Flight tracker open and watching.

Unpinning poppies as I find them this morning, coats hung on hangers and hooks and draped over benches in various stages of organization. We've been up for hours and hours to see Asher off on his travels. Batman came too and Asher has promised to visit in the late spring. He's taking a vacation before Christmas and then will go back and spend time with his family and has a bit of a breather before he needs to figure out his next step but it will probably be one taken as an executive assistant for some famous, as Batman has reached out to some of his people and good EAs (make that trustworthy EAs) are always sought-after. 

I am fine. It seems like there is a hole here but at the same time I feel like you do when you have a long-term houseguest leave. Like everything can get back to normal now. The boys are watchful for any stress I might exhibit once his absence truly sinks in as to me he was a bit of an echo-chamber and a...a...manservant, if you will and so it seems fitting that the cast is gone and now I have less of a need for a dedicated minder. 

The weekend is supposed to be insanely rainy (as always) but again I will take that over a heat dome any moment. We've got a good supply of junk food and movies to watch and Christmas decorating to do and I feel like I can breathe. Everything feels normal right this second and for that I am so grateful.

Like a brother.

I know it's early but I am busy negotiating the largest Christmas bonus of my young life (you don't even want to GUESS).

No, not for me. For Asher. Who leaves tomorrow. He isn't coming back. Well, I mean he might come and visit us as he visits Batman every couple of years, but I suppose that depends on if he actually gets out of here unscathed. The night is still young and the upheaval is like a roiling sea. Just when you think it's going to grow calm the tide comes in and it just ends up deeper still, and I want to make sure this seafarer finds his next port with his pockets already lined with gold. 

It was a good six months and Asher did an incredible, thoughtful and intuitive job. He gets glowing references and a fistful of networking leads and he always and forever has Batman as his doting Godfather so honestly he won't twist in the wind for too long, unless he wants to.

But PJ wanted the job. Here we thought we were doing PJ a favour, giving him a break from the heavy lifting after twenty-odd years of being the closest thing to a mother Ruth and Henry had after me. He was Dad, maybe. Backup but in-charge. On it. He worked his ass off looking after them and with Ruth moved out and on her own now and Henry with a few months of university left we really thought he would like living on his own terms. 

Lo and behold, he did not. In fact, he hated it but Padraig has always been a giant nurturer, a huge teddy bear, a solid gold (t)hug. The original Hunkle. He needs to look after people. He needs to be needed. And he's been resentful and angry ever since the rest of them steamrolled him with this new (not new, he's been around for a decade) purpose-driven man when PJ could handle it (me) all along. 

PJ found unlikely allies in Caleb and Duncan who both moved in and became a living, breathing, bearded bulldozer to gently push Asher out. We had a family meeting and after I was for some reason congratulated for not losing too much of my shit this year (drinking) and bouncing back so fast (drugs) everyone graciously agreed that after a good trial period Asher can be freed up for greener, less incestuous pastures and PJ can breathe a sigh of relief and take back control of the house. 

***

What's interesting here is that we were all so concerned with PJ's swallowed feelings that no one thought to ask me what I wanted, as I actually tend to defer to the boys on damn near everything so it's not like we forgot, it's just something we don't do when it comes to their strong opinions.

And I suddenly had the realization that I just gave up some of the control I got back when Asher arrived, even if it was only on paper and not even true. A little false-independence gets reeled back in. The world gets a little more smaller and a lot more regimented and I had a moment where I was almost mildly disappointed, if I can even call it that.  

I'm not explaining it properly.

I don't think that I can call it disappointment. I love PJ to absolute bits but I still feel like it's a step backwards for me. He gets his role, his command, his status back. His ego. His satisfaction. His occasional night back. His place as that fucking pain in the ass but he makes her happy so leave it designation. His rules. His plans and his routine. His rule.

He has a third of my guardianship so it makes sense and it's also a huge conflict of interest but then again everything around here is. That's part and parcel of who we are. 

We already had an argument. It remains unresolved.

This is actually great. He's very lucky I love him so much or I think I'd send him out to sea.

Ways of acceptance.

I went over to collect Ben, or at least visit him. He was there for a few days, a sort of sleepover in the end. He and Daniel do it a few times a year where they binge on take-out and several film or television series and doze and talk and just spend some time together alone, as brothers should.

I think that's great except by about three days in I start to worry that he might fall for Schuyler again and never come home. 

Which is really paranoid on my part. And that's what everyone worries about when it comes to me. Let's just say if anyone spends a good amount of time with Schuyler he is prone to pull them right in and it's frightening how easy it is for everyone to crush on him, and hard. Not just the fleeting appreciation of good looks like we do with Duncan or the earnest love everyone has for Sam or the dutiful adoring subordination Lochlan commands with a flick of a red curl. 

No, this is like a quicksand-molasses kind of hole and it's warm and nice and it's true, you never want to leave. 

I don't have that problem. Caleb laughs bitterly. He does nothing for me. 

You're the only straight man here. 

That's not true. 

I just stare at him until he concedes, in his head. If you two agreed on things more often you would totally get sucked in. 

Maybe. But I do see how Ben was confident you had navigated things and was free to relax. I wish the same for Lochlan now and would love to have you join me this weekend. 

Are we having a movie marathon?

We can do whatever your heart desires. 

Let's have a seance and we can formally introduce George to Cole and Jake. So he's in the loop-

Jesus Christ, Neamhchiontach.

I mean, if he wants to come. You can ask.

Shut up.

He refills my champagne, but only a quarter of the way this time. 

It's early, he explains, with a shy smile for him. Shy is not the way you would describe Caleb, but he is always trying on new and different personalities to try to appeal to my heart. My heart will never respond in the way he hopes. It might have early on but he made sure to take on the villain/monster role the moment my crush on him went through puberty. 

And that was that. Goldilocks in the woods. The wolf. The shadowy bad man you're warned about if you go out at night. The monster you know. Always a friend. Always a near-relative or someone close. Always with his eyes on me. Always trying to wedge himself in. 

And I still let him. The crush is long gone but the payback lives forever. 

And I still love him, too, but I can't explain that at all. I will forever appreciate his efforts, violent as they were, his work ethic and the fact that he has never changed his story, not even once and has never tried to deflect blame or minimize our tragedy. I appreciate his presence and his familiarity. 

I appreciate his whispers as he makes it so I can still hear him in spite of his efforts to be quiet thanks to Lochlan still sleeping (but probably not sleeping) on my other side. 

(Ben is at Daniel's having a movie marathon. We had a free moment and Caleb asked if we wanted the bottle to celebrate getting my cast off (ha) so we took the bottle and the offerer, too.)

Update on George.

(You'll be pleased to know I pay for the two-tier medical system in order not to take up space for those who need it more considering ninety percent of our medical issues are self- or other- inflicted. We also have a doctor-team on retainer that we only need to give two days notice and they come to the house for anything we need. It's exceedingly expensive but if you've been reading here for a while you'll know that Caleb pays for everything and so I don't care what it costs.)

(which also means he gets to go to these visits so there's that.)

George was very happy to be set free on Saturday. My cast came off in the water because it was in rags anyway and I didn't look after it. I'll admit that. I swam back with one hand (no I didn't, I just let Henry pull me to shore) and PJ went out with the jetski to retrieve the cast that was floating around and I didn't want to leave it because litter. 

So I called the office and pointed out my cast has...uh...fallen off and they asked me on the phone if I cut it off and I was offended and said of course not, it came off when we were cliff-jumping and I was expecting to be fired as a patient but instead they were incredibly apologetic because it was supposed to come off THREE WEEKS AGO and the office is behind because Covid so no one followed up as of yet. 

(This is comforting. Isn't it?)

So they fit me in this morning. Was again irradiated and will proceed to glow in the dark through Remembrance Day, and George is doing great (fucker) and I was upgraded to a splint that I need to wear overnight, when cliff-jumping or when doing anything sus that might fuck up my wrist again. 

I looked at George, he looked at me and we both laughed inappropriately because you all know it's going in a drawer and it's never-

Except Lochlan exists (to foil my wonderful plans of comfort and freedom) and he over-laughed my laugh and said that I'd be wearing it more than not. I scowled at him and he winked and the doctor looked from me to him and back again and I finally conceded that I will wear it but only for a month. Then I get another round of Pictures of Bridget's Tiny Bones and then I start trying to use my stupid hand, but gently. Great. 

Then the doctor looked at my semi-black eyes and probably-broken nose and asked if he should take a look. 

So the good news is my nose is not badly broken and they don't need to do anything to it. The bad news is Caleb has a probably-fractured cheekbone but they're not going to do anything about it either as it isn't moving and his eye seems fine with all sensation and no numbness. It's bloodshot as fuck from when I put my arms up at the last minute to try and deflect and I think I nailed him in the face with the cast that then bounced right into my own nose as we went down. 

 If you ask me I think that secretly George doesn't even LIKE Caleb. I told Lochlan that on the way home and he laughed that desperate, frightened laugh that he does and said nothing. Caleb just looked at me in the rearview mirror and swore.

One breath apart.

I woke up with a start in the still-dark hours, time granting me one more hour of my own misery within which to drown, hands stretched out to help me pushed away by the sheer weight of the memories pressing in like waves, their cold tendrils of thoughts unfinished washing over my skin. 

Lochlan is standing in the doorway with a single cupcake, lit with a lone birthday candle. 

Wish the fucker a happy birthday and let's get on with our goddamned lives. 

He brings me the cake and I blow the candle out, carefully. Then he takes the candle out and we divide the cupcake in half, eating it for breakfast, leaving crumbs in our bed. He kisses me before I am finished and I laugh but it ends in a sob and suddenly I can't speak. 

Here's to the fifty-one you didn't get, Preacherman, Lochlan says spitefully, stretching out on his back to look at the ceiling while I finish my half. I nod to myself in the dark. Jacob's fifties would have been incredible as he finally got the respect he wanted so badly in his thirties but between his good lucks and unconventional ministering style it was hard for people to take him seriously, though once you knew him it was exceeding easy to balance him on a pedestal so high you could no longer see him for the reach, and then for the sun. 

I figured out why you're stuck, Peanut. I am finished my cake now, licking my fingers and thinking about ghosts who take up so much space in my life even filling it the way I have still leaves these wide open spaces and they're all holes, today. 

Why is that? My hands are beginning to shake. 

Because. Lochlan leans toward me, leaning on one elbow. He is the only man who ever fucked up your life and never came back to try and fix it.

I am surprised. He's not wrong. Lochlan came back, making sure he always had a hand in my life, that I've never been too far out of reach, Caleb came back to try and atone for his sins, and Ben changed every single face of his entire existence in order to be who I needed him to be.  

But Jacob just left. It's the biggest betrayal of all and I don't know what to do with it. 

Jacob leans in and whispers in my ear. He just wants to look good and make me look bad by default. 

And I laugh and choke on icing and tears as a shiver runs down my back. 

He's not wrong either. 

Too bad he doesn't get a say anymore.

My grief is a teenager now (Part I).

I'm unstoppable
I'm a princess with no brakes
I'm invincible
Yeah, I win every single game
I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident
I'm unstoppable today
Unstoppable today
I'm unstoppable to-

I was picking out notes and trying to sing. I think I'm so brave but then I can't finish it. I can't hear it anymore. I can't believe it's been fourteen years and even though I've promised everyone including Jacob that I won't mark it as an anniversary anymore my blood is electric in my veins. My head is pounding in time with my heart and I will go to my own grave in absolute awe that Jacob chose nothing over everything. That leaving his life unlived would be better than living it with us. That his decision was the best he could make for everyone involved and that I wasn't worth it. I know damn well Henry would have been worth it but we had such big doubts and it seemed so unlikely and-

I know. I promised. 

So did he though and look where I am now. 

I look around. The note has long since ended and I'm still holding the key down. I let go and turn to look at Ben, dozing in a chair, head in hand. Coffee cup forgotten on the table in front of him. I abruptly jump up and run. Through the living room, down the steps, out the patio doors and across the lawn. 

I hear shouts and I try and speed up. Ben is no longer faster than me but the rest still are. The grass starts to dip now into the slight incline and I am twenty feet from the edge, ready for the rush of flying without dying and then I hear a new note in the din of voices. 

MOM! 

And I stop in my tracks and turn around just in time to see Henry running for me and just in time for Caleb (in the lead) to crash into me so hard we both go down in the grass. 

Fuck. You stopped so fast, Bridget. Oh my God. 

My teeth feel loose. My nose is bleeding and he's got me in a sudden vice grip as he pulls us both back up and Henry is there and suddenly I have to answer to this beautiful child who deserves more than he ever got from both of his parents. 

Mom. You can't do this. 

Swim with me. I need to. I just need the cold. I need to touch the clouds.

It's five degrees. 

Just come with me. Just once. Please.

He stares at me, Jacob's expressions in his face. The same annoyed surprise. The same impatience. The same kind and generous understanding. 

Only once, Mom. 

That's all I need, Henry Jacob. I wipe the back of my good hand across my nose, leaving a streak of red.

On three, then, and he took my hand, wiping off the blood, then gripping it tight and counting.

(I was an impossible case.)

And you make me talk
And you make me feel
And you make me show
What I'm trying to conceal
If I trust in you, would you let me down?
Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?
Could you feel the same way too?
I wanna know

The name of the game

 

I am fielding a lot of early questions about the track listing on the new ABBA album. I don't know if I know any producers who usually strongarm an idea or a theme, do I? I do and I'm not naming names but HEY, did you know there's ALSO a new Slipknot song out today? Right! There is and it's a barnburner of a song so there you go. SO MUCH NEW MUSIC. Don't ask me any more questions. It doesn't matter who I know or who you know, the point is, we're all in this together. 

(My favorite ABBA song is not actually Gimme Gimme Gimme (A man after midnight). Sorry. It's the The Name of the Game. It's the closest kin to any Fleetwood Mac that I was literally weaned on. Angeleyes. Knowing me knowing you (God, That one HURTTTTTS so good.))

But yeah. Thanks for the comments. You're all great.Who doesn't love ABBA and want to bend over backwards to help bring them full circle here? 

***

Fun fact: Jacob's favourite ABBA song was She's My Kind of Girl. It's so Beatles. No one ever was surprised by that. Hardly anyone knows that song though.

***

Also I don't know but these drugs are just perfectly balanced and Bridget's on a cloud. A good cloud, not a black one. Not under it, on it. Not too cold, not too soft. Not too high. Goldie, Loch's. Ha. Okay, that one's debatable, but let's just say the hole is all the way across the room and I haven't fallen in it. Maybe they just needed to give Lochlan a little more credit and a little more time to prepare. By them I mean me, of course.

Over (size).

We are snuggled in the great room this morning in front of a roaring fire. I can't get warm, it seems, though we have the heavy blanket around us and hot tea. Coffee was over hours ago. It usually flows seamlessly into Lochlan's tea time though so don't worry.

We're reading gift idea lists for the people in your life. They are everywhere on the internet. Just everywhere. And they are so, so bad. It's like they were written by an AI that was tasked with learning about humans via adventure books from the early twentieth century.

For example, suggestions that appear near-constantly on every list for men between the ages of birth and oh, a hundred and fifty years are whiskey stones, an axe, a cheap pocket knife in a case with a handy belt loop and field notes, with a space pen. Sometimes drones, woolen scarves and a plasma lighter appear. A moka pot. A backgammon game, but for travel.

It seems the robots think men are huntsmen. Highly literate ones, at that.

It's okay though. Every list for women in her....ah...middle ages includes a watering can and an electric milk frother. A shimmery scarf with butterflies and an icing-decorating set, but in timeless stainless steel.

It's all so.. tone deaf. And I can't tell you exactly how many whiskey stones we own, for a house that's fully half in recovery, but apparently also filled with generic huntsmen, but there are a lot. Like mountains of them.

***

(Want to know what men really want for Christmas?? 

No, Jesus H. Not that. I mean for gifts. That they can open. In mixed comp- FINE, in front of their grandparents. 

A blanket. The next year a snugglie. Then an Oodie the year after that. Something large, warm and very soft and comfortable. Something they can burrito in. 

These are what they love. I promise. And they must have several different kinds of warm and cozy for different activities so that's why this will serve you for years.)

In Lumine Luce.

Right across my throat, a beautiful necklace with tiny glowing golden letters set in enamel? Ceramic. Gold chain. An early, singular Christmas present, and I struggle with my latin. 

Shine with knowing? 

Shine in the light, Peanut. 

I knew I heard the phrase before. A kiss on the nose after he said it and I was in the spotlight, high up in the centre of the big top, as I swung across to my platform to wait for him to come to me and we would perform our aerial routine for eleven very long minutes (for us) and in a blink (for the audience). 

I smile. I remember the gut feeling just before and then when he said that suddenly the light made that feeling go away, and all I could feel was his warmth. And then for real as he grabbed my arms as I abandoned my trapeze and I never heard the gasps, never saw the wonder and disbelief even as we did the pretend miss and he would go to one hand. He would have held on to my bone, leaving marks in the smooth whiteness. I never once thought I was in danger. Now I see that I was naive. Now I know I can never perform again. It feels like my hand will never be strong again and that's a new sort of grief, even as I made my peace with my age, responsibilities, centre of gravity and life choices. I knew I could still do the routine, however, and suddenly I'm aware that I can't. 

I love it. I breathe. I can have this memory forever. It's not going to fade. It's not going to be forced from my brain for my own good. It's not going to be twisted or ruined by time. 

I love you, he says in return with the same urgency. Forever and ever, Peanut.