A Palpatine is when you touch someone all over.

I got a fun early gift from Benjamin and I can't stop using it. It's a virtual bluetooth projection keyboard that you can put on anything and type. I wondered if it would even work. So far I've used it on Ben's back, which was confusing as fuck trying to find the letters superimposed over his tattoos, I tried it in the empty big bathtub (weird) and I also tried it in the backyard in the grass which wasn't nearly dry enough and did not work at all.

He said it's not exactly a gift, just a thing one of the execs gave him and he figured I would love it. I don't, I actually hate technology and have already had a moment where I wondered if for 2020 I should go completely analog and write my journal on hammered tree bark with a quill that I could then roll up, seal with wax and a lock of my hair and deliver it via carrier pigeon subscription.

Who's in?

I wasn't kidding when I said technology is hard. I like humans. I like tactile things. I liked Blackberries but I think that was it, everything else seems so exceedingly complicated and completely overwhelming. A few times last night I even asked Lochlan but what happens if they're holding the lightsaver the wrong way and hit the button and it goes RIGHT THROUGH THEIR LEG? in horror but he hasn't answered me because he is too busy being embarrassed or maybe now he understands the definition of Too Young For You because right now he could be having this conversation with someone who got to see the first Star Wars in their preteens instead of barely out of grade two and maybe then he would be happy. I'm going to go type virtual love letters to him on his fucking forehead until he lightens up a little, I think.

Maybe I'll even post one of them.

Dear Fuckhead, it will read. You're probably wondering why I'm contacting you-

I crack myself up. Still no spirit. Heading out looking now. Sidetrip to post office included. Wish me luck.

In my defence I only fell asleep when everything onscreen was exploding.

We survived the not-bad traffic and terrifically-behaved audience to go see the new Star Wars, and loved every second of it. I won't post any details but definitely a great way to spend a Sunday morning, there at the church of popcorn and celluloid, and don't worry, we went to Jesus beach at eight this morning in the freezing cold long before wrapping up even more to brave the morning theatre. It's always freezing at the movies and holy car commercials, Batman, stop it already. So many ads now, it makes it hard.

What a great event though and now the Internet is embiggened again since no one has to worry about spoilers.

Geez. Now I just have to run the gauntlet of groceries, garbage, post office (one more time, with feeling) and Henry's work shifts and then I'm safe. I would like to sleep in but nope, none of that on this horizon line of mine.

Pacific Northstressed.

I'm just here trying to turn Christmas around. I can't find the spirit this year. I was ready early. I looked everywhere. I've been on walks through neighborhoods full of lights and driven down festive tree-lined streets. I've see Santa, more than once. Maybe he's replacing Skateboard Jesus, whom I haven't seen at all. I bought some cheap wine and fruitcake but that didn't do it either, just as the champagne and French hand-milled and decorated cookies Caleb flew in didn't. Surprise on that.

It's on, what, Wednesday? So don't mind me over here beginning to panic. It's been raining heavily, nonstop even, and I feel like I'm slipping. Maybe it's not even me, maybe reality is eroding and around the edges you can see the black where they painted in your happy life. Maybe they fucked up the painting and it's not so happy, and no amount of holiday movies, cinnamon rolls or wrapping presents for the ones you love so dearly, so desperately can fix it even though presently, nothing is wrong that isn't always wrong-

You're just tired, Bee. 

And that.

Stop doing so much. 

Admittedly it's been a marathon of a week and here it is Saturday with another few days of marathons to go. Henry pulled a surprise three days off over Christmas at least, but before that happens there are three shifts left, a few more groceries to pick up, some errands that will not wait, and the boys want to see Star Wars, so we're going to maybe attempt to fit that in. I sat for a moment and tried to remember anything about Star Wars. I swear I've seen at least nine or fifteen of the movies, though apparently unless you read all the books and watch all the tv shows you're not a fan which is fine, I don't know what's going on anyway. I don't know why things have to be so complicated for me yet hell, even Duncan, who watched at least the first five movies blind drunk as a teenager can rattle off all of this information and I can't even remember the character names.

(Snopes? He's the big creature you go to and ask if something you read on the internet is true or false, right?)

I think something might be wrong with my brain.

But name virtually any song written after 1942 and I can probably sing it for you.

I need to fix this. I'm heading out now. I have a map and a marker and I'm going to do a grid search until I find this fucker. If I see Santa I will ask him where the spirit went, though in all honesty it's probably somewhere sheltering from ALL THIS FUCKING RAIN. 

(Soundtrack? Bledig. Perfect for this day.)

For the birds.

What are you waiting for, Peanut? Lochlan slides another cup of coffee in front of me. It's Friday, I'm allowed to have a second cup, plus I have a shitty sudden headache coming on from either the air pressure or the time of the month that it is or maybe just the stress of being me, as he calls it.

Indeed, and he did call it and I just want to feel good.

PJ thinks he saw a cedar waxwing so I'm waiting for it.

Well, either he did or he didn't, there's no thinking about it.

That's what I said! Truth be told, I think I conjure things. Upon moving to the West coast, I wanted nothing more than to see a Stellar's Jay, the dark cousin of our East coast Blue Jay. Now I have one that comes to visit, bullying the chickadees away from the feeder, hanging out until I go out and say hello.

I'm pretty sure it's Cole, but let's see if he appears in tiny yellow and peach waxwing formation and then I'll know for sure. The birds are pretty amazing here. I guess they don't like the snow either.

ਯਿਸੂ, ਪਹੀਏ ਨੂੰ ਲੈ

It's raining and I've been forbidden to leave this bed and so you get to bear witness to my rumbling belly, burgeoning headache because I've gone past coffee o'clock, and a whole host of hits by Parmish Verma, who I discovered last night while watching the trailer for his upcoming movie Jinde Mariye. Dude's amazing (acting AND singing) and so this Christmas I'm just going to blindside everyone with his particularly fun and catchy brand of Punjabi pop, because that's what I do.

Lochlan wants one more hour, which I don't blame him for, and this is so nostalgic, reminding me of the good old days when he childproofed the camper so I couldn't leave without waking him up completely. This way he can keep an eye on me, but also sleep as apparently I have gone out of my way to find danger or trouble, or even more exciting, both at the same time and that isn't going to happen today.

Pretty sure he's planned a trail of cotton candy for later, and at the end is a giant girl-sized beehive. I'll pluck the last piece of floss off the floor and he'll pull the stick away from where it was propping up the hive and I'll be trapped inside, right where he wants me. Then he can, as he told me last night, relax for five minutes for fucks sakes, Peanut. 

Geez. Okay. Just do it then. I have no place to be until eleven and then Bridget's Taxi Service begins, ferrying kids to jobs and then home again, picking up August from the airport at the end of everything else and yes, I refuse to farm it out because I need to do this or I swear the agoraphobia will just take right over and I'll never leave the point again. I'm fine to leave the house, it's just the driveway I don't want to venture far from. Because highway driving in the dark, in the pouring rain can kiss my little ass.

The good thing is that we're basically ready for Christmas and so I don't have to venture out other than for rides and maybe a few odds and ends that I will pick up Monday morning at the grocery store and then I'm not going near a shopping centre for the next three months because it's getting so crazy out there and I don't have any patience left. I'm hoping that the more I listen to Parmish the more I will adopt his devil may care attitude. Or at the very least maybe I can grow a beard like his.

It's magnificent.

Walls painted in gold.

It's a marked contrast to the casual summer-heat unrefined wild of Lochlan, everything unexpected and magic hour all the time to the punctual formality and predictable neatness of Caleb, ironed down and dark. Perfect.

And then in the middle there's Batman, still off-limits, still playing emotional hooky, still mysterious but somehow just playful and engaged enough and just enough of a safe haven to see me unwilling to choose sides when life is a dodecagon anyway, and I don't have to so long as I defer to the hierarchy they made and gosh, I'll never not be twelve and having the list drilled into my head of who I go to first and then who next if they're not there and never go to x when y is around because x would be jumping a very cemented seniority that began for them in grade school but never seemed important at all until I showed up.

But Batman wasn't even in my life until my early twenties and so he isn't really a part of the list or the hierarchy and there is no rhyme or reason to this poem but maybe that's why I like it. And maybe his refusal to put away his checkbook in spite of me asking him for clear direction on what sugar he wanted makes this less daunting than keeping up with Caleb, overall. Caleb has a passionate, crushing, needy and dangerous way about him that keeps me more scared than excited. He's that bad boy you know damn well will mortally wound you but you can't stay away.

Batman? Not so much. He doesn't give a shit, though he lies and tells me exactly what I want to hear. He is content maybe moreso than he lets on. He is fine. And yet here I am, and there is his checkbook. Though it's digital now. He just has to log in and press a button and all of my immediate problems are solved. He just has to extend an offer of some time and I suddenly have hundreds of minutes to spend.

For Christmas this year I got another deposit. More than he gave me for summer vacation, more than Caleb has extended in a while, enough to change my name and fake my own death save for the fact that I'm too curious for my own good. I got a lecture on market growth that I didn't even need. Batman went into full dad mode which made it even weirder. Maybe I'm always going to be twenty to him, always wide-eyed at the sight of more than a thousand dollars, always hungry and one missed cheque away from being homeless, always ready to sell the only thing I have that everyone needs but no one wants because it's the way they raised me.

Smile for them, Bridgie, and the world is yours. And so I turned back toward Batman and gave it everything I had.

I was gone before the ink was dry but it isn't smudged, and I definitely don't have to worry about being homeless now.

Blackberry smoke.

Caleb's eyes match the blankets in this halflight of a Tuesday morning. He wonders aloud if the pool has filled again, thanks to all of this rain, or when the snow will reach our part of highway 99. He worries about me driving, though I didn't see a lot of worry last evening when I left at eight to pick Henry up from his job and we arrived back at ten-forty-five to find a darkened house. Even the dog had gone to bed. Henry is learning. It took a long time to finish up. It will be better from now on, I hope, but at the same time this job is a gap-filler until the summer only, unless he loves it and chooses to stay.

It's fine, I remind him. I have a jeep, and if things get really dicey PJ can drive or we just stay home. 

He nods against my head and it hurts slightly so I slide it out from underneath his chin. My hair drags against the new beard he sports, going a few weeks at a time without shaving. This is how I get such dramatic bedhead.

You look so beautiful. I laugh and he piles it on. I love your laugh. 

Stop. Geez. 

I'm just stupidly happy you come for sleepovers now. 

I wasn't actually planning to, but when I came upstairs, in their sleep, Ben and Lochlan had taken up all of the available space and I didn't want to wake either one of them to rearrange the bed so I put on my angel pajamas and went down to Caleb's wing. He was still awake, quizzed me about Henry's shift, resolved to pick him up himself from now on and poured us each a quick, stiff nightcap. I don't think I finished mine. I had a good solid sleep spooned sweetly against Caleb's chest and woke up hearing birds. The rain makes them think it's spring. I think they're about to get a surprise.

Me too. I turn back and get a morning-breath kiss that I truly think was far worse for him than for me. But now I turn into a pumpkin. 

Already?

Yes. 

See you tonight? 

Probably not. 

Later in the week, then. 

Sure, I lie and let myself out as he goes back to sleep.

No lying this time, he calls as I'm closing the door and I remember he can read my mind.

For life.

Last night we put on all the outdoor lights, fired up the patio heaters and set up the long table for the first of many holiday dinners at home, as we call them, as no one wants to go out anymore and yet we love getting fancy and entertaining. They all wore suits and nice shirts, though no ties. I finally got a chance to wear my dress with all of the sequins, and I felt like the night sky. Caleb got his hands on some far better champagne and a crate of incredibly large Atlantic (!) lobster (sent from home, I'm not dumb) and we made cold salads and warm rolls and a big casserole of scalloped potatoes to go with.

Reminded me of home. It reminded me of the early dinners, though we could not afford to eat like this and usually potlock would end up meaning a pizza from at least four different places and someone, usually Christian would buy a chocolate cake from the grocery store, because he never forgot how much I love cake.

I love to have Sunday Night Dinner and I missed it and so we've chosen to create some new/old traditions, now that Matt is back, now that August and Caleb are on speaking terms again, now that Lochlan feels in control of his life again and maybe Ben too and now that the ghosts seem to be squeezing a little less hard. Maybe Bridget isn't throwing herself into the sea on a regular basis and we seem to be beginning a new chapter, with the kids all grown up suddenly and everyone seems so much more settled, as of late. Maybe I'm reading too much into it or perhaps hoping too hard, but this works for me.

We did put the anchors in the table, though, because honestly table-flipping seems to happen so fast around here. Luckily last night it didn't.

Perfectly imperfect EXCEPT in the eyes of Santa Claus.

Sam isn't going public with his reunion until at least Easter. Sam has assured me if or when I need him at any given moment he will Be There. Sam is cautious but living life the way he always does and has said to Matt and anyone within earshot that he will continue to do so and he's not chasing Matt so if Matt wants to be a part of Sam's life he knows where he is.

Matt maintains that's why he came back, it's why he's here, but he can't actually go to church this morning because it coincides with his meeting this morning. He said he can find God on the beach or in the woods but he needs the structure and goes when he has to go.

I'm kind of surprised. I really thought once upon a time that he was perfect, that he had it all under control. I still find it surprising that the people who seem most together are usually just the ones who hide their self-destruction the best. Me? I've always been a written-all-over-my-face, heart-on-my-sleeve kind of girl and so if something's wrong you might even know it before I do. I wished to be something better than that but then I see how debilitating it is when people think everything is fine but it's not so maybe I know what I'm doing after all.

Matt thinks I am jealous and that's why I'm adverse to their relationship.

That isn't it, exactly though we had a good thing while it lasted but the hearts do complicate life over all and simpler is always better.

Lochlan says Matt is just lashing out and as the most obvious big-feeler his disdain for Sam's life without him in it makes me such an easy target. Matt has since been warned that if he tries that ever again he won't be allowed to stay on. That I am not up for debate, that everyone here is an adult and then he turned a screw of his own, telling Matt he has missed so much by not being here with Sam all this time. Matt, to his credit, is taking his knocks from the boys with far more grace than I expected.

I have told him we can help him with some of these feelings, that's it's normal. That he can cause pain and still be affected by it. That we'll figure it out together and move on from here. He was grateful and remains afraid that he might wind up on my bad side. I'm not sure I have one, as the soft spot for men who are hurting is so large if I press it blood pools right up until it runs over the sides, down over my toes and into the sea.

We'll figure it out.

Church was cold and somewhat quiet today. People are absent, off picking up last minute gifts and being lazy or just plain busy. Sam had a very short sermon, lit the advent candles and we sang two upbeat carols and he dismissed everyone to go and be warm with their families and be kind and work harder to keep the peace and to make sure everyone has a little peace. When he said that we all looked around at each other, meeting eyes, checking in.

Everyone can use a little reminder like that now and again.

Daily miracles and daily meetings.

Ben is tuning his guitar. I'm drinking more of the caramel coffee, though it smells good it's not what I expected in terms of flavor. Our grocery store used to sell these tall skinny bottles of English toffee, Caramel and some other flavourings I can't remember. Apparently at Starbucks you can buy coffee flavouring still but I haven't checked because it would be a special trip and probably overpriced and meh, not enough of a big deal. If you ask anyone around me I get too much sugar anyway.

He blocked Caleb's attempts to commandeer last night. I didn't even wake up, having bid my goodnights at probably ten and disappeared because the last few weekends I've been up so late and awake so early.

I had eleven hours of sleep so I'm not even interested in Caleb's sharp rebuke this morning for Ben somehow 'not respecting her wishes'. Ben just points out wearily that if I had wished to see Caleb, I would have gone to see him. That ends their conversation and I resume drinking my coffee, and Ben starts singing Lucky Man, though not the Verve version, this is Emerson, Lake and Palmer. I love it and I purposefully avoid looking in Caleb's direction for the next few minutes while his gaze bores right through  my skull.

It's fine. Really. Everything's fine. He's always the same. Give him a moment, he'll take a week. Give him a mile, he'll take you on a trip around the world.

But I have bigger fish to fry, because Matt has finally made an appearance. Up until now he's been ordering food in, slipping in and out in the off hours, and generally making himself scarce. But this morning the boys have come down, freshly showered and shaved, button down flannels and casual cords, almost a matched pair save for the fact that Sam is desperate for Matt's love and Matt is killing time or whatever it is he says he feels but then as soon as the Christmas spirit fades, his presence goes with it.

For fucks sakes. He makes me so angry, and at the same time I am somewhat impressed he's chosen this morning and is finally seeking me out.

Bridget. Can we talk outside for a moment? 

Sure. If Sam comes. And Lochlan, because you need accountability. 

He nods. It's been two fucking weeks since he arrived. I can't wait to hear this.

We organize outside, while at least five more sets of eyes peer through the glass at random intervals out of sheer curiosity. Sam looks rested and happy but I see caution in his face. Lochlan looks mildly amused. He was more than a little angry at Matt's comparing their relationship to our history and has been waiting on tense limbs to address it if it comes up again. I didn't have the heart to remind him it probably won't.

Matt addresses me. Sam and I would like to formally ask you if I may move back. 

For the season? 

Forever. 

Two weeks and you're going to get remarried?  (They were married in 2013. Divorced in 2016. Wow. Has it been that long?)


Down the road, if things work out, then yes. 

Things never work out for you two, though. 

We're working to change that. 

You can't just show up on the coattails of the Christmas spirit and tell him everything's going to be okay, Matt! I am suddenly composureless and far more upset than I thought I was over his arrival. You don't understand what it's like to have someone break your heart and then come back and do it over and over again. 

I know I have a lot of work to do to earn Sam's trust, and even his full love back but every time we leave each other-

Every time you leave him, you mean. Get it right.  

Every time I leave I die a little inside and I don't want to leave anymore-

So don't. 

Let him talk, Peanut. 

He's talked himself out of a perfect love. This is on him. 

Bridget, do you believe in soulmates?

Of course. 

Then let me earn Sam's trust back. I'm asking you because Sam says he wants to try, he wants me to stay, but that I have to clear it with you since this is your house. So I'm opening myself up to you. I'm asking for forgiveness and acceptance and trust. I know I don't deserve it but I want to stay. I don't want Christmas to end and to pack up and hurt him, hurt myself, leaving and living a loveless existence. I've changed companies and work remotely now, I've changed a lot of things. I've done a lot of work and now I'd like to come home. 

Do you want him here, Sam? Forever? Do you think this is a good idea?

Hell, yes, Bridget. I do. The look on his face is confident, he doesn't look afraid, he doesn't look hesitant or hopeful. Just sure.

Do you have belongings to move in? 

Yes, a few. 

Would you like the boathouse back? Gage is fluid. He will switch back, I'll speak with him.

Maybe in the spring. For now we're not going to uproot him. 

That's very kind, though I think it would be easier if you had your privacy. We have enough hands to organize this so when you move in you only have to do it once. But Matt, one thing.

Yes, Bridget. 

Look at what you've got in front of you and be so thankful for him. 

Oh God, Bridget, I am. You have no idea. I've fucked up and I need to fix this with him. 

Yes, you do.

I want to earn his love back. 

Then do it. And let us know if you need help this time.