Five kilometres to couch.

And I'll wait for that woman
Until then I will wait alone

The new routine is to crawl out of bed reluctantly, throw on my technical gear for rain, save for shoes. I wear the lightest most breathable running shoes I own since my feet are going to get wet anyway and Caleb and I meet to run to the top of the hill to the playground in Cypress and back home. We average five kilometers or more each morning (which sounds like nothing until you realize the intensity of the incline), a half hour to begin the routine of day from the time we set our watches in the driveway to when we collapse on the front porch and hit End.

My heart rate remains that of a hummingbird. His is an easy measured lope. We'll never match up in workout stats. Bigger, taller people burn more and go harder, small people go further, as I add a third more steps just to keep up with him.

I don't miss running but God do I love that high at the end.

And the focus for the rest of the day as I don't flutter quite so hard all the time. I wear out my body and it's as if my mind gives in.

Caleb on the other hand, uses it as foreplay. He wants the time, wants the visual. He considers exercise a necessary precursor to performing well in bed and I don't know if he's right or not, as PJ has incredible moves and a bit of a beer gut. PJ only runs if you hold a loaded weapon to his head and even then he'll be like come ON, man.

(Whoops. Shhh.)

We don't talk when we run. At all. It's considered 'public' or something (he doesn't talk when he fucks, either as a data point though) and other than seeing a bunny today up on the trail we barely spoke to one another. He is busy watching me, busy planning out the rest of his day, hoping to include me in it, all the way through the end to the next and I am busy yelling BUNNY inside my brain and then looking for the next bunny, hoping it's not a bear because I'm getting tired.

(I carry bear spray when I run. Well, it's tiny so it's actually dog/mugger spray but I could at least surprise a bear enough with it to get away or at least get a headstart.

Caleb could probably just control the bear with a hefty payout. It worked for New Jake, right? Except that he's still a wildcard at the end of the day and I just try to avoid him.)

Lochlan does not want to run. Lochlan wants to sleep and then Lochlan can't understand why I can't stay awake past eight at night. I am tired. I don't know why I get up at so early anymore except that's when you catch the bunnies and the sun and the Devil on a good day, that's for certain.

Win stupid prizes, too, they say.

OOoohhhh. Did I tell you I discovered Apollo Under Fire? I went looking for Submersed, after listening to Flicker from the new City Burials album by Katatonia and wondered briefly if it was a cover. Then I went to make a fire playlist and realized Submersed was missing from iTunes.

(iTunes eats things. Did you know? One day you just wake up and stuff is missing. It SUCKS.)

But then I followed the trail of musical breadcrumbs left by Donald Carpenter and found this band. Apollo Under Fire, and they have one whole self-titled album out but it's solid and beautiful and really freaking GOOD and I love days like this.

Also returned Submersed to my revolving favorites list and can't believe I didn't notice for so long.

But it's fixed.

Also fixed is the shower drain in our ensuite. It's sealed so it's a bit of a pain and I figured between Lochlan, Ben and at the worst, New Jake's ingenuity as a handyman or an actual professional called in, we could fix it. Lochlan said it was my fault. I blamed him, handily. His hair's been longer longer, right?

Then I got to work and fixed it! Alone! Ha!

It was all blonde. I have enough to make a whole extra person here with this hair. Or at least some highly efficient voodoo dolls. Either way, it's fixed and I have one of those confidence-bursts from not freaking out and calling someone, and now I'm off to the bank to finish signing the paperwork for my deal which is all approved and ready for me to deploy.

The Devil watches me from the shadows and smiles, proud of his little contextual prodigy, with dollar signs in her eyes, sleeves rolled up, ready to do all of his dirty work because the cut is too much to turn down.

When Lochlan finds out the amount it will be enough at least to offset his sudden desire to wash me down the drain and into the sea. His eyes will go wide and he'll have that moment of doubt but then resignation as it's not all that different from the way things are now. We just raised the stakes a little in order to raise the reward.

Okay, a lot. We raised them a lot.

If you want to be a big player you have to play the big games, Neamhchiontach.

Vikings.

Just for fun they all ('all' meaning PJ, Duncan, Dalton, Gage, Lochlan and John) let me shave the sides of their heads and put braids in their hair. Just a few here and there with silver rings for decoration.

Just...well, DAMN.

No one is ever allowed to revert back.

Skol.

Netflix is upping it's game and so is Liam (I mean Chris).

We watched Extraction last night. I spent the entire first half thinking it was the Lesser Hemsworth starring in it, since that's what I call him. Poor Liam, always in the shadow of his larger, older brother or so I think. Liam was in The Hunger Games and Chris, the actual Hemsworth, is Thor. 

Then Lochlan ever so kindly leaned over and said in my ear, This is Thor. 

What?

This is Chris Hemsworth. 

Then why does he have his brother's hair? 

I remain suspicious for the remainder of the movie, wondering secretly if Liam decided he needed to up his game, got buff, became ridiculously John Wick-like and then passed his brother in an easy sprint, now becoming The Greatest Hemsworth. 

(I Google nothing, forgive me)

Liam did not, and this IS Chris.

Damn, it was a good movie. So good I mowed right through an entire bag of Swedish Fish and I don't even like Swedish Fish, and now my stomach is a big ball of xantham gum and stress.

Bee balm up to my knees.

Today isn't so pretty even as the sun conducts an endless fight with the heavy rains. The boys conduct endless fights with each other and with me and I finally took off to buy some supplies and found even more toilet paper, hand sanitizer and all sorts of dry goods and came home in a much better frame of mind. It's sunny now but beautifully windy and I just want things to go back to routine.

Not every day will be a good day, Sam says, rubbing my back as I finish my noodles. Lunch is curry noodles with five tall glasses of cold water. We are relentless in our efforts to try our best to do the things we always do, though and so it is a typical Saturday.

I know. I nod in his direction and then go back to my bowl. Really not wanting the encouragement or the platitudes today. I just want my noodles and a little company, if you're not inclined to pick me apart. That's all.

On the upside, we have a whole case of curry noodles now.

Exhibition indeed.

How are you doing today, Bridge?

John's finally back and finally out of quarantine. Idiot was overseas when this all went down and he got stuck for a while and then came home the first week of April and we put him somewhere safe (Batman's guest house) and he's FREEEEEEEEEE at last and wants my cooking.

(Which is funny. I sent him a foil-wrapped meal every freaking night at dinner time for sixteen nights straight. I'd like a medal for that.)

As long as they're still determined to hold the South Shore Exhibition I am doing great. If they cancel it I'm giving up on life.

Oh, you're going this year?

No, we're not traveling for at least eight months. You?

Oh, I'll be home for a long time. He laughs. Love his face. Love his longer hair and road beard. Hope he keeps it, though usually they tend to until I point out how much I love it and then the next day it's either gone or barely stubble anymore so I'll keep my mouth shut please and thank you. You know if things get really bad take Caleb up on that personal Ferris wheel offer or carousel or whatever and we'll stay home forever. 

It was the permit thing. We couldn't do it. 

So what?

You need permission from someone-

No one's checking anything right now, Bridget.

Oh my God, you're right. 

Got the Italian theme right.

This morning when I stepped into my underwear in a hurry after a shower that was way too long and places I was supposed to be, I missed the hole for my left leg and wound up sticking my toes into the lace trim, tearing it off, swearing because this is one of my prettiest pairs and it figures that I don't even have enough grace to get dressed in the morning, like a normal person.

Probably because I'm not a normal person.

I part my hair in the middle, add a berry lip stain and put on all-black. My hair will wave out wild and the clothes say I'm serious in spite of it.

I am driven downtown where I conduct my first big real estate transaction without any assistance. Caleb is there but he says nothing. He wants to see what I come up with.

And I do great. I sign my name on all the papers and I walk out with a better deal than he could have gotten, probably because I'm sweeter and that's deadly sometimes.

Outside he holds his hand so high in the air for a high-five I wonder if he's signaling an air-taxi but but he has forgotten to do it at shoulder-level so I make a pass at it and succeed.

That was a stunning and appreciable event, Neamhchiontach. 

Thanks. I think. Now I have to go home and research whatever it is that I just talked them into. 

You've secured your future, and that of your children. 

Have I, though? This could go south. I'm amazed that any deals still go down in the middle (at the end?) of a pandemic. Plus the future was well-secured years ago.

That's when the best deals happen. When everything is flatlined and everyone is looking the other way. 

This actually doesn't help me. 

Oh, it will in the long run. And that's all that matters. 

He kisses my cheek when we get home, letting me out with my satchel of papers right beside the side door to the kitchen and continues down to his parking place further down the driveway. Lochlan comes out in bare feet, flannel shirt with only three buttons buttoned and I might not make it into the house for my knees have lost their ability to hold up the rest of my body suddenly.

Done with business? How did it go?

The charm still works. 

Ah. Good! Omelets then? To celebrate? And more coffee?

Yes, please. You should have heard my stomach all morning. It was like a Raptor. 

Bird or basketball player?

Dinosaur!

Ah. 

Over the best omelets we've ever had I regaled him with not only the underwear story but then the gatekeeping one where Caleb asked me if I could still name all of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Sure I can..I love the movies. I watched the show because it came on before The Price is Right in the mornings when I was just home from a half-day at university. We only had one channel. It was the only thing on.

And then I realized I could name about three. Maybe.

Uh. Yeah, I can! I posture for effect. Fettuccine, Ravioli, Meatball and Parmesan!

He looks at me for a second and bursts out laughing. Then Lochlan does too, hearing the story.  I'm so pleased I can still entertain them, sitting here in my ripped undies. I don't want for much, truth be told, real estate deals or not. 

Not today's post but I wrote it over the weekend and don't know where to shove it so here.

How's..things? Caleb's standing in the patio door frame, looking surprised that I'm around at all. I don't think he expected to find me bringing in the bin from sorting the recycling, something we do at least twice a day anyway. I'm not sure if I'm above that or if he thought I would be somewhere chewing off pieces of my own face right now. Maybe we should both be more grateful and less surprised.

What, no hug? I drop the bin and hold my arms out. I don't have to ask him twice. He folds me in against his chest, pressing his lips against the top of my skull.

I was worried. I asked that they give you to me, that they not medicate you.

Clean. I hold my hands up in surrender. Since when are you an advocate for pushing through that kind of event? This is the man who gave me drugs right through my twenties to keep me from remembering that he abused me and also lays claim to all the fun we had.

Or something.

Since I realized it's just an endless circle if it goes that way. Ahh. I was so worried. You don't know how relieved I am to see you today.

You can come see me whenever.

Lochlan asked me not to. A power move after I asked him to not pull out the drugs as a solution.

What will he say if I ask him what happened?

He'll say that I asked for you. To look after you and he declined because he needs to man up.

So how does that spin into a power move?

I know him better than you do. I dearly wanted to be the one to hold you through this.

You weren't around.

I'm sorry, Bridget. He looks completely destroyed. I don't think he's slept. I'm doing so good as long as you don't mention names or ghosts or anything. It's either the calm before the storm or it really wasn't bad enough to invoke Joel chasing me down the hall with a needleful of forgetfulness.

It's fine. It seems like the worst has passed. 

I'm so glad. 

Thanks for the offer to take over. 

I'd do anything for you. 

Then I appreciate you letting Lochlan deal with it. He needs to learn-

I know, Neamhchiontach. He didn't run away. It's a first.

Oh, I'm kidding. We actually have a ridiculously cohesive militarized home menu plan.

Down the imaginary hopscotch-blocks on the sidewalk, making up the game as I go along.

Quiet-quiet-LOUD! I shout, two feet on the final rectangle that has a capital L on it.

What are you doing?

Making my brain tired so it will sleep. 

Is it working?

Of course not. Does it ever?

Vodka shots?

Maybe later. I'm winning. 

Winning what?

Maybe a chance to be together-enough to join you all at dinner. 

I think you've done it. 

Have I, though? 

Until you start drawing actual blocks on the kitchen floor, yes. 

Oh. Good to know. That was next. I roll up the sidewalk into my brain, snapping it out so it rolls all the way up in a rush and follow PJ to the butler's pantry to find some stuff for dinner.

I thought I was going to get a technicolor dream sleep through some powerful tranquilizers but instead he planned a camping trip.

The camper at the end of the yard, near the fence but back far enough to still have a view, as it's at the top of a gentle slope so you can see the water over the fence another fifty yards away.

A little campfire, the tiny lights strung up everywhere and the heaviest blankets we own. No wi-fi. Hot dogs over the fire and wine. No condiments. Just like the old days where we had to go to a diner for ketchup except instead of half a can of flat ginger ale for me (too young to drink on the road) I got to have wine too.

What happened to the benzo train?, I ask him finally, in the morning, once he stopped talking until I stopped freaking out and was able to sleep, in his arms, under the blankets. Under the stars, except the stars were outside the camper and we were inside.

I can handle this. You just need a change of direction and a voice to lead you back away from the edge. 

I nod. I need to be morning-drunk like this, is what I need. To remain in this tiny insular uncomplicated world where there are no clocks and there's no wifi. This is glorious. As long as we can make a fire, store and cook enough food for two and the weather holds (but even if it doesn't) this is good. He's right. I listened to him all night. We passed the wine bottle back and forth. He talked until his voice started to catch on memories and then we put the fire out, went inside, locked the door and slept until past noon.

It didn't need to be a show, he said finally and I know this. I'm here for you, he said and I know this.

I love you, he said.

And I know this.