Pay with your face.

Listening to Lochlan go ON AND ON AND ON as Apple rolls out it's yearly event for the unwashed masses, feigning mild interest as he points out the odd neat new feature, falling asleep when he starts talking about the cameras (fun fact: Cole was a photographer. Doesn't mean I know a thing. Possibly even less) until he notices and I am forced to pay attention.

It has BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH. 

Picture that for like, two hours.

Ending with his wish to preorder, naturally. Loch is weirdly into technology for someone who grew up servicing fifty-year-old amusement park rides, and loves loves loves computery...things.

Right? He says.

Hmmm? Peak brightness isn't one of my options, I guess. I would really like my phone to be able to understand what I'm mashing in a message window without replacing all of my words with unrelated ones. I want dark mode. I want actual waterproofing to the depths. I want a fucking physical tiny keyboard-

....and midnight green. 

Wait, what did you say? 

Green. The 11 Pro comes in dark green as one of the colors. 

Sold.

subliminal souls.

Now I'm here with you, and I
Would like to think that you would stick around
You know that I'd just die to make you proud

Green cowboy boots and a red and orange flowered dress buried under Cole's chunky grey sweater this morning. It's pouring and cold, strangely enough. Like summer just rolled up and said k, bye then! and peeled off down the road, a blur within seconds to our sunbaked vision, sunburnt skin pelted with tiny bits of gravel from its wheels.

Goodbye to you too. Bring on the Halloween decorations, the endless coffee. The baked apples and casseroles. The wine. Bring on the brightly colored rotten leaves and the mood that spirals all the way to the bottom, brought on by the early and late darkness, the time of year, the cold.

I will weather this like a forgotten sailboat in a storm. I will survive because that's what I do. Stubborn to the core, ridiculously weird and wonderful with lots of creative outlets to keep me busy. Stores of affection well-secured for the coming season like Mormon grain. I could feed hundreds with what I've saved though I use enough for ten people so maybe my needs may not equal someone else's.

Your hair. Caleb says it sweetly. I know, right? Just touching my shoulders if I pull my waves out straight. Bangs to my nose. I'm starting to feel exactly like myself at last, again, just in time for the rug to be yanked out, landing me on my ass.

Morning. I pull my coffee cup up to my lips, slurping up a sip. He hates that sound but it endears me to him nonetheless.

Sleep?

Some, yeah. He frowns at my response. He doesn't know what it means. You?

Yes, quite well now that it's cool. Listening to the rain was nice.

Ah. I wouldn't know. I can't hear it unless I stand very still right in front of the window and it's a heavy downpour. I always agree though, because it makes them feel better when they forget. It was, I lie.

Busy this morning? He acknowledges and ignores my lie.


Maybe. It depends. I do have a lunch with Christian and Andrew.

What time?

One sharp. They're making waffles from scratch. I'm less of a guest and more of a guinea pig.

Ah.

You can come with me-

No. I was hoping to maybe spend the day. Are you free after lunch?

Around three. I do have an hour of meditation planned but you can join me for that, if you like.

Meditation?

That's what I call it. I just lie in the gazebo on the floor and listen to music. It's my me time but Sam suggested I call it something more legitimate, as chanting Om and sitting crosslegged thinking about nothing is apparently more acceptable than wallowing in one's own misery, winding my feelings out on beautiful music. I think my 'meditation' is more useful long term. It's an outlet. It's a relief and a release all at once.

I know. 

You don't kn-

Oh, I know, Bridget. I knew back when I'd drive you home from the lake and you'd play the same songs over and over and over again on my tape deck, rewinding it constantly the whole way home. And I told you to leave it and you sulked and sat back with your arms crossed and your lip out for all of five seconds and then you reached out with one finger and hit that rewind button again and I never gave you a hard time about it again. Do you remember that? Because I definitely do and I've tried to entertain those needs for you ever since. 

I nod because he's right and it's raining again and I don't want to felt Cole's sweater but I don't want to leave this moment either.

So stay. Just for a bit. Perfect weather to play that soundtrack in your head. 

Wish you could h-

I can hear it. It's loud, Neamhchiontach. So loud sometimes it scares me. 

Good.

Thank you, Sam.

Post-birthday week church in the pouring rain this morning, the church warm and dim after a night filled with lightning and thunder that never stopped. Maybe Caleb was quietly celebrating Lochlan's decision to send August home, across the driveway in the deluge of sleet that blurred the edges of the night.

Lochlan did it to keep me from seeking out Jake. It's a kindness masked by authority and this morning I relay my gratefulness for him straight to God when I take my place in church. He holds out our coffees once I'm settled in, coat off, purse tucked against my ankle, and I take them while he shrugs out of his coat. I hand his back and he winks at me. It's a reassurance and I shift position to lean against him.

Sam brings his own mug of coffee over, and sits on the top step.

I don't think anyone else is coming. We'll wait fifteen minutes and then head out. 

He and Lochlan talk softly about winterizing preparations for the church and for the point, a little bit about how August is adjusting back to life post-burn and then I open my eyes and Lochlan is prodding me to get up, it's time to go.

He took my coffee when I nodded off and just held it. I take a huge gulp but it's barely warm and I make a face. He tells me that Duncan is making french toast, that we'll have some brunch and then have a nap if I like.

Nothing else to do today? 

Nothing that can't wait, he says. We should have stayed in bed.

Then Sam would have been all alone. And besides, it was the first time he's ever had the church warm in time. Someone had to be there to appreciate that.

My own private perfect dystopia.

August's hand trails across my lips and down my face as he talks. I'm trying to listen, trying to lasso my mind back from where it's going, trying to stop my eyes from turning him into Jacob, trying to stop my body from liquifying when faced with his touch, Lochlan's eyes burning a hole in my skin anyway so not sure why I try so hard but it seems like it's going to be this way. It's going to be difficult and yet he means so much to me and I try to separate August from Jake but I can't do it. Not one hundred percent. Maybe sixty on a good day, seventy-five on the very best but still a huge, mutinous part of my brain screams with laughter and runs the other way.

August looks older, somehow. Gone just shy of three weeks and it's like he's been away for years. We've heard so many stories from his adventures, from the burn, seen the pictures he took, looked at the small things he did bring back and evaluated his mindset on return as the boys do for each other. Is he coming back healthy? In a good headspace? Mentally fit? Capable of a return to life or desperately grieving the hedonism that sent him out looking for it in the first place?

Well, August is also around seventy-five percent of himself, as it takes a while to adjust back to normal life. He is always a night owl for months afterward, staying up too late, sleeping in too long, forgetting to have meals and do chores at usual times. He walked in the kitchen last night at midnight to borrow tea, setting off the alarm, the dog and Benjamin. It took us a long time to settle down and he stuck around which made it better.

I shake my head. Don't do this. Don't touch my mouth. Don't make me want you. I close my eyes and his fingertips touch against my eyelashes. Goosebumps rise up on my arms and I feel Lochlan's hand wrap around mine.

Neamhchiontach. 

I shake my head. Don't break this spell. I need it to be fulfilled. I need some Jake-time and then I'm okay. Need a little Preacher memory and then I can get by for just a few more days.

Goodnight, August. He says it gently and my lips are cold suddenly. August's proximity fades, his smell disappears. His hands let go. Then he charges back, a hard kiss landing on my cheek. A squeeze around the back of my head in the process.

Goodnight, Princess, he whispers against my head and then he's gone.

I am turned to face Lochlan. No apologies, no remorse. He pulls me in close. Come here, Bridget. 

All yours, I tell him, palms out.

You're disappointed. 

Yes, I answer truthfully, honestly. We don't lie to each other, we don't protect each other or soften the blow. Never have. Rip the bandaid off. Blow the lid. Make it hurt and then you'll know you're really alive.

Another time. 

I nod in response. I know. 

I love you. 

I nod again. I'm surprised. 

Why? 

I'm...unloveable. 

Not from where I'm standing. Not from their vantage points either. 

In real life I would be. 

Then let's stay here.

Fifty-four.

I don't know when that happened. The trip was long but we finally arrived at this number and it's mind-numbingly larger than I thought. It's seasoned. It's earned it's scars, pockmarked by years of being pelted with space junk, with aster-

Meteorites, I mean.

Look up there! 

An asteroid! 

That's a meteor, Peanut. 

Same thing, isn't it? 

Technically, but it's an asteroid until it reaches our atmosphere, and then it becomes a meteor. If it burns up when it gets to us it's a shooting star. If it lands it's a meteorite. 

Can we look for some? 

Meteorites? Or shooting stars? 

Both! 

Meteorites would be hard to find. 

But what if we found one? 

What would you do with it? His mouth curls up on one side. He's amused. I love it when his face does this. It makes my stomach flutter so fucking hard.

Cut it open! I am breathless and immediate with my reply.

And what would you find inside? 

OUTER SPACE. That's it. I'm determined now.

But outer space is right. there. He points for effect. Look around you. 

I sit up from where we lie on the picnic table. His legs dangling off the edge. Mine not reaching, thought they would if we were crosswise.

This is the best birthday I've ever had. 

I can't believe you're fifteen already. 

Some day you'll be fifteen too. What are you going to do when that happens? 

Get my learner's permit. And go to space. 

You can't drive there. 

I'm thinking driving a rocketship is like driving a car. 

Is it now? There's that smile again when I look at the side of his face. He's making my stomach hurt. His eyes flash in the dark and I really wish he would hold my hand.

I trace his arm in the dark. The rocketship tattoo is still vivid decades later now, ready to lift off into the sun. Into space. Our ticket home to the stars, this massive field above us while we lie in our backs in the wet grass at the far edge of the lawn, stuck way down here on earth.

Happy birthday, Locket. 

Best birthday ever, Peanut.

He says that every single year.

Roller toaster.

Plotting weekend tattoos (shhhhh) and dealing with a last minute car appointment as something fell OFF my car this week and I'd like it stuck back on. Having olive bread and listening to Starset's fourth single, released today while I was picking up some items at the grocery store and I might have squealed out loud. Getting THINGS DONE today. I felt the familiar overwhelm creeping in today which dragged Resolve and Attitude Adjustment behind it. I can handle it. I can do this. I got this.

I swear to God, when people say they have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, yeah, so do I. I just bring the bed with me just in case. Then I run right back, throw it in my room and dive back in before the Big Bad World can find me, or catch me, at least.

I didn't say wolf. It's the whole world today.

Cardinal Copulate (this is not a thirst trap).

We're going to take a day off from relationship drama to examine yet another one of Bridget's Amazing Future Inventions, right up there with Airport hugs and Saltwater Princess, the novel, only it would have to be in encyclopedia form because it's too huge now to reduce down, boiling it into something anyone could even read. Whatever. Onward and upward, right, Jake?

Remember the airport one? (Gawd. Don't go read the post. Here's the part you want)

What if when you traveled or were on your own in a strange place there would be a way to get comfort on the run? I had a vision of a special room or area at the airport, with yellow lights above a stark white hallway, and if you needed someone or wanted comfort you would go stand under those lights and anyone who saw you there would approach you and invite you to have a meal with them, share a cab, or simply give you a long hug. I realize that's an impossibility, a horribly invasive and assumptive series of events but at the same time if you have ever navigated an airport alone and felt as what was on the inside of your own skin brought the only familiarity in an alien sea of people then you'd probably agree this would be a splendid invention.

So here's what I propose:

We divide the Internet into genres, kind of like music except the subgenreing would be LEGIT and not fucked up, in that I mean no one in their right fucking mind would label Ghost the band as anything less that pretentious theatrical pop music and everyone would agree with it, wholeheartedly and I would stop having to read about the band on all my metal news sites.

Yeah, I'm fairly picky about my metal subgenres for someone who's been listening to Lana Del Rey all week long. I'm aware. But this isn't about that.

Let's have an Internet where you pick your genre and the only thing you can see/watch/read are things that pertain to that specific genre.

Cute dogs.

Politics.

Sugar.

Hardcore porn.

Demotivational memes.

And so on, etc. Because I get tired of going looking for porn and finding politics. I get sick of finding a batch of cute puppy videos sandwiched between posts debating whether or not the poster is an asshole and food blogs. I don't want to watch a Lana Del Rey video and find Chinese propaganda social credit score stuff in my sidebar.

I don't want to see your world. Don't want the current events. Don't want to mistakenly stumble across a video of protesters getting gassed and don't want anything about Ghost in my fucking universe.

And yes, women look at porn online too. YES EVEN WITH A HOUSEFUL OF MEN.

(Honestly I'm just trying to find better/different positions for the size differences between me and them. Shut the fuck up.)

Radical self-awareness.

He made it.

Trudging across the beach at high tide, looking a little exhausted and a whole lot relieved, August got back just in time for Ruth's twentieth birthday champagne sunrise toast.

Basically we all drank it in a single gulp, eyes wide because she's twenty and she was seven yesterday, hung up on singing Avril Lavigne songs and wanting to dye her hair blue. I consented to that, a year later because why not? Her hair is no longer blue, right now it's bright green, and she's got a good handful of tattoos and is in her third year at University, which started today (sorry kid, your due date was August 22, not my fault you procrastinated), and so she's off on public transit, to figure it all out. Henry's gone off to do his schoolwork, having started last week on a course and since I'm technically not all that keen on discussing too much of my children online there's your paragraph for the season.

August looks a little past tired actually. Maybe a little haunted instead. Maybe conflicted. Maybe even lonely for those he knows best these days. He greets the children first, as we do, and then the boys. I am last and am practically rabid by the time I reach his arms. I'm so happy he's back. I worry that he's lonely. I worry that he doesn't have a strong enough pull to the point. I worry that something bad will happen when he travels alone.

So glad you came back. 

Definitely probably my last year. 

Ha. Doubt it.

No, you know even though last year was brief and didn't end up great it was nice having my whole family there. This year seemed strange without all of you. And he pulls me in for a hard hug again that leaves me without breath.

I stare at him when he lets go.

It's the truth, Bridget. 

So you're not going again?

We'll have a burn here. I know a guy who does fire pretty well. He grins at Lochlan, who surprisingly grins back. Lochlan who has spent the week alternating between snapping at me, marvelling at the fact that his child is twenty years old today and being jealous of August for taking off for Burning Man without a care in the world and all that just went away. Nothing to be mad, sad or envious about, right this minute.

And if anything, though he has a torrent of emotions always at the ready, Lochlan also has a terrific gift of perspective and pragmatism, that keep him centered, balanced and open.

Really glad to hear you missed us, he tells August. We missed you too.

He should be a Scorpio for all these moods.

Two coffees, one orange juice, one attempt and failure to shave my legs in the shower and then two glorious eggs benedicts with back bacons on English muffins and-

Wait. Are there Scottish muffins? I ask Lochlan, my face still full of brunch goodness. Yes, I talk with my mouth full and so do you.

You ask this every time and as I said before, there is. You wouldn't like them though, he scolds and we resume eating in silence. It's birthday week and it begins with brunch at his favorite place and then a long sunny week of floating in the pool, drinking the good birthday-whiskey and low-key bickering with me as I attempt to find a new job, finish three different house projects and up the ante on life itself and figuring out what that is.

Also August coming back any minute now and I miss him! But Lochlan doesn't! And that's a problem!

There's no problem, Lochlan reminds me. Why is he so cranky? Oh right. Someone's dog barked all night across the cove and none of us slept. If it happens again tonight we'll be lighting the pitchforks and kayaking across. If I don't get some meaningful sleep soon I may fall for his attempts to bait me into a fight but honestly I'm trying so hard today, with zero support, to stay in a really good mood and anticipate a wonderful week full of birthday celebrations, homecomings and back to school.

Poly narco baby.

You again? Sam laughs softly when I open the door. We have to stop meeting like this. 

I grin at him and stick out my tongue before softening and stepping back to one side so he can come in. We are settling into quite a Saturday night routine, only my legs are so tired from walking miles and miles around such a huge shopping centre, and I'm falling asleep on my feet.

Sam is our Saturday night companion, our steadfast, our anchor. He's soaking up the affection here with an enthusiasm that I never expected. He and Lochlan are closer than ever and he sleeps so easily, as do we, when we're all together. Even Ben doesn't mind finding him with us. He's a comfort object in human reverend form. And we are comfort right back.

But he sees that I'm struggling with the hour and the expectations right now. That's what I love most about Sam. Within seconds of talking to you he can figure out exactly what you need. He's the Devil in a collar. He's needful things. He's the always-solution to the problem you didn't even know you had yet.

What about instead of a snuggle we had a bath?

OH. Sam. You haven't lived until you've swam in this tub. Except I know I'll fall asleep so another time. 

We could go for a hot tub. 

Rather be naked. 

No one ever accused you of being subtle. Can't you be naked in your own hot tub though? 

It's not exactly in my own private backyard. 

Er..okay. I can draw a bath for you. 

Draw it for three. 

Wait, how big is this tub? 

Big enough. Come and look! 

And he did and he chose a lovely blackberry vanilla bubblebath and ran a blisteringly hot bath for us. While he did that I lit candles and closed curtains. I met Lochlan coming in through the door, suit still on from some thing with Schuyler. He had said to start without him, which was lovely but unnecessary, and I told Sam to arrive later than usual. That's why I'm so sleepy now.

Sam here? 

Hey, Brother. Sam is in the bathroom doorway. I just arrived. I'm running a bath for us. 

Nice. Lochlan smiles warmly, giving me a quick kiss and then heading straight to Sam for one of those thumping-back hugs they do.

 I do indeed fall asleep in the bathtub, lulled into heavy dreams, listening to quiet talk between these two and then Lochlan wakes me gently, squeezing me in his arms until I open my eyes. Time for bed, Peanut. He pulls me with him out of the warm bubbles, Sam wraps me in a towel and then I am led to my big giant bed and I only have time to ask that they turn off the lights and blow out the candles before I am asleep again. When I wake up it's morning. It's ten already. Sam is gone. Lochlan is awake watching me. The sun is up.

Good sleep? 

So good. I realize Ben is sleeping in his usual place and snuggle into him. Lochlan plays big spoon and we fall back asleep for a half hour, Ben's arm coming out to pull us in tightly to him.

Was Sam frustrated when he left?

On the contrary. He was tender. He baptized you with a kiss and said he would say extra graces over dinner tonight. 

Good. 

Yeah.