I will get the grapefruit lemonade one, of course. Same one I always get. That's a lie. I always seem to end up with blue. I don't even know what flavour blue is.

 My eyes are burning and so is my face from where I swelled up like a pink balloon during waspgate. I was in the sun this morning for probably two hours, mostly in shade, weeding the gardens and hoeing up the soil, checking on my seeds (EVERYTHING came up) and getting rid of leftover sticks/bits. Lochlan was tying up grapevines and covering access points in the big wooden fence. Using up old wood. Making it garden-tight as we called it by the time we were finished, around two. I got to go have a cool shower and put on comfy clothes for a trip into the city to pick up a bag full of books and a big order of Indian food (Pakoras for DAYS and Keema naan which makes me so stupidly happy you wouldn't even believe it) and then after dinner we could sit and have a drink and enjoy the beautiful gardens and I realized I probably still managed to do too much, even as I am clearing the week just in case my vaccine makes me so tired and I sleep for two days, like the boys all did after their shots. 

Sleeping for two days would be a fucking dream. It'll never happen. You know me. But I definitely won't even be lifting a finger tomorrow. We have more Indian food left than we brought home, I think. The outdoors is done. I even washed down the patio chairs up by the doors. I watered everything. We decided not to mow this week to preserve the health of the grass through the next four-day heatwave and the most I will have to do is water things maybe on Tuesday. Lochlan will do it in the evening if I need. 

We don't even need groceries, as we stopped in to a 7/11 I had never been in before and picked up some odds and ends. They had FIVE Slurpee machines but I didn't get one, as we had the takeout. Maybe next week. 

I am ready for my shot and can't wait for this stupid pandemic to be finished.

Moveable beasts.

Both feet in my mouth today, one and then the other. Here, enjoy:

I sent Asher to spend the weekend with his Godfather (the Batman) because suddenly I won't let him do anything and I'm ridiculously hyperaware of his proximity to me when Lochlan is present and honestly maybe we'll work our way up. To his credit he has been alert, aware and mindful of our privacy and we've even instituted easy, no-questions-asked code phrases so he'll just disappear and it's great. I'm not good at formally dismissing anyone and instead I just keep them. End a conversation? Not me. Never. 

Then I scrubbed through the calendar to see if we have anything on for the weekend. It's a group Google Calendar and it keeps us afloat. The kids and I are being vaccinated. That's about it. Then next week an entry catches my eye. Corpus Christi. 

I text Caleb. Why are we going to Texas? Can I not go? 

What on earth are you talking about?

The Texas trip on the calendar. It's a pandemic. I'm not going. 

I have nothing in Texas, Bridget. Check with Schuy. 

Oh, true. But Schuyler doesn't have anything in Texas either. Or any trips in the next week. I run the gamut of men until I get to Sam. Sam looks like he's about to lose it and tells me to click on it. 

Ahhh. 'Christian holidays calendar'.Except you've never mentioned it. 

It's more old-school European orthodoxy. Not my...er...vibe for the church. 

I spent two hours learning that a single click can sometimes answer everything, that's what I learned. Also that Corpus Christi is not only a place in the USA but a fancy Catholic dinner that falls sixty days after Easter.

***

In other news, I am dead. One of my truly good friends (rhymes with Rory) sweetly offered a preview of some rough music he is working on and I laughed. Because there were so many words packed into his verses I couldn't keep up with any of it and it was very unrefined and I laughed before I could catch myself. He is usually a bit of a tempered soul and I cringed visibly while Ben hung his head in disappointment. 

No, no, I want the criticism. She hasn't been wrong yet. 

I'm a huge fan. I know what I want to hear from you. 

Bridge- (Ben goes for damage control and gets dismissed.)

No, it's fine. Let me try something a little different and I'd like to bring it back. 

I would love that. Again, I'm sorry. 

Better you now than everyone else later.

(Oh fans, trust me. You're welcome. This was not good.)

I find him later and ask if he's okay with it. 

Yes. What's wrong? 

Last time I didn't like something you didn't speak to me for two years. 

I was immature then. I was high too. Clean now. It makes a difference. Sadly it's harder to write but easier to have friends.

I nod. I see it with Ben. 

It's fine, Bridge. Don't you worry about it. You've never done me wrong. I will rebuild bigger and better than ever. 

You set the bar so high. I really had nothing to do with it. 

God, you're sweet. 

Am not. 

Oh but you are. (That right there? The biggest compliment he's ever given me.)

It's got a way of making everyone the same.

December's all alone
and he's calling
me on the phone
but he sounds so cold
He says he loves me so
but how would I ever know?
Certain words grow old
It's a vicious kind of catch
it sides me blind
Now I'm out of my mind
I want to scream

No, Peanut. Duncan's got it. 

I just lost my job as Lochlan's spotter. 

We're under fire restrictions now since it's May but because it's raining so hard Lochlan's brought out his big torches to practice. It's the only time he'll do it now. He keeps his skills up. His arms are rock-hard and just as sinewy-defined as ever since he started throwing fire but these torches are bigger, heavier and far more dramatic than his usual practice torches. As such he has to haul them out and use them regularly or he forgets the weight difference and struggles more than he should, if that explains it. It's hard to explain.

I can do it. 

No, you can't. I can't believe all this time has passed and you don't understand what I was doing when I asked you to spot me. Do you think a twelve year old can pull that off? 

I did. 

It was so you wouldn't wander off. 

Oh. Well. Wow. It never crossed my mind. 

You didn't have to be a parent at seventeen. I had to get creative. You hardly listened. 

I listen!

He glares. Hardly. A smile finally cracks his face. You weren't there for safety, in any case. And you still aren't. 

So what you're saying is you were foolishly unprotected for the entirety of our show time. 

But you weren't and that's what matters. 

Wow. 

Yeah.

Lunar eclipsing.

Caleb had a whole lot to say to me about PJ last night and I ended up standing up and walking out the door. Nightcaps are not an invitation to unload unless invited to do so and I didn't need to hear about PJ. PJ is just projecting, he's feeling the first pangs of empty-nest syndrome, he's questioning his worth. All of that is such familiar territory for me I have a hard time finding sympathy and yet he is as open and honest as they come. 

So freezing Caleb out over a taboo subject is the best way to shut him down, closing doors behind me as I go. Not doing that. PJ is off limits to absolutely everyone, including Lochlan. Lochlan may rule this point like a Fire King but PJ is the wood that keeps him burning.

And well, speaking of euphemisms, PJ was still awake when I knocked on his door, having walked down to see him because he'll always be better company than anyone and he understands the rules better than everyone. And even as the kids grow up and leave PJ is my constant, my conscience and my hand up, he's my level and my compass. He's my best friend and he asks for so little overall.

We would have been the most normie-suburban, bullshit-traditional, predictable family in the world, and as he opens the door only in jeans, pulling me in by the wrists, locking the door behind me and leading me down the hall I can only be grateful we're nothing of the kind.

Tattooed tempest (not me, for once).

Asher may have stuck the teaspoon in his mouth while he fixed my earring for me before putting the spoon back in my tea and I think that's what set PJ off, for I picked up the mug and took a sip. A quarter teaspoon of honey really sets the blueberry tea right in my book. He didn't forget. Only the wildflower honey. Only with the blueberry tea. No other kinds. I drink those kinds black. And it's Tuesday, he didn't have to ask which kind. I put the mug down and settle back against Asher's shoulder to check my phone. 

Christ. 

What's wrong, Padraig?

I stare at him and he's a controlled shipwreck so I ask Asher if he can go down to the boathouse and get my pink sweater. Asher agrees (I don't think he's dumb. He knew something was up. I haven't worn my pink sweater in weeks.) and we wait until he leaves and we watch him head across the lawn together in silence before squaring off. 

This is some low-key incestuous shit right here, Bridge-

Are you jealous, PJ? 

But we said it at the same time and then both shouted NO pretty much directly into each others' faces. 

Dalton walks in and laughs. PJ and I are both turning pink and glaring at each other, huffing and puffing quietly. 

Need a referee?

No, I assure him. 

Maybe, PJ counters. 

Dalton looks at PJ, looks at me and says he's making lunch but he'll be nearby if we need him. Off he goes too and we're left with this mirrored glare. 

Physically this looks terrible. Emotionally this is ironic. I look after you and the kids. You don't need a separate person-

Your hands are full, I'd rather you focus on them-

Bridget, Henry is almost twenty years old. Ruth is moving out. The only person who needs a nanny around here is you. And it's supposed to be me. His eyes are welling up. (No no no. Don't you dare, Padraig or I will break I swear to God.) 

You never signed up for that. 

Oh, yes I did. I can show you the line. Wrote my full name out, even. He is so earnest. 

I can't ask you to do that. 

You didn't even try. 

I did. We're too close. 

Told you you should have married me. 

We would have been so boring though. I am crying now. Fuck.

Exactly. 

Asher is more of a maid than a nanny. I needed to be able to dismiss someone at the drop of a hat to go and fetch my errands or weed the garden and I can't do that with you.

Says who?

Says me.

He's coming back. Can I have the job or not? 

No, you can't. You can be my very close friend instead. With all the perks. 

Do you promise? 

Yes.

Can I have those perks this week or-

Hush, you.

Asher returns, holding out...my pink sweater.  I saw it in your closet on the weekend but I checked the boathouse first. I think you only have the one pink one, right? This should be it.

It is, thanks. 

Should I go again? PJ, man, I don't want to step on your toes. 

Just stay out of my way. PJ tries for casual but ends up all but growling on his way out the door.

Should I talk to him? Or maybe get Lochlan to? Asher doesn't want to cause problems. He looks almost scared suddenly.

He'll be fine. He just likes to run a tight ship. 

He seems like a good captain. 

Oh, I will tell him you said that. He can't hate you then.

The only good Mondays are long-weekend Mondays.

One of my favourite things to do is crack open all of the levered windows in the pool enclosure until it's humid and cold and then take a nap in my favourite chaise out there, bundled in a serape, listening to the rain pour down outside. It's always dark and breezy and life is drowned out and maybe it's escapism and no one had any patience to sit there for an hour in total silence, even with a book or a podcast or a movie on Netflix so it was a three-times-a-year if I'm lucky kind of deal. 

Asher is paid to have patience. He can sit for days and not say a word. Every so often, whether I am asleep or awake he will put his feet down from where he has them propped against a planter, and lean forward to pull the blankets up over my shoulder or tuck them around my hips. He doesn't say anything, he just looks after it. We've grown almost symbiotic here, with him able to anticipate needs before I recognize I have them, and he will ask if I'd like a cup of tea or a sweater or my shoes so I can check out the garden. 

Don't worry, I still put in a full eight hours yesterday building a tiny shed in the corner of the orchard. It's far enough away from the house that we need things out there. A first aid kit will go inside. A compost bin and some hand tools so you don't have to go all the way back to the garage if you decide you want to garden or tidy up a bit, a fire extinguisher and yes, an epi-pen is included in the first aid kit. The shed has two levels and a moon cut out to match my little garden gate and a roof made of cedar shakes and Ben trimmed in a little fairy window that I can paint a scene in to show someone might be home. I'm thinking a mouse rocking her baby mouse by a roaring fire. Or maybe a fox sleeping in a bed. 

Something dark and charming, anyway. That's the theme of my life.

Absent Jesus.

Try to dispose of a failure to decide
Holding fast and hoping for a sign
Keeping close this fervent lust for life
The greatest of all our enemies is time

I am turned unexpectedly, brought up into his arms, crushed against his chest, his hands tight around my hips, taking my weight in to hold, and I cry out in surprise, the sound truncated with a kiss, equally crushing, equally surprising. 

His face returns to his comfort zone, pressed against the side of my head, just above me so if I try to turn my head in towards him I wind up in a void underneath his jaw, set hard against my forehead. His hands are gripping me so hard. We're slipping. It's so warm and yet no one's going to let go first. But then he gives up and down I go, dropped back to the quilts along with his weight and we're safe again, on the way to the moon and he cries out just as I shatter along with him, both our hands coming up around each others heads to seal the moment (and maybe the night) with a kiss. 

It's a practised routine and no one gets in the way. 

But then Lochlan lets go and the cool air leaves me wrapped in goosebumps, shivers running down my neck across my shoulders and my back and down my arms to my fingertips as they connect with Ben. Ben isn't having it and back I go on my face with a laugh, smothered in quilts as he doesn't plan to be romantic at all tonight. 

Until the bittersweet end, I mean. Then it's much the same only slightly more violent and the kiss comes as an afterthought. Ben is tired. It's been a long night. We have not slept and my eyes begin to sting suddenly as it dawns on me how much they love me. 

Maybe too much, as I am handed to Caleb, who kisses the tip of my nose as he pulls me in against him. 

No, no, no, I plead. I need a break. I need sleep. I need something else entirely. A portal to another dimension where affection doesn't slide into this, automatically. 

Just go for a little longer, Babydoll. We're not finished with you yet.

I see Lochlan frown and look away, out the window at the sun. It always brings regret up with it, brightening everything dark, just so that there's no mistake, just so you know what you've done.

I keep it under glass, bright lights keeping it from growing, shrivelled and dry in the glare. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to throw a shadow if it had the strength anymore. I'll let it wither, requited just enough to keep it alive. I will make it suffer, and along with it, him. Humane? No. Deserved? 

Yes. 

I took that heart and I won't let it have any darkness any more. He came back with open arms and a plan and all the money in the world and then some. So much. Lochlan used to say we had nothing and so we have everything (ironically biblical, that) and Caleb came back to say everything was a phone call or a whim away and here, do that instead and bring everyone but I'm coming too and it will be okay. The gang's back together again. 

And mostly it is okay. 

Growing pains, that's all. Asher's arrival was so understated, it was bound to eventually blow up, boil over and melt down. The point is a forge and our emotions are weapons and the more tears I cry, the more bullets lodge in their flesh. The more victims I collect. The more hearts I break, only they get to keep theirs to regenerate and do it all again.

But Asher stays.

I watch Caleb sleep, the night long behind us now, the reluctant permission to make it up to me, the assurances, promises and plans. The lies we all recognize for their easy deployment and the peace in his slumbering expression now. 

I said I was okay but no one believes me. I said I wasn't but somehow they didn't believe that either.

Caleb = 0.

I see no volunteers to co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line
Alone, you're gonna change my circumstance
I know I need to move right now

'Cause I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me (Only smoking secondhand)
I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me
Coming for me

Caleb has my hands pulled behind my back, held in one of his. He is on the phone and I struggle briefly until he squeezes hard and I freeze, unwilling to cry out and give him the satisfaction of dismissing a sudden alarming sound to the person on the other end of the line as something inconsequential.

I could call out. I could cause a huge fuss and everyone would come running and then he would have to explain, he would have to swallow his demon tendencies even as they snake out from his cuffs, darken the white spaces in his eyes and turn his hands to claws that rip against my flesh like thorns against a cotton sundress, pulling you back, keeping you there tangled in something that's bigger than you. You can go later and cut them back and decide that you have disarmed the threat but it grows back. In your mind you know damn well it's going to do so but in the moment you feel as if you have gotten control. 

(I don't have control.)

He pulls me backwards as he wraps up his call and pins me against the door, hand around my neck, head bent down so we are eye to eye, only my chin is being forced painfully up and I am up on my toes and maybe not even touching the floorboards anymore. I close my eyes, checking out before he gets to her. I can go anywhere. Behind my eyelids I can fucking fly and yet I always head for the same place, the corner of the cotton candy booth, the shady spot where I can finish my lunch but Lochlan can still keep an eye on me here. His break is still an hour away but I was too hungry. The sun is so warm against my forehead, Caleb's hot breath as he levels threats, promises and God knows what else to an audience of none, as I can't hear him when he whispers and I don't even try anymore. 

And then a knock goes through me, from the other side of the door. 

I snap back to the cool wood, briefly wondering what's going to happen the first time I don't come back at all. 

Yes. Caleb barks the word at the closed door. He's going to open it regardless but he's buying time for composure. He's buying time to get his body under control, willing his predilections to snake back up into his cuffs, tucking back under his collar, horns sinking back into his skull, eyes changing back to bright white and medium blue. It's something to watch, anyway, but I still haven't opened my eyes. 

He slides me back down, letting go, frowning at the red handprint around my throat. No time to hide that so he shoves me out of the way as Lochlan opens the door. 

I was with you- I tell him, excited that I can still teleport when things get really bad, as he looks to me first. 

Ash said he couldn't find you. He finally looks at Caleb. Jesus fucking Christ, Caleb. 

Maybe you interrupted something. 

Lochlan looks back at me and I shake my head. No, I say but no sound comes out. 

Lochlan comes past Caleb, takes my hand, pulls me in against him and takes me out of the room. 

Caleb is shouting something and Lochlan ignores him. We go past Asher, who is doing a magnificent job of not being surprised (guess they filled him in completely) and he fills the gap in the hallway, going head to head against Caleb and pointing out he's here to keep an eye on me and Caleb is pointing out no one needs to do that when he is with me and the last thing I hear is Asher disputing that masterfully and then we are outside and the sun is warming my face for real and it wasn't a daydream at all.

(I had told Asher where I would be and dismissed him for some free time of his own. He didn't listen to me and promptly called in my army. Had I known Caleb was going to wake up on the wrong side of the day I never would have gone though so I am grateful for him right off the bat.)

Longer nights.

God bless Everett and God bless Joel. They've been working together (!) with Sam, with Lochlan and with Ben behind the scenes, with August, who probably worries most of all but works so hard to keep it casual, to figure out what to do next. 

And they did. Monday everything changed again and this is another attempt to organize things here or at least make them easier for all of us. Not just me but okay, fine, mostly me. The smallest and weakest. The runt of the litter, as it were. 

Asher's back. He's been back for five days and it's been really nice. He's a familiar face if you're a longtime reader for a breath seven or eight years ago and we had a plan for him but it wasn't quite right. He arrived with intentions to become the butler and just...look after things, but it was strange and no one would let him do anything and he wasn't really sure either, he only knew he wanted an unconventional life but after seeing the world and getting a little older, he is back to settle down. Or rather, he hasn't settled down and so he's back for another go. 

He's Batman's Godson, and he's really mellowed into a handsome, easy-going, take-no-bullshit personality with humour and grace. He's a lot like Sam in that way, though Sam takes all my bullshit. I don't know where he keeps it, but he takes it. 

So Asher's focus this time around employment-wise is not to manage the house but just me. If I have errands, he'll do them. If I need food, he'll get it. My chores are his chores now. If I do something it will be a whim, apparently. He will be a bodyguard against wasps and sea lions and strangers and bears, oh my. He will rub my neck for me and choose my outfits. He'll be a human buffer between me and Gage the world. He'll set out my toothbrush and my pajamas.

He's going to listen to my problems, whether first or third-world. He'll put up with my whining. He's going to be my confidante, my best friend and my assistant. There's no overstepping with PJ now, no difficulties trying to raise the kids with extra faces on hand (the kids are adults, Ruth is apartment-shopping) and even Caleb is on board. 

He will disappear when Lochlan is around, however unless Lochlan asks him to stay close.

I had zero problems being honest and open with him. We are easy friends. This morning when I came down, a few minutes before Lochlan was ready, I showed Asher the progress on my face and he told me I was still adorable but also stupid for for assuming the world was a friendly, safe place. I don't assume that and tell him so with colourful belligerence. He ignores me, hands me my pills and a glass of water, then hands me my coffee. In a travel mug so I don't spill it or burn myself, and so it doesn't get cold. He watches everything and fixes it. He is a quick study, or maybe I'm a short read. He's a sharp wit. He's going to lift the weight without the demands. If I don't want to talk I don't have to. No one is demanding I flay myself down to the bone at their command. No one wants to talk it out and fix it instantly anymore. No one's demanding anything. They just decided to pitch the fuck in. But he'll be able to sound the alarm before I know we need to ring it.

There's only one problem and it's that always-present awful one that I can't get away from. 

Yes, he's really cute. And now that he's close to thirty he's doing that thing men do when they go from cute to easy-handsome. 

Lochlan laughs when I lay it all out for him. Lochlan is not worried. 

I didn't say you should be worried-

I'm not jealous either. 

Why not? 

He's not Caleb. 

Ah. 

Ah, he repeats.

Still? I cock my head at him, eyes narrowed. 

Forever, Lochlan frowns and my heart breaks a thousand times in the space of one beat, becoming stars. Asher comes back, sees the darkness, appreciates the stars for a minute and then instead of asking me if I'm cold, just hands me my sweater, staying close as I need help putting it on with the forever-fucked up elbow I can't bend the way it should. 

When my head pops through the neckhole Lochlan kisses my nose and tells me if I have worries I can put them away now. 

 Asher turns his pockets inside out and says he has room. I think he needs cargo pants. Or maybe a cargo plane. I tell him and he laughs and tells me nothing is insurmountable. 

That's how I am reminded how young he still is.