Closures.

Ben and PJ had it out on the lawn this morning while Sam (on his final Sunday off for the year because advent begins next week) stood there supervising them from the safety of the patio steps.

With paintball guns and day-glow orange paintballs.

Oh, and PJ wasn't armed and may have been running away. Because cold paintballs hurt like fuck and PJ may have made the mistake of losing his patience with the endless comments about how he was just like every other man here except possibly more desperate and he told the wrong person to fuck right off already and Ben looked at him quite crossly and put down his coffee and said,

Run. 

Padraig isn't actually stupid so he did. It took Ben a couple minutes to load up and then he was off after PJ, faster than you would think for someone so big and now I have another outfit to soak in the set tub in the laundry room for a few days. Pointlessly, as the paint never comes out completely.

Once PJ made it to the pool Sam suggested to Ben that he give up and maybe try using words instead of paintballs so Ben turned around and shot him in the chest.

(Another outfit to soak. Christ, boys.)

Sam swore at him and Ben cut him off, saying it would be no different had it been Sam in the hotseat and Sam said something about wishing he could be so lucky so Ben shot him in the mouth.

Oh, stop it. He was far enough away. I've eaten many a paintball in my life. Granted, through a mask. With a lot of scared-sounding apologies afterward (Sorry, Bridget! Oh my God! Are you okay? That was supposed to go over your head!)

Sam swore again and turned and went inside. I passed him and went outside to take the gun from Ben (Give me that and maybe you should run before I shoot you too.) and then put the gun in a place they won't find for a bit (no one looks down low) and messaged PJ with an apology for Ben's attack and Sam's apparent initial blindness that morphed into regret.

PJ said it was okay, that he already told Ben he was sorry even though he isn't actually sorry.

I laughed. In spite of myself, I laughed. PJ is human. I'm flattered but also highly aware of the balance of our closeness and the distance that necessitates to succeed. As is he. Now more than ever. Sam? Well, he's a different story. He said some uncharacteristic, inflammatory things, but I'll have to deal with him later when he's in a better mood. Maybe at the end of the paintball gun again, though I prefer the pressure washer. It's messier and sends a message that holds no ambiguity whatsoever. It screams I'm drowning and out of control, instead of Ha, I left a neato color on you! It demands to be dealt with rather than being diffused by moving out of the line of sight. 3000 psi trumps 300 any day of the week.

Sam will agree with me once he is soaked to the skin.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

A little over a month after the acrylic nail tips experiment and my nails are still peeling, thin and weak. My fingertips itch and my hands look like those of a child. Sigh. Daniel said no more nail polish so I dug out the cuticle oil and am religiously using it two or three times a day. This is akin to winters in the prairies when my fingertips would crack and bleed as they dried out in the cold, no matter what I did. Lesson learned. You can try to be perfect looking but if you're Bridget, it's never going to work.

I can distract with cuteness because I am clearly never going to be one of those tall leggy sexy super model type women.

I need to be okay with this and every time I think I am I get waylaid by some weird beauty trend that they all seem to pull off that I can't even remotely navigate, let alone maintain long term.

Like eyelash extensions. Fake nails. Stilettos. Waxing. Running. Very long hair. Diets. Bras. Hosiery. Lace. Body conscious clothing. I don't know. Pick something. I was raised by wolves. I don't know how to be a girl. The only reason I know I'm a girl is that I have an undying love of handbags and everyone always wants to get into my pants.

Narnia, dryer edition.

We woke up to winter today as the usual sandwich made of L&B&B (much to the relief of the whole collective, for whom it is none of their business), to a world of white-frosted everything. My car went away on Monday, as I held out to the very last second with it's riduclous summer tires and lowerable (or maybe that's raisable) wing. It isn't a winter car so it will be stored offsite. I don't think the R8 is either but Caleb persists with it to keep up his Christian Grey vibe or whatever.

It is a hot car. If I could have sex with a car, well, wait a minute, it would be a bright-green Dodge Super Bee with a 440 six pack.

I'm not dumb.

They raised me better than my stories would have you believe, actually and finicky American muscle somehow will always trump reliable German engineering for the cool factor, in the same way FrankenBen trumps everyone else with the sheer expanse of morning wood he wakes up with.

It was not frosted over from the cold. No, it's probably the warmest part of Ben, if I recall, except I don't have to recall, he reminds me right away. Tout de suite. Post haste. He's still mad at me for waking up in PJ's bed, though that's not exactly my fault so it's semi-hate sex which is sadly my favorite kind.

Then he's gone to shower and find Duncan for a meeting and then he's actually going to finish working for the year. His work is akin to self-directed grade school in that they give him a final timeline and he can either do it regularly or wait and get it all done at the end. He waits. He wasn't a good student in school but really none of us were, I don't think, except for Caleb who got good grades to get into law school, and Christian, who's a word nerd like me but he's different because he cares for grammar and doesn't get lost in these crazy run-on sentences like I always seem to because it was always easier for me to write instead of talk.

I was a dreamer in school, which makes sense because I'm a dreamer in life. Instead of focusing on chores I'm looking for the magical worlds past the clothes in the dryer. Instead of paying attention at meetings I'm conjuring stories about the people pouring coffee at the sideboard, or the elevator attendant or maybe the girl I passed walking down the street with her old robin's egg blue wool swing coat on paired with a pretty new pearl-white Dior bag.

Then I realized she was me and I look kind of cute and a little vintage and not very warm in all honesty and probably about to get into trouble because instead of taking this gift back I went and put all my stuff in it and planned a week's worth of outfits around it and decided since it cost around a quarter of what that last bracelet from Tiffany cost I could probably just keep it and soothe the Devil a little bit and everyone's happy.

Well, the Devil is happy because he made a good choice and I didn't take it back and I'm happy because...well, duh. Dior.

But mostly I was happy because I have only three presents left to buy now and then I'm done Christmas shopping. The decorating is coming along. I have my menu plans and wrapping schedule all done and I have set a record in comparison to every other year when I wait too long and then rush around. An old Irish neighbor yelled at me years ago that It's the same feckin' day each year! You know the date! What's the rush?! and she was absolutely right and we've lived by that ever since.

Best of 2015.

When I open my eyes it's to the waning dark, as hints of coral and lavender begin to infiltrate the sky to signify morning and the trees crowd close outside the windows. Yellow walls. A soft pastel shade I chose myself and it's been a long time since I woke up in this room. I can't hear a sound. I close my eyes and almost fall asleep again as his arms tighten around me, pulling me back in close from where his hold had loosened in his sleep.

He ducks his head down against the back of my neck, his lips press against my skin and his breath is cool. He chuckles softly and my eyes fly open.

Oh, fuck, PJ. What time is it?

Time to go back to sleep. Until you hear noise on this level you don't have to get up. 

There will be a witch hunt for me. 

They know where you are. Go back to sleep, Bridget. 

What did you tell them?

Uhh..I told them what happened? That you fell asleep watching Chef's Table with me because pretension makes you groggy and I was going to keep you here until you woke up on your own. Because really, between the pills Loch puts in your food and the ones Caleb puts in your drinks it's a wonder you can ever walk a straight line.

I pull the covers up over my head. This is embarrassing. And also deeply comforting. PJ is a giant teddy bear with his long heavy metal hair, big shoulders and kind eyes. He's the figurative alpha. Absolutely no one ever crosses him or has even tried. Not Caleb, not Cole. Not Jacob. Not Loch. No one fucks with PJ, he's earned our respect a thousand times over.

This might change that though.

What actually happened? 

What the fuck do you mean?

PJ. I'm trying for casual offhandedness and it comes out bewildered. Strangled. Panicky. I point to the chair in the corner by the closet. Those are my clothes, right? Over there? Not actually on me? 

Oh, that.

He gets up (at least SOMEONE remained dressed) and goes over to the chair, picks everything up and tosses it all on the bottom of the bed. I'm going to go start some coffee. You can stay as long as you like. He winks and shoots an imaginary gun at me and turns to leave.

PJ. You leave this room and I'm never speaking to you again! 

Aw, come on, Bridge. I just remembered that you don't like clothes on when you sleep so I figured you'd be more comfortable without them. I should have put a shirt or something on you. I didn't think it was a big deal. Well, I didn't. Until I saw..Uh. Want coffee? 

Saw what?

Nothing. You've ah...got a lot more tattoos since we had our weekend together. 

That was seven years ago, Peej. And you've seen me in a bathing suit since then. Multiple times.

Yep. That's a long time. I mean...up close.

Almost a decade, I suppose.

Almost, Bridget. 

Padraig?

Yes?

Did you cop any feels?

Yes, ma'am. I couldn't help myself.

Which ones?

All of them. You think Ben or Lochlan will kill me first, before the other resurrects me to kill me again?

They won't mind. It's you. 

Huh?

You can get away with things no one else can. You're untouchable. Invaluable. 

Oh, you tell me that NOW. Would have been nice to know that yesterday. 

Wow.

I know. I'm grossing myself out right now. Get out of my bed and dressed. It's your turn to make scrambled eggs. And I can't believe I just said that. Who tells you to get out of their bed? I must be unwell. Maybe you should make the coffee too. Or just stay here. Don't leave. We'll order out.

To drive home his point he pushes all my clothes off the bed onto the floor where I can't reach them.

PJ, give me those. 

You can get them. 

I'm not getting out of this bed with you here.

Then I have won the day. 

(Update: Internet outrage continues on. Christ, people. Stop emailing me to yell about PJ now. I told you a decade ago that the affection levels in my house are neither appropriate nor normal. Kind of like me. That's why no one here on the point is surprised, but everyone off the point is.)

Or you could just come back to me. 

He has his hands in his pockets, facing the window so I can't read his expression.

You're so busy sizing up your next conquests you don't even see the obvious solution. It doesn't have to be public. It wasn't, once upon a time. Let them think they know everything, let them think they can find out whatever secrets they assume I have and meanwhile we can pick up where we last left off. 

He finally turns to look at me and I'm somehow immune to his Jeffrey-Dean gaze.

He points at me and nods. Oh, you're only immune because you're tired and because they drug your food. 

Diabhal-

Neamhchiontach, DON'T. Don't come in here and be sweet and innocent and act like the world is such a wonderful place. It isn't. Humans aren't Good People, Baby, they're miserable, selfish fucks and if you can make this spinning blue ball a little less miserable for me and get something out of it for yourself then what's the harm in it? Where's the harm? He resumes his gaze out the window.

You're such a romantic. 

I'm allowed precious little time to practice it, but I think you would be impressed these days. 

Another time, Diabhal. 

I know. I'm thinking New Year's, hopefully sooner. You're a little ticking time-bomb and I'm no longer the big bad wolf. I'm just a lonely guy with a lot of assets. He chuckles and comes over to me. Indulge an old man in a shared drink? 

I have to check. 

With whom? 

August. 

Oh, well, then I guess that's a no if you're still waiting for permission from the closest thing you can get to Jake. 

I bite my lip while he stares and make a decision I will just pay for later. Not like going anywhere else for company will make the day better, may as well stick with the familiar.

Okay, one drink. Then I need to go. 

Or what, Princess?

Or Loch will get mad. 

He'll turn red, catch fire and then melt like wax the minute you turn those eyes on him. I wouldn't worry about breaking his rules if he's not going to have a suitable punishment. 

I'm a grown woman, there is no punishment. 

You're a child to him. He'll ground you, maybe take away your computer and then you'll charm him back in out of the cold and we'll go around in circles again. 

Or maybe he'll kill you. 

I'm not worried about that, Bridget. His bark was always worse than his bite. He doesn't like conflict. He just wants a simple life with you, on the beach near the fair. 

And I gave him the circus instead. 

That's what he gets for trying to kick it up a notch, doesn't he? 

With very few exceptions.

(Cravings are stupid. That's why three is such a magic number. Without including myself, I mean. Hey, you wanted honesty, well, that's why I write the way I do. I could make myself look good but that wouldn't be fair OR true.)

It's a new day, right? That's what Ben says almost every single morning. So far PJ refused to take me for a walk on the beach even though I got up and put on lined jeans and a big sweater and made a thermos of tea, Lochlan got bombarded with work contracts and one very surprising side gig, Ben took Duncan and Sam to a meeting because Sam is fucking losing it and I had a window of opportunity that allowed me to present myself in Batman's front hall at nine sharp.

Where New-Jake wandered in in pajama pants and I kind of almost bit my tongue to poker-face myself into the expressionless championships. So what does he do? Stands there asking me what I'm up to.

(Obviously not working out like you are, I'm thinking but Batman saves me. He makes New-Jake look like a forbidden teenager and FUCK I'm a cougar here but Batman ratchets me easily back into handsome sugar-daddy territory simply by shooting a cuff to check his watch.

Early for you, isn't it? I'm happy to see you. Join me for coffee?

But the fledgling outrage is already rolling through me and I'm not in the mood. Early? What the fuck, I get up at five or six seven days a week. 

Oh, I wasn't aware. 

Yeah, you were. Pure carny belligerence is taking over. I always forget I'm a lady because it's usually hard to pretend. Thanks for the coffee invite but I can't today. 

Plans?

Lockdown. I just needed to know what's up.

New-Jake is standing there smiling innocently at me. Was he always this good-looking? Someone shoot me, please. Batman stares at him too. Probably not with the same ideas in mind and New-Jake is slow to clue in. Oh. Hey, I gotta go get ready. See you later, Bridget. He grins and disappears down the hall.

Batman looks at me and smiles like a cat who has caught his canary.

What are you thinking, Princess?

I'm curious about your message. 

Oh. It's not for you to worry about quite yet. 

I didn't ask you to dig around under Caleb. 

It's something I would have done anyway. I don't need any un-audited surprises in my life. 

Caleb operates above board. 

Professionally..

It's none of your business to be poking into his private life right now.

Sure it is. I have an interest in seeing that he doesn't pull anything when it comes to you. And since his business interests are closely tied to his arrangements with you it's inevitable that the two paths will cross. 

I didn't ask you for this! 

You don't have to. We look out for you. If you think I'm the only one-

Who else?

I get a list. Half surprises, half confirmations. I don't say anything.

He is well aware that he is closely monitored. It's not as if we're sneaking around, but I have some concerns that will eventually be confirmed, I think. 

Is this something I need to worry about?

As I said, not yet. 

Then for Gods' sakes keep it to yourself. I'm trying to keep from drowning here. 

Then consider me the lifeguard on duty. You sure I can't convince you to join me for a quick breakfast? I know how you like big breakfasts. 

I already ate. (LIES) But thank you. 

How are you going to spend your morning? 

I dunno. (Oh, thank God he CAN'T read my mind at all. It's a traitorous monster right now and I have just enough shame to be offended by my own thoughts about his housemate.) Probably going to go home and take a shower. 

To warm up?

To cool off, actually. 

Oh he knows. He's laughing at me with his eyes. Nice. And I bet if I asked New-Jake would go for a walk on the beach with me. Hell, with a word he would do whatever I asked him to, but like I said I'm a lady so I'd better keep my distance for now.

My mailman has recovered from his nervous breakdown and other Monday tales.

I'm bigger than my body
I'm colder than this home
I'm meaner than my demons
I'm bigger than these bones

My mailman HATES me. After I decided he was inept and unprofessional (no uniform, no badge, nothing, driving a filthy little sedan that seemed to be full of garbage and practically snarling at me every time a package was brought to the house), he disappeared for most of the fall and surfaced today, driving a clean sedan, in uniform and with a smile on his face, as he greeted me and chit-chatted about the shitty weather while he tried to get the packages to scan.

Rehab? Fell in love, maybe? I have no idea. It's just great to get packages again without having to pull them from a snarling void.

We get a lot of mail. This is important.

Caleb also seemed to recover from what seemed to be a panic attack last evening. He got very pale and short of breath and it occurred right in the middle of a fresh tear-down with Ben, who jumped in with both feet after Caleb lobbed a shitty comment at Lochlan about not being able to afford a real trip and Lochlan said something awful in return that I won't even repeat and Ben said it was nice to get away and be in the present without any history in the way.

Or any future, Caleb interjected, because it's not like you two are going to have one with her.

Cue a shoving match, a freshly cracked glass door and maybe I should be the one having a nervous breakdown.

But he gave in so fast and sat down on the back steps and just asked everyone to stop.

That's my cue to lose my mind but he swore he was fine, just tired. Didn't sleep with me away. Worried about my safety and my psychological comfort.

Man, they don't like it when I travel with anyone other than whoever is worrying, do they?

Well, you can rest easy now. I'm home and I'm fine. 

I guess I don't have to worry about any more trips in your future, as it will take Pyro another decade to save for one. 

Don't be an asshole. 

Why not?! He is! 

Wow. You sounded sixteen for a minute there. 

I certainly don't feel it these days, that's for certain. 

***

Five gifts left to buy and I'm fucking DONE Christmas shopping. Done and done.

So happy. Been at it since Labour Day.

Don't act offended, there are only thirty-eight days left!

(I only have eighteen thousand things coming in the mail though, that's why I was so happy to see that my mailman got his shit together finally. Last year I was too afraid to order much of anything at all.)

***

Neat cryptic message from Batman over the weekend as well, and I still can't get ahold of him to find out what it means. Digging. Good news. Someone's full of shit. No worries.

I hate it when people say No worries. It's artificial and flippant. It's usually reserved for stupid things like if I apologize after I ask for an extra topping on a pizza I just ordered that's already been rung through or if we can move tables after being seated in a high-traffic area at a restaurant. As if they have nothing at stake and are trying to talk me off the ledge but they don't actually care. I fucking hate it. Say it to me and I'm liable to rip your face off and shove it down the hole I just made.

Can't wait to see him, in other words.  No worries, indeed.

Pancakes for everyone.

Home too late for church but Sam said he would lecture me later, as he had his hands full with the children all weekend, not that he minded, exactly. That's a long story for tomorrow, for today I'm still on a cloud.

The best moment of the whole thing was when Ben held up his glass of orange juice (because he didn't want the fake champagne because that's like a vegetarian eating wannabe-weiners, he said) and said simply Happy four years. You guys make me so happy. His face held nothing but joy and both Lochlan and I felt our eyes welling up and then my nose started to run and my words left my brain. Because yeah. If Ben is happy it seems like everybody is happy. If he is happy the world is good.

I held up my glass and looked at Ben and said simply, I love you. Then I looked at Lochlan and said I love you and I watched as their eyes misted over something fierce and they returned my words to me so I can keep them forever.

We clinked our glasses again and then Lochlan said about seven hundred words in a mix of Romanian and Gaelic and I had no idea what he said but his eyes were red and streaming by the end of it and he wiped the back of his hand under his nose and looked at the floor and I understood his words without knowing what they were and Ben put his hand out on Loch's shoulder and drew him closer and we stayed like that for a long time with me in the middle but not. All threequal. Even. You know what I mean.

This weekend was sorely needed, a respite from routine and from people too. Not saying the boys aren't very respectful of space and time but sometimes you just....need to sleep until five o'clock without people gingerly knocking on the door asking you if you want anything, if you're okay. Sometimes you want to wander into the kitchen in your cashmere underpants that fit so perfectly it might be criminal and hold the fridge door open to see what might be good without someone yelling at you to close the door, already. Or Put on some clothes!

(The kitchen was very well-appointed if we wanted to cook for ourselves. We didn't, but I got admiring looks for standing in front of that fridge door anyway. Ben asked why I didn't do that at home and I just stared at him with horror until I dissolved into laughter because he never did understand why, even after being reminded that the three of us share our house with eight other people. He was still sweet about it though. So? he said and smiled at me widely.)

Lochlan asked me what I wanted for dinner and I was quick to answer. Pizza! Pizza for everyone. Pizza in bed. He laughed too and asked what it is about pizza I love so much when I'm away from home and I never know the answer to that other than it's always different and always good and I'm not irrational or elitist but very down to earth and easy to please. (The other dinner was pancakes because that's what we had for our wedding dinner. Because..oh my God. Pancakes. I don't have to explain. They're delicious.)

Wonder where I got that from? I poke him and he laughs. He is relaxed away from the Devil. Calm and pragmatic and silly all at the same time. He slept well over both nights (when I let him) and there didn't seem to be any jealousy issues. They took turns. They were affectionate with each other. They talked a lot but they also kept the conversation in the moment. We didn't bring up the past. We didn't plot into the future. We just focused on right-now, right-then.

But mostly we slept.

And it was probably to keep up our strength and fortify our resources for the next round of whatever's coming. Which is probably a good thing because one never wants to go through a rough period OR a war already exhausted and weakened. It's better this way.

You want to be strong.

You want to be ready. 

Four for three in two because one.

The trip for our anniversary has indeed been rescheduled and we're leaving in a couple of hours (!), just as soon as we get the children settled in for their weekend of pizza, video games and movies with Caleb, who has his turn anyway this weekend to choose activities and Henry likes camping at Dad's house. Ruth loves that she can watch any horror movie she wants and stay up as late as she wants.

I want to tell her that's how the Devil operates, he gives you anything you want in exchange for your soul, but really that isn't what he's doing, he already has the soul he wants, he just wants to be the 'fun' dad with all the lax rules where Lochlan is still prone to yell Eat your vegetables! across the table when the dinner noise reaches full throttle and she attempts to be excused with half a plate left in front of her.

No one's going to miss us, in other words, not even PJ, who is looking forward to an extended break. The only one I worry about is Sam, who doesn't really cook or eat anymore unless you put something directly in front of him and is on shaky ground as of late with Matt gone but Duncan and August both promised to draw him out and at least keep an eye on him.

Otherwise every last one of them was all smiles and encouragement. Go. Have fun. Get rest. Reconnect. Enjoy! The same words over and over.

We do need this. We get lost. We pick sides. We forget that it isn't two or twenty or the past or the future. It's three and it's now. It's us. It's this. I'm so excited I could burst. I've seen some pictures of where we're going and it's somehow cozy and incredibly luxurious at the same time. I hope it's nice.

Happy fourth to us. We packed non-alcoholic champagne and sparklers. And hardly any clothes.

Snort.

(Schuyler and Daniel are going to see Matthew Good this weekend in place of Caleb and I. That works out a little better than our original plans, in all honesty and they are really looking forward to it while Lochlan breathes a big long sigh of relief. He didn't plan it this way though, the resort had a cancellation and called to offer us the weekend on short notice so we said hell, yeah and here we go. Storm and all.)

A world covered in bees.

I see you returned the bracelet. I got an email for the credit to my account and you aren't wearing it so I supposed this is a lesson learned. 

The lesson being not to buy expensive jewelry for other people's wives?

No, I should have gotten it engraved. Then you wouldn't have been able to return it. 

I think I have enough monogrammed things. 

An army, if I recall correctly. 

I do actually. He's not being generous. Most of the boys have a B tattooed somewhere. It's like playing Where's Waldo? (Maybe that's Where's Bridget?) when I find it tucked into the design on inked sleeves or worn brazenly on the chest like a shield. Gage wears his coyly, in his knuckle tattoos that, when held together, spells B-I-G-B-R O-T-H-E-R which is sweet (he is Schuyler's older brother) but also hilarious because his left hand, when held alone, says OTHER. I always tell him he didn't think it through, though he says it's fine. (The boys call him their 'other' brother, a nod to Neil Gaiman's Other Mother character in Coraline.)

The Devil sighs and puts his hand out for mine, lifting it up and putting it in his coat pocket, still holding it, so I'll be warm. I didn't think I would need gloves for this early Remembrance Day ceremony but it's freezing. My ears are red from the cold and he squeezes my fingers and says we'll go get breakfast once this is over. He was invited to this, one of a long list of local business people. I'm the assistant today, the plus-one. And yet he doesn't seem to care that people near to us are openly staring at the fact that he is holding his assistant's hand. He will pass it off as his freezing sister-in-law. What a great excuse.

When the silence ends he lets my hand go and we head to a favorite brunch place. It's exceedingly busy yet they find a table for two in the back, probably paid for with a fifty or maybe even more, I ignore these things and wait in line unless he is here. The table is quiet and sunny but not glaring and he quickly orders plates for each of us and hot coffee. Not just coffee but hot coffee as if there is a difference.

While I wonder what he ordered for me, he wonders how I plan to keep him close exactly. How long I'll hold out on him. How long I might use him by stringing him along telling him he isn't banished from my heart exactly until I figure out my next move or simply wait him out.

Henry will be eighteen in a little over 1300 days.

Maybe I can wait that long. Or, you know, maybe not.

The food arrives just as he's reading my mind, his face fighting to remain neutral in expression. He ordered matching Monte Cristos and fruit. God, sometimes he gets everything right though. Feed Bridget and she's yours.

At least until the next meal.