Hello 2017.

What a gift. What potential and hope resting in a number.

Let me go boys let me go
Push my boat from the highest cliff to the sea below
Rocks are waiting boys rocks await
Swoop down from the sky and catch me like a bird of prey

Now my feet won't touch the ground
Now my head won't stop
You wait a lifetime to be found
Now my feet won't touch the ground

Ben's way is best. Stand on the telescope platform in the pouring rain and sing out loud to whatever's in the headphones. Singing into the void of fog has a meaning I can't even articulate to you on this day.

2016 wasn't easy. I turned a corner with grief still skulking behind me like a mugger, ready to take everything of value from me but it seems like it's not breathing down my neck in quite the same way anymore but I'll never let my guard down, I promise. Credit to Sam and to August who have been tireless, putting up with my creative dissonance to everything they suggest and my inappropriate distractions, too. We persevered. We made it somewhere.

I rarely summoned the ghosts to come hang out in the garage.

Once again, I didn't go to Burning Man.

I had the Lizard King to myself for a brief moment and he turned out to be even cooler and more foreboding than I expected. We're still friends but I can't sleep with him. He's the big brother I worship and that's where we work best.

Ben and I sorted out what sort of relationship we have and we're happier than ever. He's more relaxed. He's creative. He's not fighting life all the time. He risked a lot for me and I will forever spoil him with whatever his heart desires for the rest of my life for what he did.

I married Lochlan. Best day of my life. We rode the Wonder Wheel forever. Our vows were too deep to avoid falling into and we wound up falling into a hole no one wants out of. He's grown the most this year, shifting from selfish to helpish, as we like to say. Maturing past his belligerent seventeen-year-old outlandish self into a calmer though still mischievous version of that boy and I think I'm more in love with him than I ever was.

And Caleb is back in my life, bringing a whole new black-tie, white shirted level of chivalry and formality to the table that I missed dearly. I feel like I can say what I want finally. I can say I am afraid of him sometimes. I can say I'm angry that he stole critical, pivotal things from me at a time when I needed them most. I can say I vilified him when maybe it wasn't what it seemed. I can admit I hid behind unfortunate numbers and legal technicalities to torture him for our inability to hold to a promise I didn't even make and I can look at him and sometimes see nothing but Cole in his eyes, in the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he touches me when he's being kind but I can also hold my own here and he knows his place in this version of our lives. The one that starts at midnight. The one with a different number on the end.

Happy New Year. May it be what you want from it, may it bring you peace. Fuck you, may it bring ME peace. That's what I need now. Not just for me but for the Collective too.

I'm only telling you this because I liked the sandwich part.

My memory thief sleeps while I watch him. He has no idea that I just snuck into his rooms while he slept. I could rob him blind or stab him or maybe just steal all of my memories back but it seemed more peaceful to hide up here, at the top of the front staircase past his little den packed with books about world religions and his endless notebooks and in his room, proper, with the rough plaid blanket he loves so much covering him from his chin to his toes. He looks so cozy.

The blinds are open, his windows overlook the woods in the front of the house. The trees are still laced through with snow, the snow still threatens to remain until 2017 and my memories are still safely locked up, held by him, just like the little copper box with the bird and everything Jacob ever wrote down because it's been said that just glancing at his handwriting can send me into a tailspin so fast you might lose your hands trying to stop me.

I must have lost my train of thought or maybe I didn't have a ticket because when I look back at him he is awake and gazing at me, not really seeing me but probably wondering if he is really awake or still sleeping.

What's wrong? he asks.

Nothing. I like your view. 

Ah. You don't have this from the library? 

Not at treetop level.

I see. Where's Loch?

Also sleeping. 

Ben? 

Sleeping too.

I figured you'd keep your polysandwichery going until noon. What gives? 

I just needed to think. 

Heavy decisions, Bridget. 

It's for the best. 

Best for whom? 

Me. Caleb. I don't know. Lochlan said to be selfish. It's the most he's ever asked of me. 

But he asked anyway. 

He knows me better than I know myself. 

But he doesn't have all the answers so here you are. 

Fortune tellers and their crystal balls aren't real, Sam. 

Did you have your fortune told, Bridget? 

I did. 

And what did it say? 

That I would be loved by many yet kept by few. That passion would fire me and the sea would lull me to sleep. That things would never be exactly as I wish and that I would always want for more. And that I should watch out for the accountant because he tends to short the pay on the last day of each month.

So tell me exactly how that isn't real, Bridget? 

I don't want for any more than this, Sam. I really don't. 

What about if Jake were still here?

But he's not. He's now a fairytale. 

Are you the princess?

Sometimes. And sometimes I'm the monster.

Or maybe you are just as God intended. 

God's a real prankster, isn't he?

One hundred and ten percent.

I might have worked today so if you see an album cover in the future featuring a photograph of a lady in a fur coat and seventies (we're talking high-waisted ivory bikini with orange and green flowers YES) bathing suit with a martini glass and sunglasses sitting on a lawn chair in a pool full of snow..well, it's me! And it's my pool!

It isn't my lawn chair (we don't have those seventies webbing finger pinch-traps thank God), my fur coat (I don't own a fur coat but I have several fur blankets I love to roll around on naked) or my martini glass (I don't have any of those either. We use those fat IKEA juice glasses for fucking EVERYTHING because I'm not only hella lazy but super-thrifty, having grown up poor, in a camper with two plastic Tupperware cups for drinkware, total. Lochlan's cup was red, mine was green.). I learned to be a minimalist but I learned to be an exhibitionist too and today was one of the most fun work days in recent memories. Trust me. The martinis were real, dirty and somewhat endless. The crew was a riot in spite of the light rain. The coat smelled funny but kept me warm and the lights melted the snow, which necessitated men with wheelbarrows fetching more from all four corners of the property and finally we were done. Which means they took my chair, coat and glass and I kept my sunglasses on right up until it started to rain again and Corey came back with a big fat cheque dated 2016. Now I have to file income taxes.

Just kidding. I have to file them anyway because I worked a few times this year. Mostly for Corey, since I didn't work for Caleb conventionally and Batman really didn't need me at all but provided a modest retainer for no reason other than he feels that he must. I don't plan to work for Caleb either now that we're back on, in case you think he's using me for tax preparation. Luke will look after that.

I'm really just for show. Days like this prove it. They feel somewhat surreal.

Lets be adults: 2017 edition.

The magic words are awesome: Please.

For Christmas I asked for the Devil.

(It was harder than it seems. Not only for me but for Loch.)

Not that it's any of anyone's business how or with whom I conduct my life but things weren't working without him in this place. I missed him something awful. I'm just damaged enough to still need him and just stupid enough to still want him. Plus not sure if anyone ever notices but everyone is a lot happier when he is happy. And when he's happy he's not flipping tables, levelling threats and brandishing weapons. Caleb has no in-between. He has nothing or he has everything and that includes moods, emotions, reactions, cash. It's the way it is. The C_____ brothers were known for their passion, or maybe just the trouble it got them into.

So I took my Christmas campaign to Lochlan. Since he was feeling generous and confident after the Sam-thing. He isn't going to lose me to anyone. Since I really didn't want to waste another minute trying everything short of that coveted lobotomy to fix things here. Since it IS Christmas.

But I didn't just ask for contraband quality time with Caleb. I asked for them to clear the air. To make up and move on. If I was the wedge driven between them then I will also be the glue to seal the rift. The original deal between them goes back into force (sharing is caring) and they can both look after me if they want. No one gets to fight for time since I decide. If it comes down to priority, Lochlan wins because I say he does. He remains the Alpha. The husband. Caleb remains the Sugar Daddy everyone adores. Caleb continues to do what he's always wanted to do, provide for us. All of us. And in return he gets time with me. I don't have to be ashamed of wanting time with him. It just becomes a de facto thing.

We can't do it with rules but we're going to use common sense. No violence. No velvet ribbons or asphyxiation bullshit. No safe words because they won't be needed. No holds. No weapons whatsoever. No withholding. No arguments. No selfishness. Just peace. Ben gets included in everything. (He may have fistpumped the air when he learned of this because I never know if he's going to feel left out so I preempt that risk with promises I wouldn't break on my deathbed.)

They were locked in a room for most of a day talking, shouting, at one point throwing fists and then they got past it and figured out something they haven't addressed since I was eleven. They renewed their promises to do what they set out to do in the first place. They vowed not to stab each other in the back. They got somewhere.

They actually got somewhere.

In the end Lochlan agreed to try. No true rules but I choose and if Caleb fucks something up it stops. If Lochlan loses his nerve or if I don't want to do something it stops. If I find it isn't working it stops. It's a trial. Nothing else has worked. Let's try this. We tried a few times before but we weren't clear in what we would be getting or giving. They didn't talk before. They're talking now.

Maybe that's been the one thing missing all this time. Maybe now we can start over. That's the theme for 2017. That is how we're going to move forward. It's been too long a fight. Gotta try getting along instead.

And for the issue with what started all this? I forgave Caleb a long time ago. He stuck around. He's been making restitution, forcing himself into my life so as to remain a big part of it. He gets credit for that. He didn't cut and run. Sometimes you have to let things go or let the people behind those awful things help you move on. We all make mistakes. Lots and lots and lots of them.

Good morning! What is it? Tuesday? We have fresh groceries, went out for lunch and came home. The roads are absolutely terrible and the snow is plentiful and frankly I'm fine to stay at home in new pajamas and cuddle with my boys. There's always someone free to do that. Today it's Christian. We read. Or rather, he reads voraciously and I mostly sleep. It's wonderful. Happy Christmas.

The Collective is my army and my army is my broken heart.

(Bear with me. As they say, I have a mental age of nine and so it takes a while to work things through in my head.)

Come on over
Come unglued
It's not easy
To see all of you
Help yourselves
Help is on the way

It's cold. The fireplace is on. The snow piles up on the railings and the window ledges, falling heavily outside. I slide down his knees into his lap proper, my hands holding his face. I kiss him hard. I can't breathe. I try and catch my breath against his mouth but it's gone. I think he took it in order to resurrect me in stolen flames. For show. Today is for show. Today is for reunions. Today is for testing the ice and making sure it holds. I am the only one with doubt. The one always hanging behind. The one who's so curious but will always and forever wait for the go ahead from someone else first. Just in case.

I keep sticking one foot on the frozen surface of this deep pond and retreating quickly as it cracks. Lochlan gives me a gentle shove. The first few steps will be the hardest. It's fine. It'll hold, he tells me. His voice though. It's hard to believe.

Across the shore Caleb stands with his hands out. Come on, he calls. Besides, if you fall through I'll save you. 

Or I will, Lochlan points out.

Or we could go the long way around, August says.

Trust in Him to keep you safe, Sam reminds me.

I can have this paved, Batman says to no one in particular. He fixes things in such a heavy-handed way and I frown.

Or we could just go home and order pizza. Did I mention I think Ben is the smartest person I know?

I'm game for that. PJ. Up for anything.

But when I turn back around the entire pond is surrounded. There's a boy stationed every ten feet.

We won't let you drown, it means. We've got you, it says. My soul tears itself into little pieces like confetti in Caleb's hands and he throws it up into the air. It doesn't come back down. I wait a few extra beats of my heart but it vanishes.

Where did it go? I ask him, my childlike curiosity urgent, uncensored.

Jacob will keep it up there for you. In the meantime it frees you up to live your life. 

How do I know he's in heaven?

He's there, Bridget. If he had ever wanted to be part of this we would have kept him safe too. Kept him strong. But he wanted to be on the outside and that's too hard. He waits for you though. We'll all be together again someday a long time from now. Cole is there too. He hurt so much but he wasn't bad, Bridget. 

My eyes sting and I shut them tight, squinting until blackness floods into view. I rock back on my heels. Andrew steadies me, one hand on my back. I didn't know he came out on the ice with me. My partner in crime since we were in preschool. I always needed reassurance before doing risky things.

I'll do whatever it takes to see this through, Caleb tells me and I believe him. Look where you are, Neamhchiontach. 

I look down at my feet and see clear cold glass underneath, transparent darkness. I'm in the centre. I see rocks, plants frozen in place, cold firm earth from where just before this there was nothing, I'd be over my head, fighting for breath, borrowing strength to be safe.

The Collective stands around me in a closed circle. The ice is holding under all of them. It's freshwater, it's unfamiliar in feel and in composition but they're trying to make a point so they've done it this way deliberately. The two places we would leave empty on purpose always have been filled back in and the wall and the ice is unending, impenetrable. Safe.

2016 will be known as the year we finally fixed all the things we spent every other year breaking, maybe. Time will tell. Time's not a liar, it's a rat. I get that now.

We'll see sooner rather than later. Hold tight, Peanut.

I nod. I am. 

Christmas circus.

Sam lit the Christ candle, slammed shut the book of Luke and broke into Oh Come All Ye Faithful with a satisfied smile, the congregation picking up the song on the second line. He gets a week off starting today. He'll need it to come down from his Christmas pedestal. A full house celebrated with him and he rides on a career high Jake never got to experience but hopefully appreciates from afar.

His bosses love him. His congregation loves him and he is content with himself in a way Jake never was. Maybe I failed to read the writing that I saw on the wall. I saw it, I just didn't read it through.

Merry Christmas Jake. I'll love you forever.

He loved Christmas so much. Every moment was a ritual, every ritual a memory. He futureproofed my life in some odd ways as much as he devastated it in even ways and I stand here with a wine glass that's actually half-wine and half fruit juice (Holiday sangria if you will) because I'm waiting on the turkeys and taking a moment to breathe. I threw open the kitchen windows and the patio doors and took off my apron and poured a big glass, gave PJ a hug and stole a cookie before dinner because pinch me, I'm happy. I'm content like Sam and protected like Jake, my soul heavenbound even if I still don't have it back. It's come to rest in a safe place. 

We worked things out. We're working it out. Not an instant fix, just a radically different approach that everyone somehow agreed on. Maybe it's a Christmas high soon to be dashed. I don't know. 

If it holds it's the most wonderful sum of its parts, I mean people. The effort to forgive and move ahead is duly noted. The sheer will to get along and love and make up and start over is the best gift of all. 

We did it because we have to for survival. We're futureproofing ourselves here. We're making this life better. 

Merry Christmas to all my readers, both fans and detractors alike. 2017 is going to be incredible for me and therefore highly entertaining for you.

The Anodyne Child Princess of Point Perdition: A Christmas story.

I went from not talking to talking for almost twelve hours straight.

We locked ourselves in the library with tissues and alcohol and had it out.

That room is soundproof, by the way. It's a panic-room of sorts with a hidden exit via a staircase down to the basement and outside. The windows are bulletproof laminated glass and the room itself is fireproof and stocked with bug-out supplies and a locking door that can't be picked unless you're Lochlan and you have those questionable skills. It isn't the only room like this on the point, there are two per house (our other one is the studio downstairs) because we're closet psycho preppers, if you need to know, which you don't. It's almost a hobby/sport and less of a necessity thing though, as my contributions to the necessities involve sparklers, glowsticks and Magic Fire. Because I hate the dark and if the apocalypse comes I need small comforts.

Why am I telling you this? Because the biggest small comfort in my life is sometimes a soundproof room, and because when you have Very Big Talks and sometimes fights it's nice to keep the whole mess from your children and those who still don't know you well enough to understand a history so deep there's probably a megalodon at the bottom.

It comes in handy.

Things are changing again. It's a trial. We did it before and it didn't work because the rules were the wrong rules, the greed and the grief bloomed, taking over everything and maybe, just maybe we are mellowing a little in our old age (HAR) and the affronts and implications are no longer the same, the needs are vastly different and so are the means. No more push and pull. I got what I came for. So did they.

More later. We found a new place for breakfast and yet it's casual so the tables are bolted to the floor. Just in case. Trust is always the last thing to grow back in a scorched earth campaign and that's what this has been.

This meal is not a test though, more like a mulligan. No surprises, no ambushes, no cries of First. Just the army as it was always meant to be: together.

Torture.

Caleb had Apology Flowers delivered to the house this morning. I texted him because I thank people when they give me things. Except for yesterday because I couldn't accept what he gave me so he lifted the whole table up and practically threw it, having a Cole-calibre tantrum if ever there was one. He remembered himself long enough to pick up the gift and took it with him when he left.

I stammered something useless at the manager of the restaurant, left him one of Caleb's cards and followed him out, where he was pacing on the sidewalk. I went the other way. He followed and I turned and stared him down until he stopped walking and then I turned and kept on going. I didn't say anything to him and it's driven him half-crazy in the meantime.

The doorbell rings twice. He does that so I hear it. I go and open the door and wait for him to talk.

Say something, please, Neamhchiontach. 

I close the door in his face.

You replied to my text, he calls. Please talk to me. 

I open the door again and he smiles before he sees me ready to throw my phone at him. He catches it and his face falls as I close the door again.

I'll bring it back at supper and we can talk then. Okay? If you need it before then send Padraig over. 

Fucking spectacular.

The haze from the weather burns 'em all together
And I'm losing track of time
Trying to find my own way
What if forever is better than never?
And baby, it's a sign
That we found our own way

I will not let my heart ache

Got kicked out of yet another restaurant. Maybe that's why I like fast food. It's...fast. There isn't time for emotions to change. There isn't time for rage to wash over hope, turning tables, flipping them even, leaving your lunch date to walk down the sidewalk quickly, alone, having to call her husband out of a meeting ten blocks away because she needed a ride home.

The I-told-you-sos are loud today as I was warned multiple times that the Devil is a powder keg of a man, that his peacefulness is a ruse, that he's dangerous and I shouldn't run off for fancy lunches and shopping and time with someone like that.

But I believed in him because I had hope too.

My rage doesn't manifest itself in huge physical displays like his though. I just go quiet. I just cut you out of my life without a word. It shouldn't be called ghosting, however. More like reverse-ghosting. 

More like long overdue. I know my brain's going to cave in at the thought of not having him anymore but at the same time it's for the best.

Or so they say.

Because this can't continue like this. I want to move on. I don't want the rollercoaster of building the trust up and up and up only to have the terrifying plummet back to doubt.

He's going to come crawling back and I want to stand on his fingers, crushing them under my boots so that he can't get purchase on me, destroying his hands so he can't touch me anymore, can't defend himself as I move on to his handsome face, can't save himself when I rip apart his brain or whatever it is that's inside him that made him spend his entire life trying to destroy mine. All in the name of love.

This isn't love, Caleb. How dare you keep trying to call it that, as if you can make it into something beautiful? It never will be and neither will you or I, for that matter. You made sure of that a long time ago.