It wasn't until much later that I thought about his words and realized that we may not have the right, but we do it anyway.

I have returned from thy kingdom come and all beyond that burned
I've come from an age immersed in a mighty force of mortal rage

I cannot run
I hear your call
We're only chasing shadows now that castles cannot fall

 

I saw Matt last evening. He asked if we could talk on the porch and so I asked him to make some tea for us while I finished putting away the dishes. He did that and arranged a saucer of cookies too, balancing the plate on his cup, holding doors for me as we made our way out front. The rain was just beginning but at least it's still warm. I curl into the big bench, tucking my bare feet under a blanket, resting my head on his shoulder as he joins me.

We sip our teas and watch the rain for a long time. I'm almost asleep and I start to get annoyed. I have things to do and I can't have a rational conversation when I get very tired. I finish my tea and put my cup on the table. Not gently. Matt chuckles softly. 

What is it? I'm trying to sound neutral. 

Why are YOU angry? 

Am I angry?

Yes. I can feel it. 

Huh. Interesting. 

I see you're not going to engage. 

No, Matt, I'm not. 

Bridget, I really appreciate the boundaries and the respect you show for my marriage. 

I laugh out loud. Haven't done anything of the sort. Actually that isn't true at all, unless you look at the very big wide-angle picture right in front of your face.

And I think you have your hands full, he continues. This is just an outside observation.

From an insider? 

I wouldn't call myself that. 

You've been a willing participant in this commune, Matthew, so I don't know what made you go and jump back on...I guess a high horse here. 

The fact that you called out something that excluded me that involves my husband and openly questioned his devotion.

I'm going to call out anyone who twists the truth to protect themselves and leaves me to the wolves in the process.

I'm not going to be a casualty of your storms, Bridget. I will always take Sam's side. 

So will I but if it comes down to who to save from a burning building maybe you should be very clear on what Sam would do. 

He would stay behind and call the flames to distract them from the rest of us.

Oh my God, you're right, I sit up and turn to look at him. What do you want from me? To ignore Sam's narrative if it strays from the truth?

If that's what makes him happy, then yes.

This is not how I expected this conversation to go, you know. 

We're all just looking for our own fairy tale here, aren't we? We don't have the right to actively take that away from someone else, do we?

You've learned that. Do you think the rest of us can?

I do.

Then I'm doomed. 

Maybe not. There's a reason Sam is here and I don't think it's the one you think. Matt kisses the top of my head, takes our dishes and goes inside.

More than a Feeling bleeds right into Peace of Mind and it's perfect.

(Here's a bunch of subtext bullshit, all in brackets and notes. David Foster Wallace would have loved me for this. I hated him for it. Just write, I yelled at his books.)

Just write.

 I lost my spot in Monday Morning Truck Breakfast this week (we're...not sitting in restaurants but love going out for breakfast, you see), thanks to the argument with Sam (and Matt who is going to be collateral damage and I always told him he would be but now I don't want him to be so cross your fingers) so Lochlan took Sam out instead to set him straight. 

So I miss out on egg and bacon breakfast sandwiches wrapped in thick paper, never enough napkins, really good coffee in awkward paper cups I never fully trust, and Boston's Greatest Hits (came out exactly one year before I met Ben and why I remember that fact when I can't remember anything else actually makes me laugh) on the stereo in Lochlan's truck. It holds one CD and that's the one so he probably broke the Eject button right off or at the very least super-glued it to the head unit. (He used to play More than a Feeling on repeat as he ran the Ferris wheel on the Midway when I was very young, eventually getting the line I begin dreaming from the song tattooed on the back of his hand. I still love it. Still love the man. Still love the wheel.)

Should *I* be jealous? 

Should I grab up my bag and my keys and leave forcefully, feelings hurt (When are they not? They've always been bruised, battered and bleeding profusely), hoping to make it obvious that whatever hurt them is inappropriate, destructive and ruinous? 

They know it is. WE know it is. 

Lochlan will fix it and Schuyler will put on the finishing touches. Whatever words work. We know. We've heard it all before. Whatever makes her happy. Whatever happens. Whatever gets you through the night. Whatever she needs, we're here for her. (All disguised as something for me or something I wanted and really when it comes to Schuyler and Daniel they make a plan and if it's me I roll with it, truth be told and then I turn it all around and I take it, just like the song says in Don't Look Back, which follows Peace of Mind and that's perfect too.)

I guess I can stay put then, the usual instructions anyway as Lochlan slid his wallet and phone into the pocket of his peacoat. Keys in hand, nod to Sam, who met him on the front walk. Sam will always come to you and accompany you from your starting point, rather than meeting you at the end. That will be his fatal flaw at some point here. It's such a preacher thing to do.

(I'm still listening to Boston while Loch is gone. Ah. Amanda. The song I wished to change my name into just so I had a song like that about me. Ha. I was fifteen and just given to Cole by the boys as his permanent ward, a position I held right up until he died. He never wrote a song about me either. Ben did but he used someone else's name for cover and it's definitely not a classic rock ballad. THANKS BUDDY.)

Sam's knuckle tattoos read KIND SOUL. He's too good for this earth so I'm never letting him leave.

I've found a way to kill the sound/I SAID NO

 I broke all my bones that day I found you
Crying at the lake
Was it something I said to make you feel like you're a burden, oh
And if I could take it all back
I swear that I would pull you from the tide

Sitting at Sam's for breakfast. The podcast is live from seven this morning for church but we're not listening. Instead he's attempting to low-key lecture me for going to Schuyler's after dinner and not coming back until seven-fifteen (also this morning). I'm staring off into space mostly. Slack-jawed, holding my coffee cup too long, letting my bacon grow cold, more than a little alarmed at this but mostly too tired to care. 

I pull my cup up to take a long sip to try and hide my face while I roll my eyes as Sam's naked jealousy swirls around us, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. Matt is fucking annoyed by all of this. It's a little stupid and I think I'll go. I appreciate Sam's efforts to give me an early Sunday escape in case I need it (I usually do) but if it's going to accompanied by this kind of attitude, well, Jesus's representative here on earth should take a break as I'm a grown woman and damn if I'm going to apologize to Him at this point. 

Not like He has my back. 

The cup is placed gently on the table. I'm not much of a dish thrower but when it comes to Sam the urge to chuck hard things directly at him to get it through his stubborn mind is weirdly overwhelming. I love this cup. He always saves it for me when I am over. 

Thank you for breakfast. I clear my throat, blot my lips on the beautiful cloth napkin and stand up from the table. His chair is on its back as he leaps up and knocks it over in his rush to block me from leaving.

I don't even. I look at Matt quizzically and he says Sam's full name so quietly I only hear part of it. 

Sam doesn't acknowledge this. 

Bridget-

Yes, I know. It's a routine and I'll change it up-

Safer to go back to the devil at this point, Bri-

YES I'M AWARE.

He is surprised by my sudden volume but doesn't say anything. 

I know, Sam! You don't have to protect me from Schuyler! I promise. 

Then why are all of these instincts welling up? 

Overprotection, probably. 

And here we were, worried about Cale-

Just stop, okay? 

I already did! Deferring to Daniel probably wanting his Saturday nights back with Schuy and I broke the cycle of Caleb stealing those nights now so it's done. Besides, I didn't go by mys-

You were never alone with me, either! We're going there. God, I want to throw this pretty cup directly at his face so he stops talking.

Oh. You...liar. 

Matt gets up and grabs his keys and wallet, leaving, slamming the glass door a little too hard.

Is it worth it, Sam? Is your need to save my soul so great that you would sacrifice your own life for me? 

He doesn't say anything and we're having a staring contest and then he starts to nod so slowly I clue in even slower and my eyes tear up. I was hoping he would say Of course not with great disdain. I was hoping this would be an easy save, an easier escape. I was hoping beyond hope that he would fail to take the bait even though I laid this trap so carefully, the odds never in my favour but for once that wasn't important and my ego goes out for a victory lap, sailing out over the open Pacific, dipping into the waves, splashing with joy as it turns and comes back, swooping in silently to its place with a triumphant fist pump that I probably would have done for real if I didn't know the kind of damage I can wreak with my tears. 

But I do and I hate myself and I love Sam so much it hurts even as I know how much it hurts him to admit this out loud without saying a word. 

Go get your man, and I'll go get mine, I advise, tears dripping off my chin now, tears welling in his eyes and he nods. And figure out your shit, Sam, because you've gotta realize you can't save everybody. You couldn't save Jake so what makes you think you can save me?

(The upside of Ben moving with a little more practiced carefulness thanks to his TBI is completely unprintable, sorry.)

Last night Caleb asked me over to his wing for horror movies and Mexican food, a true challenge I rarely pass up as Mexican food is loaded with tomatoes and spiciness and I cannot even look at a tomato during a horror movie. Salsa becomes something akin to some sort of immersive 4D experience and I end up losing my appetite. The game is we pick the goriest movie we can find and try and finish dinner before we get too grossed or weirded out to finish. Caleb finds it fun, as he said once 'down to earth'. 

(I have no idea what he meant by that. He is thoroughly charmed by how bougie I am,  I guess?)

But Ben said no, tucking his arm around me, pulling me backwards ever so slowly as he talked to Caleb in the hallway until I was all but tucked in against his shirt, cheek rubbing painfully against the button on his flannel shirt's front pocket and he put his right hand against my ear and I couldn't see Caleb's expression any more, not that I cared, frankly. 

Ben's confidence has returned. His bravado came with it. His ego never came back after that really good stint in rehab, thankfully but he also stood up to Caleb with a fierceness that gave me goosebumps of yesteryear. 

Long story, maybe. It's here somewhere. 

In any case, we didn't come up for air until almost four this afternoon, thank you very much and in my rush past Caleb to the kitchen, as I hadn't eaten, expending way more energy than I had the stores for, I heard him swear under his breath. 

I turned around, forgetting my hunger. What did you say? 

He doesn't deserve you, Neamhchiontach. 

You say that about everyone. I hold his gaze until he looks away first and then I leave him there, in the hall. My point is made. No hill to die on here, he doesn't have an argument to return.

25 years have passed and I never expected to understand this song firsthand.

Until one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was wrong
She went running through the orchard screaming
"No God, don't take him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he already had gone

She got to where he lay, water-colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits to remind me!"

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real."

 

LIFE SKILLS.

 Not allowed to have an early morning kayak today because even though it's Thursday and it's tradition there have been a family of orcas hanging out in our little bay all week and the boys do not want me out there with them, either because I might disturb them or because in spite of knowledge to the contrary they think I might get eaten, looking like your average teenage seal in a dry suit.

In any event I am attempting to live on the top of the steps so that I can watch them until they leave again but it's far too cold to remain out there forever. I am doing my best though, coming in for hot meals and to see the kids. Warming up and going right back outside. Pawning off all of my chores. Asking the Devil if we can fence in the ocean with a big enough area that I can keep these ones, since I couldn't keep the last set. Asking at least if they can be protected in order to thrive and yet again explaining why I don't want to go anywhere or do anything right now because this is special, dammit, and we're going to see it through until they move on. 

***

Bonus content since everyone's mad I'm not posting more/longer entries right this minute. I'm sorry, I am having a late-winter meltdown and having a really hard time getting my anxiety under control. It's not as pretty as I like to be so I've practically gone underground but here:

Fun fact. I'm learning really slowly that kids these days kind of do know everything and it's all good. I bought a bunch of new kitchen utensils this week. All black silicone everything, including new tongs, as before I had a crunchy mishmash of metal and wood everything and they scratched the pots or were impossible to clean. Got home with my sleek modern haul and couldn't figure out how to unlock said tongs. 

 At all. Like what the fuck? 

Googled it and waded through a bunch of shit before finding the answer. So I figured I should share it with the group as everyone cooks all the time. 

Everyone over 25 couldn't figure it out, including those who worked in professional kitchens over their early years. Everyone under 25 rolled their eyes and showed me without hesitation. There's a little tab on the hinge end. Push it in to lock them, pull it out to unlock.

Henry rolled his eyes. I reminded him sharply I can still do a triple axel AND a flying camel spin on ice AND  I can do a pirouette return to a trapeze sixty feet off the ground so he can shove it. He opted not to roll them again, as last time he shot back whether I could do anything USEFUL and Lochlan took his wi-fi away.

(Which was somewhat hilarious. Lochlan was furious but I made him relent after an hour because Henry is as pragmatic and dry as Lochlan and furthermore he was absolutely right. Lochlan said he was grounded for the 'tone' of his perfect roast, that's all, but they both learned something that day. That Henry is fucking FUNNY and never misses a chance to light up anyone who puts themselves in his sights but also that wow, mom really coddles her youngest child far beyond what is necessary and lets him off the hook for everything. Which he knows, and that's the dangerous part here but he is a good kid. The best, and soon to be twenty years old.)

In the apocalypse the young will prevail. Good for them.

 I always think I'm in control, that I wield the power over this point, that the sun rises and sets by my command and that it's a well-run ship and I am Captain Bridget and this is my crew of tattooed pirates and we've set sail for bluer waters and smoother seas.

And then I snap out of my unintentional, pipe-dream-of-a-daydream, brutally reminded that I am a feral carnival child and that not only do I not make the rules, I can barely follow them, if at all and that if I dared to assume anyone was captaining this ship toward the horizon of my own life it certainly isn't me. 

The seas? Perpetually stormy. The girl? Drowning, as always.

Duncan just suggested I give up my handbag.*

I am busy making a million thousand hundred dozen pancakes because it's Shrove Tuesday. I still haven't decided what I'm giving up for Lent but I'm working hard on that, rest assured. I have some seriously nuclear cramps and my hair is a disaster and all I want to do is watch a scary movie and go to bed. Did that last night though and no sleep was had between a restless old dog, a blind old cat wandering the halls meowing loudly to herself and the rain that never seems to stop anymore. I guess it's February. I guess it's perpetually dinner time. I guess Easter is coming and we all have to suffer and tomorrow I'll get the cross made in ashes on my forehead because it's a stunning outward and rare display of religion so I love it and in the meantime help me figure out what I should go without. 

Don't say music, coffee or boys. Those ones aren't negotiable. I can do alcohol, internet or Netflix or even chocolate. Candy. Meat. Online shopping. Ha. I don't know. Help. I have twelve hours left to put in my decision. 

*(Edit: Not sure on the handbag. It's a crutch. Like a drug. I'm leaning toward a service decision instead. Post Tutorials or how-tos. Volunteer. Help people. Kindness acts. Donating one item a day for 40 days. Good deeds and pure-heartedness instead of my exhausting doomsday anxious cynicism. Think I might have my answer.)

Mondays are for the boys.

Schuyler's here with Daniel this morning, making brunch to make up for keeping us the full fifteen hours or so when it was supposed to be around three. They are cutting potatoes to fry, keeping an easy banter with Duncan and PJ while I stare. Schuyler's got an incredibly outward, easy handsome. Everyone on the point has a crush on him and it's hard to balance that against his alpha personality because if you stare too long he's the kind to ask you why you're staring and how you feel about it. If you stare too long at Daniel though, he's going to ask you if you have a problem. It's a delicious, thrilling danger that is much like a wager on whether or not you're going to burn yourself depending on how close you are to the fire. You know the risks. You also know the rewards. 

Sam and Matt have chosen to spend Family Day (a holiday here) sleeping in, or I think my head would explode. I've been sitting in the crook of Lochlan's arm while we surf exceedingly expensive foyer designs as we are preparing to change up the front hall. It needs the rustic modern charm of the Tahoe house but in a more practical format. And we need more places to sit to put on shoes or rest your things when you're going out or coming home. Right now it's a double front door with windows on either side and in the doors and then you walk in to a square room with two closets (one on each side and a huge round table in the centre. A small bench ahead of each closet helps but I'm envisioning more wrap around benches with storage in them and maybe a rectangle table, also with storage. And a skylight. And make the closets a lot larger, with glass french doors to close keeping the rest of the house private if there is someone in the front hall. 

I have drawings. Everything will be white, except for the door trims (inside the room) will be pale turquoise. And the cushions on the benches a darker teal and my favourite seaside art prints on each side above the benches and the wreath on the front door is seagrass and glass floats. 

(Sounds fragile but it actually keeps them from slamming the doors in anger. They know how much I love my floats.)

Maybe a living plant on the table instead of the endless flowers that don't match. I'll see if I can get one of those seventy-thousand dollar bonsai trees that are eight feet tall. Dark and sage green cushions and whitewashed hardwood floors can round it out. 

Maybe I'll post before and after pics. Maybe pigs will fly. I'm not good with clutter and that room is a virtual whirlwind all the damn time save for the fact that I insist you put your coat on a hanger, put your boots on a boot tray in the closet and take your personal things with you, hanging your vehicle keys in the key cupboard (in case we need to move a truck) and god help you if you don't. 

It's the biggest first world problem in the world, that room but also there's no handy manual for living in a modern-day commune. 

Perhaps I'll write one. I'll call it Schuyler's Here and No One Cares About The Front Hall Anyway.

Come on be a man about it (look up Hannah Boulton's Anastacia cover for I'm Outta Love. SO GOOD.)

I'm outta love
Set me free
And let me out this misery
Just show me the way to get my life again
Cause you can't handle me

Haha. Just got home. Ruth has gone to try and get snowed in at her boyfriend's family's home (invited for dinner) and Henry's on Dischord setting up a night of online gaming with his friends. Ben is still ensconced in his studio doing something for Corey (two days and counting) and Schuyler decided to muscle in on Caleb's dirty Saturday night habit, stealing Lochlan and I for the evening and before I knew it I was safely installed in the centre of a sleepover, glass of wine in hand, bowl of corn chips in Daniel's hand, naked reality tv show watching underway with long drawn out distractions, furtive naps and exhaustive laughter. 

Sometime around four this morning we ran out of chips and wine and tv too and Schuyler made a big group text and said that Bridget was tied up and wouldn't be attending church today. Then he threw my phone into the chair on the other side of the room and had a gentle laugh against my ear before seeing us through to the sunrise, no Jesus to be found. 

Holy Christ. 

Fair enough. He laughs again.

I need to go home. I need a hot shower. Maybe an exorcism. 

It's a long weekend. 

Yes, it definitely is. I snort-laugh and Lochlan (way past drunk, almost headed toward silly, warm nostalgic Magic-Loch of the nineties here and this is why I stayed so long, because I don't want that to end) suggests we sleep a bit and then have brunch later. 

We missed brunch, I guess, sleeping in a pile until past two this afternoon and when we came back to the main house through the snow, Caleb was watching us from the upper back stairwell window. Lochlan pulled me in to his face by the neck, kissing me so hard I would have fallen but he was holding me up. 

That was fun. 

Schuyler's a charmer. 

He is, Peanut.

In a dangerous way.

Maybe, yup. 

No, I'm serious-

You're just tired. 

I stare at him and leave it on the hill. I want to walk away alive and I'm not going to pick a fight. He never comes next door with me. Last night he didn't even hesitate. Maybe his eyebrows went up more than once or twice but he let go a bit and it's been ages. He hasn't really gotten to experience Schuyler On Perpetual Vacation but frankly everyone should. I can always see why Ben and Schuyler got along so well. They both have a gift for making the most of the moment, for suspending worry, fear, trepidation or negative energy and making things fun and you leave them feeling as if you're different somehow. 

This gives me incredible peace of mind for Daniel. And for everyone here. Schuyler and Lochlan are unofficial equals and also way too much alike for my own liking but dammit if I didn't actually need to break the cycle Caleb had strongarmed me into always saving Saturdays for him and then ending up missing church because he wouldn't let go or wasn't ready to give me up quite yet. 

What's the difference? He asks on the stairs as I head up for that shower while Lochlan goes to make some afternoon coffee to bring upstairs. 

What do you mean?

You missed church again anyway. Why is it a bad thing if you're with me but perfectly fine with Schuyler?

Lochlan was there.

End of conversation. Caleb isn't going to invite Lochlan along. Ever. I could probably push it but then it's just intense and frightening and an endless power struggle in the dark. No one's reading wine bottles backwards or invoking breathless tickle fights in those nights. 

(The power of) Christ (compels you). Caleb says it under his breath. Just the one word, but I'll fill in the others and the demons will clear out and I can get my head on straight again. Sure my knees are on backwards too at this point but I'll have to deal with those later. Then I'll have to work on getting the stupid happy grin off my face long enough to get roasted at dinner. It's one walk of shame I'll happily strut through. Because I had fun and I'm sick of apologizing for it. Not like anyone else is.