gone anywhere in a quite a while now. 

The one where I get to show my appreciation for what you've done for me over the years. 

Oh. That club sends me flowers. Sometimes helps out with extra chores. You know. I reach up and smooth his hair from his forehead. Up close he has fine laugh lines around his eyes and perfect teeth framed with a perfect smile. I think you mean the other club. 

What club is that? 

The one where you say you want me and maybe it all works out. I hold my breath. 

Give me some reasons why it wouldn't work out? But he's pulled me all the way in now and is whispering this against my ear while he unbuttons my shirt. While he plays with my earrings. While he smiles that stupid Schuyler/Gage smile that has devastated several of us already in ways we didn't think were possible. I've never seen this smile from him before. 

I get attached very easily. 

That's a bad thing? Oh my God. I can't concentrate with his warm hands on me. 

Always. You become something special and then I get upset if you leave again. 

Don't get attached, Bridget. He bends his head down and kisses my bottom lip. His lips are burning hot. Kind of like my cheeks right now. 

I take a step back and meet his eyes. That's what I do. I don't think I'd go down this road if I were you. You can't just do this and bail again. You know what I'm like. You know it hurts when they leave. If it hurts when you leave then I can't do this. 

There's nothing here to commit to, Bridget. There's no room for me in your nights. No strings, no expectation. Just a one-time thing. 

I don't work that way. 

Sure you do. 

With who? 

He thinks for a minute and suggests names. I shake my head. There are always strings. Always. There's always the iceberg that is my heart. The one you think you see all of. The one you think you can hold until you go to tuck your hands underneath it to lift it up and realize it's bigger than anything you've ever seen and you can't lift it. You can't even see all of it. If I let it see you and it gets a good enough look you're doomed, pinned to me forever. There is no one-time. There is no casual. There is you, and there is me and your life is effectively ruined. There is an army now and they are stuck with me.

You need to think about this. 

I thought I already had, Bridge. 

Not hard enough. 

No one ever said that about me. We've been under the same roof for a decade now. It's not too late to explore each other. 

And you're one of the few who isn't wrecked. I can't take that perfection from you. 

Maybe you won't. I'm a grown man, Bridget. 

I didn't think you were a gambler. 

Well then maybe you should get to know me better.

Tradition.

The bunny came around this morning, in a tux and rollerskates.

Down the driveway, through the kitchen and out the patio, a funny dance-hop-roll across the grass and away only to return a little while later with the big basket of chocolate eggs he forgot the first time around, I guess. He took his sweet time handing them out and since we were soon going to be late for church. We finally shooed him out the front door and he tried to slide down the railing sidesaddle only to loose his balance and go ass over teakettle into the grass. Chocolate eggs flew for yards all over the place and the giant fuzzy bunny head came off.

Dalton, today. 

We all had a good laugh and finished getting ready. He remained in the tux, and when questioned by Sam at the church steps he just said he thought it was important to dress up for this day, that it's the holiest. 

Sam appreciated that, and I pressed an egg into his hands. He looked at me with wide eyes and said oh, no, not that again (as last year we had hatching eggs that begat beautiful baby chicks and it was warmmmmmmm in the church for the first and last time ever) and I kissed him on the cheek and told him it was chocolate and he actually said, and I quote, 

Hallelujah!

A world lit only by fire.

Got the new PSTHMN EP (the remixed Posthuman album by Justin Broaderick and friends, making up Harm's Way.) It's delicious. Very Godflesh without too many surprises so I love it. 

It's a beautiful day for crushing, industrial noise with a chugging undercurrent that makes you feel sick to your stomach. The sun is out, PJ is headbanging and we're almost caught up on laundry. 

It's Saturday so once that is done I am free to paint. 

Paiiiiiint. 

Lochlan is working. Ben? Working. Sam is definitely working. PJ works his ass off all the time except when he's not and everyone else seems to be sleeping in. Missing the sun. Missing this noise. Missing me being perfectly regular (we don't say 'normal' in this house; that's a dirty word). Missing coming to pick up their laundry piles before PJ wraps the clean clothes around various blunt objects and throws them overhand into their rooms at sleeping forms. It usually goes over well and is one of my favorite parts of the week, frankly, especially when the objects of choice are big heavy things like downhill ski boots and table lamps. 

My birthday is only two weeks away and I'm sure the boys will soon shrug off their laundry injuries and ask me what I want for it. 

I'm going to say more days like this. 

Schweet.

We WON!!!! Now on to Sunday's nailbiter of a game 6. If we win that? On to round two.

Now go read about Notre Dame's bees. So happy they survived by gorging on honey. Now I know why I don't burn.

The measurement of my worth, in pop music knowledge.

Because as long as I don't know, I feel as if I'm still me.

Caleb once again did that thing, though much less malevolently, these days. I think he is mellowing, albeit in that way a cup of coffee cools on the counter into a softer version of itself with no kick to finish off the taste.

It's not too late to go to Indio for the weekend. (I swear he is the biggest hipster wannabe, for a mid-fifties lawyer kind of guy. What is it about lawyers and Coachella?) Why don't you look at the lineup and let me know? We'd be there by early afternoon.

So I look. You know, for 'fun'.

He comes back around twenty minutes later. My coffee is almost cold, my mood has set me back a hundred years. Who are these people? It's as if music comes in colors, and this is definitely all milky, chipped pastels.

See anyone you'd like to hear?

I don't recognize any of it, I frown. Is this a test? Like every couple of years we confirm that 'no, Bridget still doesn't know a band. As you were, everyone. Peace reigns in the kingdom', that kind of thing?

He laughs. No. I just offered a break. A little getaway. People do that sort of thing, Bridget. 

Rich people do that sort of thing. Instagram people. 

What's the matter? 

I'm not an instagram people. 

No, you definitely are not. 

I tried to be but it isn't me. 

And you are you. 

That's right. Sorry about that. 

Wouldn't have it any other way. 

Then go get your game face on. Hockey's at four. 

Oh, that's early. 

It's the playoffs, Diabhal! 

This is why I love you, Bridget. Your passions are few but a little unique. 

A lot. 

That's what I said.

Bring chips. But not ketchup ones. Oh, and can you get the Amon Amarth tickets when they go on sale? There's a band I know.

Exactly.

A wolf in white and blue.

Game five with me, Bridget? 

Yes. I smile at Joel, a peace offering because I was a little dick last time he came over, and because he's spending his days mea culpa-ing all over the place and I need to let him and not resist, instead of fighting him to be like everyone else.

I'll bring pizza. 

And wings. Lots of them. We'll host a party.

He smiles gamely (pun intended) and rallies handsomely, as we won't be alone. We never actually are, but this has nothing to do with him. I'm forcing everyone in the house to watch the Leafs.

For luck.

Because if my team can win the next two games they're still in the playoffs and we love a winning Leafs team. Or, you know, they could cave under pressure, throw the whole mess and start summer vacation early.

They'd better not. Last time they won the cup Lochlan was in diapers, and I didn't exist. I just want them to win one in my lifetime. That's all. And I hope it's this year because I take enough shit for being a fan of the wrong team in a city that loves the Canucks, a team that...has never won the cup, nor did they even grace the playoff schedule this season.

Suck it, Vancouver. No, seriously.

Guess I'm taking a paperback to read at break today.

PJ already knew about Amon Amarth and said nothing because he's already planning a date for the show.

I thought about this for a moment and then asked him, what if you're not still dating whoever then? 

I'll take Ben. If he's out of the doghouse by then. If not I'll take you and you can circle pit with me in GA. 

I'm not doing that. 

Okay, we'll get lower bowl, just in case. Lightweight.

He laughs warmly but he's still a little (a lot, okay, a lot) mad.

Last night when I got home, I went over to Ben who was in the driveway under the awning talking to Sam and he asked how I was. I said hot and tired.

He asked if I knew what was really invigorating and I shook my head. Too tired to answer.

So he picked me up and ran for the edge of the yard and threw me over like I weighed nothing save for the almighty heft of my screams.

I forgot my phone was in the pocket of my work dress.

My sturdy black work shoes did not fall off. Which means they were very heavy.

And Sam followed me in because I was very tired and therefore could hardly walk let alone swim all the way around the point.

The phone didn't survive two metres of seawater for fifteen minutes.

The shoes, well, they're at the bottom of the sea and now today I have to wear my old adidas and hope no one sees them. Maybe I can paint the stripes black with a sharpie? Either way I'm going to break my neck.

And Ben is in the doghouse. Not because my phone and my shoes got ruined but because the water was two degrees.

Two. 

It was so cold it hurt.

As usual, he has no regrets. And to clarify, I'm not mad at him. It felt really good for a minute there, like all things that will kill me, but everyone else was completely less than impressed.

Up all night.

It's definitely Monday.

Like it's holy-shit levels of Monday and Notre Dame is burning. Poor Paris.

We stayed up late for Game of Thrones. I couldn't remember any of the politics and forgot my manners and yelled out THEON when Alfie Allen came onscreen. He's my favorite out of whoever they are.

Everyone else is DRAGONS! I don't actually like the dragons, or the story or any of the people. But it's at least somewhat interesting. I like the scale. I like medieval things.

I'm tired though.

I had a hard time cashing out my tables today, in any case. Couldn't focus. Still can't. Had a bunch of messages from the boys pointing out my blog typos, my lack of laundry finished, my inability to make myself a decent lunch, instead taking four-day-old pizza for my break and then not being able to eat it. The baker gave me a muffin that wasn't up to snuff and I ate some of that instead.

I got caught up on paperwork at work too (I do some payroll at work now too). I gave Ruthie a lot of encouragement as she started a new job this week, having finished her second year of university. I've now saved $10227 in my 'work' bank account and I've pushed back my promise to quit to when Henry graduates.

Maybe.

I saw a few new job postings I might apply for but I sort of like the diner. It's a little retro and they're fine with my hours, plus if I really don't want to do something in the course of a day I don't have to.

Maybe.

We finished watching Afterlife on Netflix. It was good. I sobbed like a child at the end and I still don't know why. Life is beautiful and ugly and ridiculous and amazing. I hate my job but I don't. I hate people but I don't, too. It is ridiculous and amazing, this life.

I just found out Amon Amarth is coming to Vancouver this fall. I can't wait to tell PJ and watch him shriek with excitement.