One of us is going down.

The new single, Hunting Grounds is out off the upcoming Mother album from in this moment and the refrain (the title above) made me laugh. The song is a direct descendant of Sexual Hallucination though, and I don't really love it. Not because I'm a prude but because I feel like an intruder when I listen to both. The In-Between (the first single) is absolutely stunning in comparison.

But one of us is going down.

It's true. This morning, shoved under the door conveniently after Lochlan and Benjamin left for breakfast and then church with Sam, leaving me to sleep as Japanese food still manages to give me a pounding headache at least one time out of every three trips (yes I drank a ton of water last night to counteract the possibility, I think I'm going to have to give it up regardless) I found a gray envelope. Wax-sealed with an X, my initials scrawled on the front in case a single B was mistaken and appropriated by Benjamin, who isn't home anyway and Caleb knows that.

BRC. 

He'll never get it right.

I don't open it, I just bring it with me down the hall in through two doors and he is fastening the top button on a dress shirt. Oh, someone's going to church.

Big date?

Depends. Are we going to the service?

I'm not. Ben and Loch did. 

They left you?

For three hours.

Was that smart?

Depends. I hold up the envelope.

You asked for more notice and so I have sent you an invitation. What do you think? Did you open it?

I'm not going on an Alaskan do-over. 

If we try that again we'll do Finland instead. Jesus. 

What is it then?

Open it and see. 

Just tell me. 

He stares at me wearily and then goes back to his own more affable reflection. It's an evening event a little closer to home. I'm not shooting so far to wind up far from home fighting with you, when I would just like to mark another trip around the sun with someone I love in a special way. 

I can't take the curiosity anymore and I rip open the envelope, scanning his handwriting.

Oh. Why didn't you say so?

I like to make things special, as I said. 

What time?

It's on the paper-

Oh, right. I will be there. 

I thought we could leave together. 

Right. Yes. Sorry. 

I'm delighted you accepted so readily. 

It sounds like fun and it's appropriate right now. (Appropriate, says the girl with one husband, two ghosts, two formal boyfriends and a handful of completely informal, casual ones.)

You and Lochlan are doing well and you don't have any screws to turn. 

No, jetting off to far-flung corners of the planet with a boyfriend who's in virtual jail for almost biting your ear off would be foolish and hypocritical. 

I am aware, Neamhchiontach, and that's one of the reasons I scaled things back this year. 

I like simple things, Diabhal. 

That explains Lochlan. He laughs and then rolls his eyes. You set up that joke perfectly. Give me some credit. 

You have to earn credit. 

Oh, I know, Bridget. I want to get back to good birthdays and I think this will do it. 

I always said a beach bonfire with dinner and slow-dancing by the sea fixes everything. 

Well then let's see if it fixes this. How is your headache this morning?

Oh, he knows me so well it's criminal.

If I burn all the suitcases they can keep all their promises.

Benjamin and Daniel came back early this morning, waking up the whole house thanks to their earlier vagueness on when the flight was actually coming in, when they were planning to leave and what the fuck taxi company they would take to get home since they couldn't give PJ a definitive answer. He would have picked them up, though probably not at four this morning. They were home by six, and I was so happy to be woken up early on my only day to sleep in it's ironic.

Schuyler suddenly had blinders on, giving Ben a warm punch-hug, closed fists against each other's backs before moving to Daniel to envelope him in the sweetest, longest hug I've ever been fortunate to witness. Tears even, from everyone as they are rarely apart and hardly ever for this long.

They head off with promises to return to head out for our big welcome home dinner tonight, already booked at a little Japanese restaurant that's happy to give us an entire room on a week's notice and we stop to marvel at Ben's presence in this house, a space he fills that was so sorely lacking all week. At the end of the day Ben is a constant now, a six-foot-four security blanket, a wall that we can close in or lean on or protect ourselves with.

He and Loch had an equally long hug which was beautiful to see. They were speaking softly in each other's ears and I couldn't hear the words. Then he came for me, finally. From largest to smallest, I guess and I was off the ground in his arms, still half-asleep and in dreams but half-awake and...still in dreams.

The airplane fuel smell hit me like a wall, catch in my throat, tears triggered again.

Going to make that the last trip this year. Embargo for 2020, Ben says to me. He puts me down and presents his little finger to my face. Pinky-swear, he says solemnly.

It's February. You can't say that yet. 

Oh, I can and I am. Pinky-swear me, Bee. Come on. Don't leave me hanging.

It's a pep-talk! It's rambles. It's a ramble-talk! A pep ramble! It's an attempt, fuck off.

I've said before one of the upsides of waking up, raring to go at five or shortly after is that the energy that comes from being a morning person enables me to get all of my big crazy chores done before nine a.m. and then (be asleep by 8pm, sharp, yegads) I have more time to job hunt, spring clean, draw and crawl right up inside my own skull, a dark and warm host to the parasite that is my mind.

Some day I'll find the off switch and it will be bittersweet because I'm pretty sure that Jacob already found his and it's death and nothing else.

So I'm doomed to fret and worry through my days, but I'm at once an escapee AND high-functioning.

No, YOU figure it out.

Joel figures it out but only after Sam does what he can. Sam told me to go tick through my list, so I did the chores, did the budget, paid the bills, folded the laundry (including ALL the sheets and towels) and called to order in the summer tires for the Porsche because they are of no use to me now and I need to take them over to be sold with the car.

I also still need to pick up the new Jeep but it's...not...ready. ARGH.

I wish everyone lived moved-forward like me instead of these slow late-morning starts which stretch into early evenings because that's dumb and I have an agenda to keep, which is to continue moving forward at a breakneck pace until I crash into a wall.

And I don't even want to be a sad read anymore. I've had enough. I cringe when bloggers happily parse their diagnoses, and talk about meds and suicide and depression and death, even. I did that. I've been doing that nonstop, frankly, for a damn long time.

So ha! Bridget picks herself up by her bootstraps now! Or maybe someone else does. They must be strong, and her boots are only a little worn, but still fit and are comfortable, and honestly we're going to move forward even if I have to put my back up against my own life and push with my legs.

You heard it here first. 

Also, please come home, Daniel, I don't have enough energy to keep up with them. I thought I did and I was wrong.

(snort).

Smell the roses. And the oil.

I am changing beds and waiting for the Jeep to be ready at the dealership. It's having some things done. I don't know what things, supposedly they will give me a list. They're going to make it nice. That was a condition of selling it to me. I am the sweetest, most polite cutthroat negotiator you will ever find. I want it perfect and I want promises so if you make any, I won't forget.  I think it will be ready during rush-hour. Sometime between when Henry has to go to work and when he needs a pick up. I may have to enlist every driver in the house tonight to get things done and I am tired of dealerships and garages and tire-smell and parking and being nice to people and generally I want to go crawl up into bed and keep drinking wine and watching Netflix and dozing off every five minutes with Lochlan and Schuy because at least that's relaxing.

Just a note, yes, they offered to look after all of it but it's my mess, I'll see it through so I am. Even though I am mega-stressed but really it's just one little stick in a whole bird's nest over here.

At least the beds are all changed the final round of sheets and pillowcases is in the dryer. I should have used the clothesline. It's sunny and beautiful out today. It feels like spring.

Lochlan's other husband.

Schuyler has both arms around my neck from behind me, phone in front of my face while he tries to teach me the lyrics to Shallow, the song from A Star is Born, a movie I freaking loved and am never ashamed to admit that but I can't for the life of me hit those notes. He tries to coach me through a lower octave but I keep lapsing into the wrong part, as if I am now Bradley Cooper, he can be Lady Gaga.

I wrote Lady Gage there but only because Schuyler and Gage wear the same aftershave and the same kind of antiperspirant so they smell the same and it shouldn't surprise me this late in life but it does.

Schuyler is affectionate (as always) and In Charge today, as everyone is out. He's also stupidly lonely, as Daniel and Ben are away (yup, yeah, Christ) and Lochlan wants help with my endless sleeping and of course Schuyler can fix all of that and it's less risky than August (as ever).

If this is the level of affection that Daniel receives in my absence no wonder they are so stupidly happily. Damn. I'm on my figurative knees here from how nice this feels, and that's saying something because Schuy is always so generous with his hands/arms/kisses/AHEM UNPRINTABLES that we all benefit nicely all the time but this is truly next-level.

I love you, Bumblebee. His hand is wrapped around my neck, a kiss landing on the side of my cheek. I'm glad he's holding me up or that would have knocked me over. He really needs someone in hand to molest twenty-four-seven or things aren't right for Schuyler.

You miss him. 

Badly. 

Think we can keep you busy until they come back?

Depends on how much you stay awake, he laughs. You're a beautiful distraction. So is Lochlan. 

Oh. Don't hit me right where it hurts. That's a mutual feeling. 

Good to hear, he pulls me in underneath his coat collar. Makes it easier to ride out the end of the week without Daniel if I have you both. 

I smile into his coat. Not because of the analogy my brain finds in his words but just because double the affection in any given day makes a Bridget feel a whole hell of a lot better. Maybe I'll get my mini-vacation after all, if, like he said, I can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.

Broke.

You think it's all fun and games and romantic extravangances and new Jeeps and boys everywhere.

It is but it's everything else too and I'm not looking for sympathy I'm just telling you how I feel.

('You' being Sam or Ben or Joel or Christian. I don't know.)

The headache persists and I maintain, like I have for the past three years, that I need a long break. I need someone to take over and take care of me. I need to not be the one buying groceries, saying no, paying bills, keeping it all together. I feel like I'm losing it. The part where I gave up my car and came home with a Jeep flew. The part where it has to go back for something things is dragging. I haven't caught up to life again yet. I feel perpetually overwhelmed.

Maybe we all do. Maybe this is the new Spring Fever.

I'm at that stage of life where everything is so tough and my legs feel like they're encased in concrete and I don't know what to do except to marvel at how white my knuckles get and hold on until I feel better.

But they'll be concerned if I go to bed before dinner.

Not that I care right now. Sleeping is the only relief I have from my racing mind anymore.

Brighter, smaller, slower (Hey, like me).

The Porsche is gone at last and in it's place, a second Jeep.

A third, if you count PJ's, but he steadfastly refuses to let me rename them. They have names, though I thought we could call them after the three musketeers: Athos, Porthos and Aramis.

He said no but he laughed when he refused so it was clever, I guess. We put them out at the end of the lawn up on the rock wall flexing and had a little photo shoot and then he tucked his safely back into the garage because he only pets it. I'm kidding! Sometimes he pulls it out into the driveway and pets it in the sun.

In marked contrast, I promptly scraped the door on my (new to me) one but Lochlan said it was very fine and will polish out.

It will be for the kids to learn stick on. I can already drive stick and trust me, I was looking for a second Jeep, a two door but automatic and I wasn't finding what I wanted and honestly to me being able to drive a standard is a life skill, just like swimming and juggling.

(I am fun at parties. I think.)

They've had a few lessons and are really good at it, at least, and I no longer have to worry about Ruth wanting to borrow the Porsche (it was a standard and she learned on it too, a little though I had zero interest in her bombing up the Sea to Sky in such a tiny vehicle) because it's finally gone. I also don't feel like such a hack owning a fussy, high-end car that had such heavy connotations.

(Caleb says that's imaginary. Lochlan laughs out loud at him because it's...not, actually.)

Now I'm a Jeep girl X 2.

Perfect.

Mother of all headaches. Pulled off all my long pink fake nails even. Hate that it hurts this much.

Rich men purchase, poor men plan.

It used to be easier to say that before I forced the rich one to apply the laws of California (an expression in our house. It means half.) to my life just to stick it to him further at one point for the fiasco that was Henry's paternity suit and efforts to muscle his way right in on a permanent rather than symbolic level.

Lochlan was given equal everything for a time. If I got a deposit so did he. It was five years of misery for Caleb and by the time I let him off the hook Lochlan could have retired in the past, he had so much in the bank. I helped him invest it, I'm not a hundred percent sure he understands the gravity of it because he still grabs his cases and runs off any time someone needs anything computer related because he has ego issues, like everyone here. I keep pointing out his dividends, his compound interest, his capital gains, as if to show him, oh I think I fucked this up but here's what you kept (because I am also stubborn and probably doing this wrong) and he kind of shakes his head but he's said before it's blood money and he doesn't want it, a curse born of a tragedy and fuck that shit poor is better and I agree but the poor one at the end of this life isn't going to be him or me, it should be the Devil.

Last night Lochlan appeared quite suddenly just before dark. I had been previously warned that he was 'working' all afternoon (rolled my eyes, I did) and not to eat dinner as we would have a date when he came home.

He was home the whole time, someone else took his truck. Plotting and scheming and planning.

We had what he has chosen to call an inside-out bonfire. He made a huge heart-shaped bonfire on the beach, picnic blanket in the centre, laden down with sweet things and flowers scattered everywhere.

Ready? he asks. We are standing far back from it. It's huge. It's as if the entire beach is on fire and the flames are up to my knees. He takes my hand but I pull away. Honestly it was an amount of fire I haven't seen before, not since the camper and I was afraid.

I don't know why, things have changed. This was romance, not danger.

He did that thing where he waits for my confirmation that I trust him and we stepped into the heart.

I lived.

Inside the heart was cake. We ate the cake and threw the flowers into the flames one after another to make ad-hoc wishes and when the tide rose and began to put the fire out, beginning at the point of the heart, it was time to go. I didn't want to go, high on sugar with smoke in my hair and salt on my skin I wanted to stay all night but it started to rain then and he laughed and said Mother Nature is helping because we're late for the next phase.

The next phase was upstairs in our warm room with more flowers, more flames and some unspeakable, unprintable acts.

No one can do what he does to me. Not Caleb, not Ben, not even Jacob. He ties my heart in knots and then makes it bloom. He cleanses us with fire. He makes everything fun.

And he's surprisingly not excited about the bees.

Happy Valentine's Day!

They got me bees.

We pick them up in March or early April. Two hives and sixish pounds of bees.

I don't remember what six pounds of bees looks like but I'm so excited I could burst.  My grandparents had hives when I was a kid and a few other family members so I'm comfortable around bees but only to the extent that I could do minimal things to help out at honey harvest time and otherwise mostly left them alone.

Honestly if someone asks you what your polyamoric commune got you for Valentine's Day and you can answer Six pounds of bees you have to be having the BEST DAY IN THE UNIVERSE.

Lochlan and I exchanged gifts privately as well. He got me a booster cushion (!!!!!!!!) for driving (It's been a thing for oh, about two (okay three) decades and I've had enough. Driving all these oversized trucks is rough when my ribcage is against the steering wheel in order to reach the pedals. When I drove the Porsche daily I had to extend my legs far forward and use the tips of my toes to push the clutch in.

I had his (good, not the every day one) top hat repaired professional. In London. It took a leap of faith and seven months of nailbiting but they replaced all of the binding and the ribbon and replaced the very top circle as well as it had a...bite out of it (very long story) and could not be patched. Or it could, but I did a very poor job and they also cleaned it and it's beautiful again. He almost couldn't believe it's his, as he thought I  must have finally thrown it out or something.

That, well, that almost started something, as I would never do that.

So while our gifts weren't romantic in the least (presents rarely equal romance, something that has been promised in spades for later this evening, and boy am I excited), they were exceedingly touching and useful and helpful in everyday life and I'm grateful for Lochlan, grateful for all of the boys (who all got freshly detailed trucks-I ordered a whole team to come and do mobile detailing because they are very messy though far far better than we were when they were teenagers-

Wait, what do you mean 'bees and tophats aren't useful in everyday life'? Of course they are. Don't be ridiculous.