Deep (end).

 I'm listening to the new Billie Eilish single this morning. I can rearrange this for the piano but her voice is unique and I really like listening so I may leave it. Besides, Lochlan's been hogging the piano all week sorting out a good arrangement of Honky Cat, I think just to make me laugh.

It's working. 

He really has a such a flair. It's almost incredible how surrounded we are by surly musicians and Lochlan turns out to be the most flamboyant performer of all. The rest are shy and yielding, hard to cajole, impossible to convince to perform. Circus people are not like that. We just do it, because we have to. It's a compulsion. It is a complete and utter lack of shame or self-regard and a huge desire to get that high from smiles on people's faces. Or wonderment. Shock. Surprise. Fear. Relief. Whatever works. 

Add in music and well, that's the holy grail of our lives. The backbone. 

I let Ben turn off my alarm in order for me to ignore it this morning. I let Daniel paint my toes with pink glitter. I let Asher take my inventory and decide that sleep wasn't forthcoming and drugs would be, and then he announced to the house that he noticed I liked hot, elaborate and complete breakfasts and then preferred to graze for the remainder of the day on fruit or crackers or just booze and he's not wrong but I also pride myself on having a big family dinner every night and I wait until everyone's home, and most of the time these days everyone is so not a huge deal. 

Then he made me bruschetta with cheese on twelve grain bread and it was one of the best breakfasts I have ever had. 

No one argued with him. They know. But they are also of the time to skip breakfast completely and I will die before I start cooking early so this will clearly be a him-thing when he's working for me, and well, coffee when he is not. 

He will be for the next few days while I sit at the bottom of the pool. It suddenly got insanely hot out and the pool is the only place we can get any relief. Asher says this is the best and chillest job he thinks he's ever had and that makes me sad because babysitting a mentally ill woman who is already babysat by levels of people would be a difficult job but he acts like he's on vacation and if I ask him for something he acts like he's doing a favour for his very best friend. 

I wonder if it will last. 

(I think it will.)

Love in a mist.

How are you feeling? 

I am on the swing and I hear him before I see him, as is his usual routine these days. He gets into my head first and works his way out until my eyes catch sight of the blonde hair and the ever-present pale blue button down.

I look for Caleb but he is clear on the other side of the vineyard inspecting the new shed. He's not a gardener as such but I can get him to walk the grounds and it's shady out here so I like to come out and see what's growing before the sun can touch me. I always stop for ten or fifteen for a thought and a swing, and no one ever seems to mind. And I don't know who put Jacob in the orchard but maybe he's here so I can see him from my studio windows. Or maybe he's just here because he follows me wherever I go.

I've had better springs. My face still has pain. And I got my vaccine so honestly I could sleep for a month, if prompted. 

You could sleep more, that's for sure. 

Are you there too? 

I'm with you all the time. 

Personal Jesus. Wasn't that a song?

By a band you don't like. 

Who gave you permission to follow me around? 

You did. 

When did I do this? 

When you chose to never stop grieving. 

Am I supposed to stop?

Most people do. 

I have never ever been a 'most-people'. 

This is true. 

Neamhchiontach. Oh. The Devil is back around this way and the spell is broken. Jacob retreats back behind my eyes and Caleb is there holding out a grand bouquet of nigella flowers, one of my favourites. I planted a metric ton of them all around the edge of the side yard and they have grown up in a knee-high perimeter of  airy star-shaped blue and white delicate blooms that make me so happy they beat every bouquet professionally willed into this house. Ruth and I have been pressing them constantly to use in future projects. I've been trying to paint them. It doesn't stop and it's considered a good healthy obsession, one of so few that garners approval. 

Wow. Thank you. 

They are almost as beautiful as you. What were you saying when I came up? Did you have to stop swinging because I'm back? No. Not if you don't want to. 

I think I'm done for now. 

Okay, we can work our way back. He holds out his elbow so that I can take his arm and we head back down the hill.

Everything and nothing.

Much to my dismay I do not have 5G (even on my phone because we're far away from towers that bring actual reception) as joked about nor did it give me super-hearing which is also something I was secretly hoping for. 

Lochlan scoffs and says all it gives us is sore arms and peace of mind and he's right and so he gets to play the piano this morning but he's not keeping up with my song and I forgot the words in the middle anyway. this after he promised we would live life more musically as we piled into the theatre last night to get through as much of the second act of season five of Lucifer on Netflix, a show with more religious puns and musical numbers than I could ever hope to see all at once on the big screen and I love it so much and I'll be sad when it's all done. Also it seems like we've hardly watched anything this spring and we've watched a few things. I guess it ebbs and wanes sometimes, like the tide, which gifted me nothing at all this morning but maybe I wasn't looking because I feel too tired today anyway. Otherwise good but tired from not being able to sleep comfortably and also because I lay there waiting for my gifts like a forgotten superhero and as I said in the first paragraph it was all hyped for nothing. 

I do get to have a huge homemade cinnamon bun and a good cup of tea for my second coffee courtesy of Matt who came over to make breakfast, sent by Sam who thought we might need an extra hand. Which makes me laugh, Asher is back but Matt is a different soul and he's easy to talk to. He is settled in and content as fuck. They both are, honestly but Matt likes the privacy of the boathouse and his life here with Sam working mostly from home. 

Even though things are rapidly heading back to previous normals, as I pointed out to the boys earlier. Sam may be going back to work in the next few weeks. Things are opening. Restaurants are now open for dining and I won't be going to one any time soon but I do feel as if I am working my way toward a Monte Cristo like no other. Last time I had one was August of 2019 and that's a goddamned tragedy, I think.

In the meantime we can sing to pass the time while I wait for my fucking sandwich. 

Your priorities are interesting, Matt says and I just roll my eyes at him. Well, better hearing and a sandwich?

Never said I wanted much in life, I remind them all. That would be lots.

Update: it was Moderna! Very excited for that. And now everyone on the point has had at least one vaccine. So thankful that everyone here is still healthy and safe and continues to be so. Now I go sleep because zzzzz.

Sunday shots.

Dozing this morning in the fog, eyes closed against the half-light, cool and perfectly comfortable with a breeze on my face from the window above the bed and the warmth of his arm around the back of my neck, his fingers smoothing my bangs away from my forehead periodically. Just as I fall asleep they dance across my skull and I am pulled out of an endless, meandering dream in which I am rowing a boat across a lake so chockful of lilies I can't gain any speed but it's also so beautiful it takes my breath away. 

(I did that once. Sometimes memories masquerade as dreams. I love my brain when that happens.)

I have to go get ready, Diabhal. 

Church is probably over. You can listen to it this afternoon. 

The kids and I are getting vaccinated. 

On a Sunday? 

Yes. 

Need a driver?

Have one. Lochlan's taking us. 

Ah. Then I'll be here when you get back. 

Okay. I kiss his cheek and he grabs for me as I escape his embrace.

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.