The tin girl (who already had a heart so she wished for a brain instead).

Oh, don't mind me. I was spraying painting some old picture frames out on the far lawn. I put down newspaper weighted with small rocks and I grabbed my trusty chrome and copper metallic krylon cans and went to town. I was having a good time, holding each frame up by one corner so I could get the inside edges and outside all the way around and then I laid them flat to dry. An hour later, same deal on the back side of each frame. 

They're now having a final cure up on the porch floor by the patio doors so I figured it's a good time to go clean up as my hands are bright silver up to the wrists. 

And the nail polish remover didn't work. 

Neither did the paint thinner. 

I think I should have learned my lesson with that oil-based exterior paint that time but apparently I HAVE NOT.

(Also I have pretty silver rocks in the corner of the yard now which is really neat looking, truth be told.)

Hoarding daylight.

Dalton and Duncan are making a farmhouse breakfast for the whole point this morning. Baked beans, scrambled eggs, toast, super-thick bacon and fruit bowls and coffee and juice and I am here for it. Pastries too because we have scones and croissants to use up and then we are doing a major rain-gardening event today. That's where you garden in the rain, if you were wondering. It's a bit messy but the ground is soft, the plants are happy and if you leave everything on the lawn afterward you can go back the next day and all the shovels, rakes and claws are clean so you don't have to waste water hosing everything off and waiting for it all to dry before putting it away. Saves a step, if you will. 

Also nothing beats coming inside and changing into dry clothes and warming up by the fire so that's maybe the best part. Maybe we'll order pizzas tonight too and just have a quiet day catching up. I am still exhausted from the wedding whirlwind and still in awe that Ruth is married and so my brain has been drifting along on auto-pilot since. Lochlan too, though he did take my phone away since Caleb won't stop messaging me and he stuffed it in a drawer I can't reach in the walk-in closet and then for good measure took the little wooden stool away. 

He asked me to not reply if I need my phone back, which I do. If Ruthie messages me to go to Marshalls with her I need to know, you know? Then I will load up on handbags and everything will be well. A handbag addiction is an attempt to organize your life, or so I've been told and I'm terrible at it, I guess. Maybe a Longchamp or a Gucci would change that, right? Oh, probably not, but a girl can try. Valentino will look smashing with my new button fly jeans and my twenty-year old Switchfoot t-shirt, right? Right? 

Of course it will. Valentino looks good with everything. 

Not like I'm going anywhere though so maybe just a Longchamp, but only if the leather ones aren't heavy. I have a Rogue bag by Coach that I can barely lift and need to sell but I also want to keep it because it's easy to organize. And it fits my laptop and my ipad. So there. 

I also have a bag coming from overseas presently. So excited. 

Give me a break, it's the only vice I have left, if you don't count men.

Can't feel my fingers.

Today we got matching button-fly jeans (not matching inseam sizes, SIGH) and yaki veg noodles from my favourite Japanese chef and I made Lochlan listen to the whole new Stray Kids EP and I contemplated getting a pair of bonded cats that were in the window of the pet shelter but I just lost a cat and it's too soon and also I think when all the pets are gone, and Henry has moved out and I have given away all my plants too and reassigned anything that is dependent on me I will sleep for a whole week and get up for nothing. 

I'll let the laundry pile up and the groceries run out. I will read every book on my nightstand (Lochlan's nightstand. There is no middle nightstand in a poly bed) and watch every dumb show. I will not speak to anyone except for the kids and I will catch up on all the sleep I ever missed all at once.

This will never work. Someone will do the laundry for me, PJ and Ben keep the grocery shopping under control, Dalton loves the plants, and I am slow to read easily and every day. I also have that speed-mouth thing where if I go too long without talking I will catch you up on my thoughts in seconds with a manic verbal-diarrhea event of epic proportions. It's weird. I'M weird. So it makes sense. 

Going to spend my Saturday night drinking ice water and watching the second season of Bling Empire. What are you all doing?

Perfectly normal conversation save for the fact that one of us is dead and I'm not sure which one.

I think you were better before he came back. 

That was before people died. Things are different now. 

Yes but you were navigating life with more confidence then. Now you shake almost all the time. You don't do anything without permission or approval. 

Lochlan would not agree with you-

He never agreed with me about anything anyway. But we do have something big in common. 

The kitchen table-

No, we both want you away from Caleb. 

I don't want that. 

That isn't you talking, it's the abuse he inflicted on you. 

Yeah, well, it's not like it's a separate entity. It's part of me now. 

Does it have to be, Princess?

If I want to keep him in my life it does. 

Cut him loose and save yourself. 

It's too late for that-

It's never too late for that.

If he left forever it would be like he was dead too and I can't do that. I can't-

Like everyone else, those who are gone are still part of you. They shape who you have become. 

Now you're contradicting yourself.  

Am I? Oh, I am, I guess. I just want to give you permission. 

I take a bite of my ham sandwich. The wind whips all around me and I shiver. It's so cold today but I am promising myself a picnic a week and it's the only dry day we're going to get. I stare at Jacob but he is hard to focus on because my eyes keep swimming and then dry in the wind and then swim again. 

Permission? 

Since you seem to look for it. Permission to let him go. You don't have to keep everyone. He will probably flourish too, just like you will without him-

I fall apart without him. 

Maybe at first but eventually it will be easier. 

In fifteen years like with you? Be careful with your answer here and remember I have known Caleb since I was eight years old. 

I wish I had done things differently. 

Me, too. 

I should have killed him but I was trying to keep God in my heart when I spoke to him. 

God likes to throw punches though, huh. I laugh in spite of myself and Jacob frowns. I can see my Jeep right through his face. Wow, this sucks. 

I should have said it was an accident but then I wouldn't have been able to live with mys-

I choke suddenly, rush to climb down off the wall, gather my lunch and my book and run up the hill. It's too cold suddenly and too hard to be out here and PJ was right. I should eat by the fire. 

I get a glass of water and then for good measure finish Lochlan's tea. He is amused and waits until I am finished. 

Did Jacob at least try to talk you out of letting Caleb come back? 

Yes. 

Good. He is relieved. At least now someone's on my side here.

Exponents, opponents, moments.

Caleb's penalty was a million dollars and a thirty-day break. Batman said it will double for every infraction going forward. This sounds like a Lochlan-plan but Batman will always offer to be the bad guy (the worst guy) if it means Lochlan can get ahead by an inch or two and so I dutifully nodded and then tried very hard not to laugh in his face because this is ludicrous. He is my boyfriend. We can't play the revisionist history game. We just need a cage for his head so he can't bite me when he loses it but then all I can think of is the Jackal in Thirteen Ghosts and I would just scream and scream. 

They won't listen in that the longer we spend apart, the more violent our reunions. They don't understand how much he aches alone and how easy it is to placate him once he's had a recent taste. They seem to forget so easily that my brain and my heart will only willingly work together if everyone is home and safe and this isn't going to work at all. 

But for Lochlan I would do anything, including rip out my heart, handing it to him with my last breath if only he asked. 

I wish Diabhal knew that, Lochlan says.

(He does. That's the problem.)

Anyway, he comes back June tenth and it could have been worse. PJ's plan was to vice Caleb's head in the garage on the workbench and pull all his teeth out with pliers. They were lining up to help. Fucking barbarians, here. 

Yes, WE are the barbarians, Ben says, not kindly either.

All the eggs in one nest.

Super hardcore drugs now to the point of ambivalence even if my dress were on fire and the plan is the same as before, only with tweaks now to fill in the holes left before, a pattern of errant gunfire blasting through our thin facade of normalcy, a street war waged with hearts soaked in gasoline and sparked on the crooked pavement, thrown through the windows, lighting our world on fire.

This morning PJ was upstairs packing a bag. Caleb's bag. With his laptop and chargers and clothes and his hard drives, a few toiletries and some other highly precious and needful things. It's being delivered to wherever he is right now, as he didn't return yesterday and I'm thinking we're going to do another drought, another vacation from each other until tempers around here lose their lava-glow and everyone remembers that I have a preference and that is that I prefer Caleb to be here, with us and not Elsewhere. 

It's punishment that's almost worse for me and I didn't do anything wrong here, unless wrong is a term you draw a line in the sand with, catching on the g and just glancing through until it digs deep on the end of that pesky w, and then well, I can't help you. We have an arrangement. Or rather, an agreement. 

Right now you and he have nothing, Lochlan reminds me as I am pulled along to see off Caleb's things as they depart with the courier, who will put it directly in Caleb's hands. He can't be that far, then. 

The rain starts to beat against the glass as we run back into the house and my phone beats a single heartbeat against my dress pocket. I know it's Caleb but I will wait until later to look at what he has to say. For now I am to listen to Lochlan because the shots are something he feels the need to call. I know he's running out of patience, and that Caleb has broken every simple easy rule Lochlan has given him. I don't know if I can blame him for the way he feels but I also know there's no twelve-step plan for being addicted to the Devil.

Sticking points (in my soul).

The pretenses were dropped over breakfast as I was washing a pan in the sink and I felt a rumble and turned in time to see Lochlan lunge at Caleb, who pushed his cup away as he backed off from the table and it splashed against PJ's back as he threw himself in between. 

PJ is fine. Luckily Caleb will sip his coffee even after it's cold. One of the rare things we have in common. He switched to instant too. He's not all that picky, in the end. 

Dalton has Lochlan by the arms at this point as PJ swears the instant the cold liquid soaks into his shirt. 

Just let me get one good one in-

Locket-

Bridget, stop defending him! 

Go. I look at Caleb and he looks defeated and rights his cup on the table before striding out of the room. I hear the chimes as the door opens and closes and then the soft hum of his vehicle driving up past the house. Only then does Lochlan relax enough that they let go of him. 

What did he say to you? I'm talking to Lochlan but looking at Dalton and PJ. PJ heads away down the hall as well, to change his shirt, and Dalton points at us as he backs toward the downstairs steps. 

If you need me, yell. 

I nod and turn back to Lochlan, waiting for his answer. 

I'm not a rat, Peanut. 

I need to know. 

Why? There are no dealbreakers with this guy for you. What difference does it make? As long as the money keeps pouring in you let him do whatever he wants. I didn't raise you to be like this. The money isn't supposed to be the important part in life. 

It's punishment. I'm taking it all. 

He's GOOD at money, Bridget. He never seems to run out. How much is enough? Take that and cut him loose. 

I want all of it. 

The irony here is the cost to you. And the cost to all of us. I don't think we can afford to have him so close any more. When is this going to be enough? Just answer the question.

I don't have to iron any shirts this time.

It's easier to iron things just before they are worn because when they're in closets, jam-packed against other things they wrinkle so easily. 

I wore my striking green dress, it's too big and too long but it somehow worked and I wore my emerald earrings and I carried the cake down and then set it up and everyone kept coming up all day saying You made that? 

Yes, it's a weird rare side-hustle and this was the most stressful cake I have ever made, because it was for Ruth's wedding. 

No pressure. 

(She loved it.)

The wedding was so beautiful. SO beautiful. Of course I cried. I still can't believe she is married. I can't believe she grew up and it took forever and then suddenly she was there, a woman standing next to me, drinking her champagne after the toast. Being charming and shy at the same time, like Lochlan. 

Just like Lochlan. The red curls, the endless freckles, the easy jokes, putting everyone into a relaxed mood as we watched the ceremony and then took photos, and then the reception was well underway by mid afternoon and I was underfed, dehydrated and a little bit good-drunk by ten. It was so beautiful. The skies opened up multiple times and we ran through the rain in the grass with umbrellas. Lochlan lit the torches and gas firepits with magic and we warmed ourselves near to them all evening. We marveled at how this tiny dynamo turned into such an accomplished young woman, now a bride. 

We're still doing that, to be honest and it's a feeling that doesn't seem to want to leave me. 

My dress survived, my shoes did not, the pictures are incredible (and those are just the ones we took, not including the photographer). The suits survived, the umbrellas did not, the champagne never ran out but we also had none left, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house. I've never seen so many grown men sobbing openly as Ruth took her place in front of her groom. He is a good man too, and cares for her in a way I couldn't have even imagined, and she is so happy. He is happy too. 

They left on their honeymoon early yesterday morning. I had to tell her to stop texting me and go enjoy life twice already. 

I am happy too. I am insanely tired.

She's like a pet. I think I'll name her Bex.

Happy birthday to me! I took the dog outside in between baking sessions and I'm glad I did-sometimes I just open the door and let him go wander for ten minutes but I like the rain (a lot) and so did the bear the size of my Jeep that was lumbering around the backyard. I opened my mouth in a quiet O and scooped the dog back up and then stood to watch as the bear wandered up the driveway around the corner and then lumbered back down. As she came down I backed around the patio and up the steps, put the dog inside and just waited by the door, hand on the handle, dog waiting inside wondering why his trip out was cut so short. As the bear came back around the corner to the backyard, Lochlan pushed the door open all the way and took my hand. 

Your birthday bear, he said softly. Come inside, Bridget. 

In a minute, I say, not looking away.

Now, he says.

I had a wonderful pre-birthday celebration since tomorrow is a wedding baking day. We had chicken pot pie and ice cream cake and I opened presents from everyone and everything was a perfect gift and I love everything so much. I'm about to have a third piece of cake and then maybe a walk around the neighborhood to burn it off before dark and then a good nights sleep and it's all hands on deck for tomorrow. We bake tomorrow and decorate on Friday and also have to decorate the arbour, tent and tables. I'm so excited. SO excited.