Spirits.

Hope is a feather plucked from a capable wing, now suddenly captive in the breeze. The sand is ice-cold underneath a fresh layer of new fallen snow and the gifts remain wrapped and under the tree as Sam and I pack up our coffees, tie into our most capable snow boots and warm coats and head down to greet the sun on this Christmas morning, Sam half-ruined with joy already and me half-awake as ever but somehow we made it and I got to bear witness to a monologue the likes of which the church never sees but should. The sun warmed our faces while his words warmed my heart and I am reminded of why I refused to follow Jacob into the abyss of nothing. There's no heaven. All of this is it and you better not squander this chance at it because it's on earth. It's now, not after. It's Christmas every day if you want it to be. 

Merry Christmas to all of my readers. Even the ones who hate my guts. Jesus loves you no matter what disdain you have for me and no matter what thoughts go through my head any minute of any hour. He loves me even as my hands touch upon someone I shouldn't and even as I foolishly wish for things long lost, even on His birthday.

A kiss lands on top of my head as I look out at the snow crunching up the top layer of the sea in a rush to hush it all down into a magical holiday scene. I look up and Lochlan is looking down at me, his face cracking into a smile. 

Merry Christmas, Peanut. 

I turn and there's an army of men, carrying a fully lit Christmas tree. They set it up on the beach, back far enough to stay out of reach of the tides, but far enough out to make everyone gasp and then smile if they see it.  Someone has a picnic basket and they begin to pass out juice boxes, croissants and more coffee thermoses. Wreathes are hung along the posts all around the dock and music begins to lilt out from a speaker someone has. Just soft enough for magic and just loud enough for me to hear. 

But then they all start to sing. 

It's the best sound I ever heard and the tears are freezing on my cheeks, mixed with snow. 

When the song is finished everyone eats their waterside breakfast, sitting on the dock and then Lochlan pulls me into his coat. A kiss lands on my nose and my glasses steam up.

Merry Christmas, Locket. I love my present. Wow. This is incredible. 

His eyebrows go up. This isn't your present. 

But you've spent hours off rehearsing

Actually that song wasn't part of the plan this morning so we weren't practicing, but also that isn't your present. You'll get that this afternoon, because we're still not finished it.

Yeah, I can't do this. Please send help.

Hahahaha. The houses are full. There is nowhere I can go to get away. Lay in the bathtub for an hour with my headphones (Ben gifted me with my own set of really ridiculously good headphones) listening to sad songs and drinking champagne and I think I'm almost ready to start the day but honestly not quite. Making dinner for twenty-nine today. Don't have any reserves for patience left. Losing it so slowly I'm like a balloon that gets those tiny puckers all around the edges and you know it's not long for the world.

And you wrote to me and said you wished you were me. 

That was dumb. Hope you've changed your mind.

You're the ocean. I'm the pond.

The concert of the century continues as I get up at six am sharp, open all the doors save for Henry's wing and blast them with my renditions of all of my favourite love songs, lyrics changed. Raise a showgirl, expect a performance, I say. 

(Raise a freak, expect a freakshow.)

Guess there is something, and there is nothing
There is nothing in between
And in my eyes, there is a tiny dancer
Watching over me, she's singing
 I'm a I'm a lady, and you are just a boy
She's singing I'm a I'm a lady, and you are just a line without a hook

Lochlan comes down and closes the cover on the keys. On my fingers. Enough. 

You're enough. 

I hoped I would be, at one point. 

And now?

Now I don't know anymore. 

You invited him for Saturday. I would have been fine until Ostara. 

Right. 

You don't know me. 

I do though. Better than I know myself. 

If that were true-

Oh, please, go on. 

You would know that yesterday's projections were off the mark. 

Prove it. 

Trying my best. 

He stands his ground and waits. I pick up my phone and send a one-line text. 

Saturday's off. 

The reply comes in seconds. Tell him to stop being so paranoid. Lochlan, stop being so paranoid.

I hold the phone out, the bitter twisted smile forming a portrait background, our blurred scenery making it so hard to focus anymore it's almost criminal. 

Told you, I say victoriously as his face crumples into tears of relief. Now stop trying to ruin Christmas.

Longest night indeed.

Things not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me
Deathly loss, this can't be real
I cannot stand this hell I feel
Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony
Growing darkness, taking dawn
I was me, but now he's gone

 We had to bail on the beach part as the freezing rain began at five sharp and Ben almost wiped out and that was that for those treacherous stairs because he takes his sweet time now and had that been PJ or Duncan charging down at full speed we'd be pallbearers today, every one of us. 

We took the party to Schuyler and Daniel's house and sang and played and ate until far past my bedtime and I yawned at last and by this time the whole point was encased in ice and everyone was leaving and so Lochlan and I clutched each other's hands and were the last out the door, dragging each other down the slick path to home. It took us an almost comically-sad moment to get up the steps to the patio doors which were locked and so we had to wait in the icy rain, calling Ben and then Dalton and finally Henry who came and opened the door and pulled us in. He went back to his rooms and we went upstairs after getting orange juice and oreos and we were only a bit drunk, not the maudlin stage yet but slightly past silly so just serious enough to do what we do best. 

Fight. 

It was quiet and heartbreaking though, because a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts and so when Lochlan grabbed my by the shoulders he gave a good soft shake and waited until I could focus on him.

You didn't even look at him. Didn't leave my side. You stayed put and I'm proud of you. 

My eyebrows go up and I set my teeth together, tongue in the middle, cracked in half. 

What's the look for?

 

I can look at him. 

 

And I can still kill him. I open my teeth in horror. Lochlan might be mean and sometimes he gets a little too jealous but this isn't hyperbole. 

 

Stop it. Locket. Please. 

 

Imagine-

 

I need to sleep and you need to stop talking. 

 

What if we had what we used to have? What if you still loved me the most?

I DO.

Little liar.

 

I'm not.

 

And this morning, well, you should hear my acoustic piano arrangement of Fade to Black. I don't know which one of them hates it most but I hope it's Lochlan.

The start of winter.

I'm not getting up yet today. I'm lying in bed with a roaring fire going, playing A Good Snowman Is Hard to Build (the latest ios craze in this house even though I haven't even remoted finished decorating my village in Christmas Puzzle 3 and all of the townspeople are going to HATE me) and waiting for Lochlan to bring up breakfast in bed. My coffee is late. My head hurts. I've thrown my phone twice across the room and then went and got it because Dalton finished the game last night and I can't even solve the first level yet but I'm determined. In any case Lochlan offered to make omelettes and coffee since he kept me up half the night to watch The Witcher's second season which was so so good (Jaskier's monologues and songs. What a ride.) and I fought to stay awake. I am tired now because I go to bed at nine each night and then I actually sleep from two to six. 

But that is not important. This is.

Tonight we're having our solstice dinner on the beach, complete with dress code (interpretive dark victorian/gothic formal) with sparkling virgin cider made here on the point. The menu is pot roast, root vegetables (grown here) and dumplings, apple pie and then I have sparklers and streamers for dancing after dinner. My windproof candles are ready and the boxes are beginning to be lined up near the patio doors as it will take the rest of the day to cook and set up but it's so worth it. Especially if it rains. I am excited but I still need a little more rest first, as it's the shortest day of the year and already it's packed to the stars.

Afterwrath.

I have my nose pressed up against the glass, money in my hand. I didn't want to put wagers on my soul but here we are, PJ, Ben and I, watching Lochlan and Caleb duke it out in the snow in the front yard. Only Caleb isn't fighting back at all. The wind is gone out of his sails, or maybe hurting Ben is what finally changed him. Maybe this is his penance, though I pointed out to Lochlan that none of this was Caleb's fault and he almost believed me until he found the carefully hidden bite mark on the back of my neck, almost in my hair, that wouldn't have broken the skin but it did. 

Now it's his fault, apparently, because he can't seem to not mash his teeth all over me, or maybe I'm just that delicious. Either way, there they are. Lochlan's lost all of his steam from shouting and is now swinging for the hills, but Ben remains with one hand on the door, ready to go out and break it up if anyone is about to get seriously hurt. Including Caleb. 

PJ just wants to wager, as he knows damn well Caleb wouldn't hurt Lochlan. He wouldn't dare. The fifty bill is just to see who stops first and it's only a valid bet if they aren't stopped by a third party first. I bet Caleb would stop first only because I know Lochlan as well as I do. 

And I was right. Now I'm fifty dollars richer, my nose is cold and pink and I told Lochlan to stop hitting people. 

I will when you stop fucking them, he said. 

NICE. I spat back.

I was out in the cold doing something NICE for YOU, he yells. 

I DON'T NEED NICE. I NEED PRESENCE. 

Right. PRESENTS. 

No, PRESENCE. 

What the FUCK, Peanut?

This would be better written down and then you'd see. 

Go write it then. Humiliate me some more. 

But then he winked and I don't even know which end is up and if you make me a bluff I'm going to call it so here we are. Immature Christmas 2021. Nothing has ever changed and nothing ever will. Also I think I need stitches. Oh and he invited Caleb for Boxing night.

Give my loaded gun away.

I was playing piano. House is virtually empty, as every handy-hand on deck is currently out working on my Christmas surprise and I'm about to be on Santa's naughty list as the Devil's warm hand slides around my throat. I hit a series of dramatic chords and he lifts my face up. Leaning over the piano bench from behind he kisses my mouth upside-down with a chuckle at my choice of musical accompaniment. 

It's cool down here. Come up to my room and have a drink with me by the fire. 

(Don't panic. Most of the dens in the various wings of the house have natural gas fired fireplaces. They are small but cozy and built into the big built-in bookcases.)

(Oh, you weren't panicking about that part. My bad.)

He pushes his index finger between my lips and I taste the sweet burn of the whiskey he just dipped into. 

The low pop-thrumb of the flame igniting distracts me ever so briefly and the hesitation lobs doubt into the atmosphere between us. 

My apologies, Neamhchiontach. Old habits. His face. Oh Jesus he looks completely defeated in a whole new way that I never get to see and I know it's bald-faced manipulation and I let it run unchecked. After all, 

It's Christmas. 

I nod and stand up and he holds out his hand, glass in the other. We go upstairs and down the long hall to his door and then inside. He closes but does not lock the door behind us. Once inside the fire grows before my eyes and he turns to pour my drink while I take off my earrings, leaving them in the little dish on the shelf. They were past their time to remove as it was but I got distracted when everyone headed out. No car keys or wallets so the surprise is home-based, at least. 

He holds out my glass and clinks his against it. 

Salut, he says with a smile that's gone in a flash. 

Sláinte, I reply, taking a sip. Aw, it's my dearest Lagavulin and I can lick those gravestones to my heart's content. 

No, he says abruplty to no one in particular and he rips the glass out of my hand, pulling me up with him. He pulls my face to his in a long, violent kiss and I am walked backwards down the hall to his bedroom, clothes being unbuttoned and left along the way. I am turned and shoved facedown on the blankets and his full weight keeps me there.

Christ, Cale. His hand covers my mouth. I squandered my brief shot at mercy like a goddamn newbie and now it's gone and while Caleb takes what he wants I go to the fair instead. His Christmas lights are the midway decorations to bring the village down at night and his onslaught fades into the background as I whip around the Ferris Wheel, my hair pulling against my backpack, where it was tucked inside the straps. 

Oh, I think I might black out here. I turn to look at Lochlan in the cart beside me but he's gone and I hope he didn't fall out and then I am turned and the hand leaves my face. I take a huge gasp of air and Caleb stands up and is gone. 

Another three minutes and the outer door of his wing closes. And he's gone. I get up shakily and walk down the hall, collecting my dress, my sweater. My tights. The bobby pins that I can find. I put my earrings back on and I put my glass in his bar sink. I dress as fast as I can and run out the door. He is sitting outside on floor outside the door, drinking his whiskey, staring at the wall. 

You know, when you were young I decided I never wanted to try and have the level of responsibility that Lochlan has for you and I never wanted to get married until you needed someone there to take care of you and the good news is that I think I'm back to the former because the latter would be nothing but heartache. 

That's our currency, Diabhal. 

Indeed, Neamhchiontach. 

Does that mean I can go?

You know the drill, Dollface. Run before I try and keep you nonetheless.

He said he was re-adventing himself. Har.

It's just freezing and pouring down sheets of rain today and I love it. We were supposed to get all snow but that's only up at highway levels. Down here on the water it is miserable and glorious all at once. Sam is doing tomorrow and then he's off on sabbatical at last. 

Just a few months. He needs the rest. This pandemic and all of the changes it brought has worn on Sam and he's taking a rest break. He wants to go back renewed and reenergized, not perpetually beaten down with zooms and streams and phone calls and front porch baptisms and field weddings where everyone has to shout and delayed funerals and bullshit orders. It was submitted forever ago. It was approved this morning and he called to tell me from across the driveway and broke down in tears on the phone. 

So I went over and crawled in between them and hung on tight. The feeling is so familiar. The soul is so new.

Eight legs to chase you.

It's hard to believe Christmas is a week from today. Or, Christmas Eve, as that's when we're having our big dinner. I'm excited. I'm thrilled to have a full table this year. All hands on deck. All boats ashore, as it were, since we're bringing the tables in to set up that we use when we have dinner out in the orchard, and every time we talk about it PJ says Spiders! in his Pennywise voice and I laugh but then I wonder. I had a small stepladder outside to help me reach the hanging plants that were too far from the hose to water and when I brought it in for winter to store in the back closet, there was a large crunchy wolf spider chilling under the top step. Where I usually put my other hand. 

I told the spider he was in the right place because this is definitely the wolf den. 

We're not going to talk about why I had no post yesterday. Let's just say it was a very bad day but also I changed my lights on my tiny Jeep to all LED and I made plans to someday fix my defrost when it's warm again. I also dropped a screw. Right in front of the Jeep on the driveway with it's giant grooves for the brickwork and dried leaves stuck to the clay. I couldn't see for shit so Dalton brought out the metal detector and he found it and all was well. I didn't want a screw stuck in a tire this time of year when we tend to go out only when we need to and hardly ever when the weather is bad. Not because we can't but because everyone else insists on trying to get places with summer tires up on the highway and it just isn't worth the stress or the risk. 

Besides. Who would want to leave? The tiny lights are always on, the trees are lit, music plays through the common parts of the house but not in the quiet zones, and we are warm and safe. Ruth comes over to draw, Henry stretches out with his phone and the dog, Duncan is usually sprawled in a chair reading his poetry. Ben stands by the Keurig, sipping his ever-present coffee, lost in thought. Outside the red-haired magician does tricks that leave you gasping, with an audience of no one. I stand nearby, at the ready in case he goes up in flames and I know I'll be (and I have been) burned, but I don't care. I can't take my eyes off him, even as the only time he looks at me is to make sure we're following fire protocol and I'm hoping by Christmas he is speaking to me again or I'll have to turn the spiders on him. 

(Update: he came in laughing because I was singing Line without a Hook at the top of my lungs again. I got a kiss on the head and he asked if I was ready to apologize for yelling at him in my frustration. Of course not, don't be silly. I'll die on this hill, at long last. The largest, scariest wolf waits in the wings to see how it all turns out.)

Back to Blinding Lights on the piano because someone (name starts with L) turned off the wi-fi and it came on promptly at eight. Which is too late, mostly for me to get my writing done (not just here, Jesus) and I walked into the server room at seven, looked around, checked the modem which was flashing and couldn't figure out the power cord or anything and had to leave it in case I screwed up something else (told many times: Don't. Touch. Anything.) but took a moment to appreciate how all the cords are ziptied in organized groups and I had a sudden fleeting thought that I should just burn the whole house down and walk up the road but then I remembered my steps. It's a first world problem. I should just swallow my feelings and distract myself. Everything that is unhealthy for us as humans is conveniently also what keeps us comfortable and most importantly, I'm not going to let him win with an irrational reaction because sometimes saving the day makes him happier than anything in the world. So that's out because I can deny him shit too.