(I think I thought I saw you try.)

Sam likes a seven-ten wake up on Saturdays and since I'm usually the only one up I tend to knock softly on his door on Saturday mornings, wait for a muffled, unintelligible reply, let myself in and crawl up to the top of his bed where I unearth Sam from a mountain of blankets, going by the soft waves of his hair, usually the only part of him sticking out. I don't know how he breathes but he's always happy to see me, happy for a brief hug and anxious to hear how I slept, how I feel, what I'm thinking, asking me if I need him.

He's always working. Always getting a barometer, ministering constantly. It's his default. He's chosen the right career path, that's for certain He doesn't have many hats, he has one.

But this morning as I came out of the bathroom to find clothes and jewelry after my shower, Lochlan is awake. Sitting up in bed, the light on the bedside table making the room soft and yellow, bathed in warmth.

Sam doesn't need a wakeup this morning. 

Oh, did you talk to him?

No, Matt's car was in the drive when I came up. 

Oh, well, he probably stopped by for their chat and then he left-

Check it before you go down. 

Fine. I turn and walk out on the balcony. It's minus three this morning and I am still naked. My skin turns to frosted glass and I hear Lochlan swear and crawl out of bed. Bridget, what the fuck-

But he's right. Matt's car is parked in the driveway. Would have missed it up in the guest spots on the other side of the stables but I knew where to check.

Bridget, Sam is lonely, that's why he skews harsh-

I'm doing my best!

It isn't your job, Neamhchiontach. You're not responsible for this. If Sam wants to entertain Matt every Christmas without strings you don't have a say in it. 

Every time Matt leaves Sam's heart has a harder time healing itself, Lochlan. 

But it's still better than being functionally alone. 

Is it?

I would chose it. I have chosen it before, if you remember. 

I stare at him in the light. He did. He spent years taking whatever he could get and it was enough, or so I thought but if it's less hard than being alone who am I to fight for misery when temporary joy will do.

Lochlan smooths my bangs out of my eyes as I nod. You get it. I know you get it. 

I stare at him. We really did fuck ourselves over for those permanent connections, holding them so precious when everything else seemed so fleeting, so violently brief.

But why can't he just stay? It's a whisper in the morning darkness.

Some people are birds-

Jacob was a bird, I blurt out, interrupting Lochlan, who at this point remains the most patient man in the universe.

He was a bird, Lochlan nods thoughtfully. But who knows? Maybe Matt will stay on after Christmas. Christmas is about believing in magic, after all. Maybe if we wish hard enough for Sam, it will happen. 

You're getting my hopes up, Locket. 

I'm getting my own up too, he reminds me with a laugh. It would be better for me if he did.
 

Not about Sam because wow, let's talk about something else and we'll deal with that tomorrow.

After a blissful morning doing little other than laundry catch-up and painting my nails for Christmas (I'm allergic, remember? It will last til maybe tomorrow, if I get that far but stupidly I am determined to look pretty and pulled together and if I can't pull that off I will at least attempt to always be decorated) and drinking coffee by the bucketful I stupidly offered to drive Dalton to the mall to pick up a parcel at the post office. He got a final notice, which is neato since there was never any other notice, thanks Canada Post. So off we went and I took parcels to mail home to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland too. Just in case it was a mistake, I didn't want to go that far for nothing.

We listened to the Fiction Family Christmas album on the way. The mall was packed. I drove around the lot three times before I found a spot that I could fit in. The Jeep is huge and I can't see over the front end. I may splurge on a booster seat for myself. I read a funny article the other day on how everything is designed around a male, 5'11, 150 lbs and I laughed and laughed because the absolute only times in life my size has been a good thing are when I'm indulging in commercial airline travel and when I played hide and seek as a child.

That's freaking it.

I can swing my legs in your average airplane. Be jealous. But I do feel your pain. Airplanes are only marginally better than Black Friday, which I didn't really clue in to until we were home and I was telling PJ about the psychotic crowdage at the mall and he said no wonder, being the day it is and I'm like okay, yeah, Friday at lunchtime yeah yeah and then I clued in all at once like WHAT.

I was all set to participate in no-buy Black Friday or whatever because I despise things like crowds, malls, traffic but I did pick up dog treats (on sale) and keurig pods (also on sale) and there was indeed a package waiting for Dalton (where did the other notices go?) and so I fucked that up but I did survive and now all of my away stuff is Fully Sent and Christmas is officially underway, bitches.

Also the dog was very happy his crunchy treats are back in stock.

Happy Buy Nothing day! *covers face in shame*

Holiday Matt, round four.

He showed up before Thanksgiving turkey was even served. Nevermind Thanksgiving was last month, and Americans are behind (as usual). Nevermind we told him never to come back. Nevermind history or broken hearts or loneliness. Just forget about all of that and live in the moment.

I think I understand it now. As an environmental scientist working at a major university he has a lot of time off that coincides with the semester and the department changeover and so he promptly packed a bag, planned some romantic bullshit and showed up on our doorstep, hoping that Sam is somehow free, somehow not dating someone else, and somehow willing to let Matt set foot inside.

Who cares if Sam will. The question is, will I?

And I did because I believe in love but I also believe in bullshit and it's sucky to be lonely at Christmas but it's even worse to pick a hefty New Year's Fight in order to make a clean exit.

Except this time the king of booze has been sober for over a year.

And he thinks that's the golden ticket.

Actually, it's not your drinking, it's just your whole...vibe. I don't have the words. They can't find the holes in my disdain for him to escape so he knows what I mean. Your drinking problem is the least of your worries. 

Then could you help me?

Do what, exactly?

Figure out how to fix it? All of it so that he'll love me again?

He never stopped, Matt. 

No boyfriend? 

No. 

What about...you?

I am not his boyfriend (I told the truth, okay?).

Matt visibly relaxes (wow) and asks if he may come in.

You may not. I'll tell him you were here and if he wants to see you, you may leave your contact information. 

He has my cell. 

Does he? I keep him right on the edge, hanging out over so he can see the earth below. I hope he pees his fucking pants.

I think he does. Here, I'll give it to you in case. 

I put it in my phone and then pocket the phone.

Bridget-

He stops but I wait.

Please tell him I love him. 

Tell him yourself if he contacts you. But Matt, I wish you would remember something. Love isn't a holiday thing. It's all year around. You can't just show up and have a Christmas fling and no one gets hurt. If you think I'm going to allow you to do this to Sam again, you're mistaken. 

How many times did it take you and Loch to get it right, Bridget? 

That's different. 

Right. You have your history, please let us have one for ourselves. I thought he was being facetious but then I looked up into his face. He is stricken, ashes and regret.

I'll tell him you were here, I promise, closing the door in his face.
 

Wasting nightlight.

I found a little bee today, cold and stiff and a little lost in the bottom of the pool. I carried him up and lay him in the flowers and he seemed far happier, though still cold. I don't know why he was way down in the pool. I don't know why I was either, truth be told, so we can be lost together.

Maybe we're dead.

I found a new song today. Orbital Grace by Grin. It's a sludgery-drudgery piece that speaks to the feelings I have regarding the two whopping whole hours of daylight today and fit my mood perfectly. Plus PJ loved it, so there's a bonus. Yesterday he gifted me Silvertomb's new album with instructions to listen to it in reverse track order first and I'm forever grateful. It's so good.

I found a new way to live today. Quietly. On the edge. In the sun. One foot in front of the other. Lifejacket on, just in case though the water seems to be knee-deep it's always deceiving. I need to not be doing that. I need to not be at the bottom of the pool. The water here is symbolic but then again maybe so is the bee.

Living saints, hungry wolves, stupid girl.

(Here's how it works. The moment I stop talking the ballads spool up in my head, blindingly loud. Maybe I'm not deaf. Maybe the music's just in the way. You should hear the incredible screech when someone says something and the music stops so that I can respond. Please make sure that gets put in the movie, that loud ballads play constantly while she walks around, while she thinks. It'll make more sense that way, I promise.)

I got cornered. It was around midnight, the house was dark and quiet, tiny fairy lights the only lights I use to make my way around. Since Ben is away we can have nightcaps in bed, Lochlan and I, and we really need our rituals tonight. It's been a long and difficult week and it's Monday so that's something right there.

When I step out of the butler's pantry Caleb is blocking the door. I startle but steady my arms and I don't spill even a drop. Lucky for me, as it's the very best stuff.

You're not wearing August's ring. 

No. See my hand? Right now it's only Lochlan's and Ben's. Yours is in the dish already because I don't sleep in it. 

You wore it with him-

I look at the floor. We were in a rush, Diabhal.

He sets his face and looks at the ceiling. I don't want to miss my chance, Neamhchiontach. 

You didn't. You're right here. 

I don't want to be on the outside. I don't want to be alone anymore. If I don't push this, if I don't take this chance I'm dooming myself to a life alone. 

I stare at him in the dark. Forever. I finally take one of the drinks, pressing it against his chest. Let me talk to Lochlan. Lochlan who never gets a break. Lochlan, who's been so patient I may as well change his name and press him into a medal to wear at this point. Lochlan, patron saint of wolves.

Caleb lets out a visible rush of stress, passing me back the glass. No, tonight is his night. Knowing you aren't willingly shutting me out, as if on purpose, is all I need to sleep. 

I stare at him once more. I can't decide if he's overdramatizing this to secure his intent or if he's just being real with me.

Bridget-

Listen. If you can't sleep or if you can't stay asleep come find us. Ben's away. There's space-

I know. Thank you, Neamhchiontach. He kisses my forehead, takes my glass again, drinking a sip, and then he's gone into the night.

I spilled a lot of whiskey on the way upstairs because I ran. I was scared he was going to pop up again out of the dark and chase me all the way home. When I made it to our rooms, Lochlan gave me a look that said he knows that the music is pretty loud on the inside, especially after I see the Devil in the flesh and so he took both glasses, poured what was left into the other, drank the result and told me I was fucked in the head.

For every dream that is left behind me
I take a bow
With every war that will rage inside me
I hear the sound
Of another day in this vanishing life
Returned to dust
And every chance I pushed away
Into the night

Last evening after dinner I lingered at the table for a moment to finish my wine. Kids and PJ long excused, Duncan and Loch rising at the same time to clear dishes. Dalton puts the dog out. Ben is away (goddamit) and Sam took his plate upstairs to work because he's behind and Advent now breathes down his neck like a stalker. Gage rarely comes over for dinner. August comes over most nights but last night he didn't and I set down my glass, two sips to go and sure enough, across the table rests the Devil. No wine, just water. Eyes black and blue. I can see the rage boiling up toward the sides and so, for once, I throw down just on the other side of the line.

Jealous?

Of August? He laughs. No. Never.

The look on your face lies on your behalf, Diabhal.

You've had too much, Bridget-

No, but I've had enough. If wearing this ring gives me an extra few carats of weight then that's all it means to me. If it's peace of mind for you then fine but don't start in on me tonight.

I thought August-

August is off limits to you and your thoughts.

He-

Or your opinions!

Neamhchiontach, please let me finish.

Fine, go ahead.

Seeing August right on the end of a difficult season is a poor plan for progress. That's all.

Then you'll be happy to know I cried out his name instead of Jake's this time.

I couldn't resist. I finished the rest of my wine in a gulp, fleeing the room just as he made a grab for me. I heard shouts from downstairs as I made it up to my rooms but I didn't hear any of the words and I didn't care anyway.

August for August's sake.

August runs his fingers over my rings. He is sleepy, holding my hand up in the air, blinking slowly as he counts and notes each and every one.

I see it's back, he says darkly.

I nod against the side of his head. I want my hand back. It was busy exploring under the sheets, waking him up slowly, basking in a rare moment in which he didn't demand that I leave just as I was beginning to relax. I guess I passed all of his unspoken tests. I didn't call him Jake. I didn't ask for more or anything that isn't something from his personal repertoire. I didn't make him promise me I could stay longer, or stay over and maybe I've graduated with honors, as for the first time in a very long time I found myself texting Lochlan on a darkened screen early into the morning that I would be back before church. I should have done it far earlier but I was busy holding my breath.

August didn't even act like he was doing me a favor. He didn't acknowledge me jumping through his silent hoops or make any motion for me to leave when he finally let me go. He just readjusted his position and scooped me in firmly against his chest, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, resting his chin on top of my head and within seconds he was asleep.

It took me close to twenty minutes to hardly believe this turn of events and then to extricate myself to let Lochlan know I wasn't going outside to run the gauntlet of early-winter bears to come home.

Lochlan never replied. I probably waited too long. But that's okay. I close my eyes, reach up and wrap my fingers in August's waves and I'm out like a light. Still wearing my necklace, my rings and my socks, of all things. The bed rocks gently from it's ropes and I remember nothing until the sun comes up and he is stirring gently. I had turned toward him, gently stroking his chest, his thighs, his arms when he decided to check out the new state of affairs of diamonds on my fingers.
 
Does this mean I should have sent you away? His whole body is suddenly tense.

It's just for weight. I whisper it and his eyes tear up. My kingdom to not make them sad any longer. He pulls me in harder, kissing the top of my head and holds his mouth there against my hair for a heartbeat.

Even though I hate to, because I feel like this was a really good visit, based on this new development you should head home. 

They're afraid I'll disappear on the wind, it's just a metaphor-

I'm not fucking with him, Bridge. Go home. 

Now my eyes tear up and I climb out of bed, dress quickly and flee the loft. For the second time in a week he's reduced me to tears. I thought we made up but he's always looking over his shoulder at his shadow.  I don't know who he's more afraid of, Jacob or Caleb. I look at my hand as I cross the brick driveway and suddenly it comes to me: I just need brighter lights. Then when he turns around there would be nothing there.

Their, there. They're.

He's right. Just wear it. 

Not on that fing-

Does it matter? The rings aren't the point. The bond is.

I don't know if Lochlan means himself or Caleb but I'm not going to ask for clarification. I slid the diamond on my right hand ring finger and he nods, after a heartbeat or two before answering my unspoken question.

The bond may extend to the collective but you are mine and I am yours. And he can't come between that. Never will. Besides, he's right. We need to weigh you down.

Justification.

You have at least five rings on now. 

Seven. If you count (I turn my hand around so he can see my thumb) this one. Three are wedding, then these ones-

Right so can't you just add it? I'd rather not see it fly out of a pocket or be sent through the washing machine because you have a tendency to-

Be careless?

No, I believe distracted is the word I would choose. Busy. Not really too concerned with the loose contents of your pockets. 

Well I am, don't worry. 

Are you really still carrying that key?

I reach into my dress and hold it up. Are you surprised?

Not at all. But I still think if you're not going to wear the ring I gave you at least let me keep it in the safe. 

Fine. I hand it to him. He takes it as his face falls.

I was hoping you'd put up a fight, at least.

What's the point? 

Passion. I guess, importance to you. If it's a treasured object that you carry I would think you maybe find it a talisman and would fight to keep hold-

It weighs me down. 

How so?

I want to sail on the wind over the sea and this ring is too heavy for that. 

Bridget-

The alarm on his face sends me backtracking. Like the girl in the book-

Oh. He visibly relaxes.

I'm not...being...(I struggle with my defence) literal, Cale. 

Hope not. I can hardly hear him. What if you wore it on a different finger? What if it just meant something but not as much as the other ones? What if you wore it on a chain or a bracelet?

Why is it so important that I wear it?

I need to..I need to weigh you down. Just in case.

Just in case?

Just in case.

(Hold your head up, Bridge.)

Just the other day I stared at the ocean
With every new wave another must go
One day you'll remember us laughing
One day you'll remember my passion
One day you'll have one of your own

Sometimes I carry a button from Jacob's shirt, too. I found it on the dresser top after he left and I kept it nearby in case he came back so I could sew it on his shirt. It's tortoiseshell, small and flat. He used to find it incredible how I paid such close attention to the orientation of the holes on the buttons when I sewed them back on his shirts.

It's important it look just right.

It's not important, Princess, he would implore, not understanding how I work, that if everything is orderly and perfect then everything will be fine. It still holds and I am militant, OCD, determined, though with so many souls here now it's hard to keep things tidy, let alone orderly. Maybe it's not that important anymore, Jake. Maybe you were right.

The key that I always carry is from the castle. It was from the door at the top of the steps, that led up to the roof to my glass writing room. They just roofed it over after we left. No more copper Victorian filials. No more beautiful prairie sunrises. Whoever lives there now has made it a happy home and that's good. I hope I never see that house again. I call it the key to my brain. I used to wear it on a silver chain but it's too heavy and so it stays in a pocket, chain still attached so I don't lose it. They've tried to talk me out of it but I say it's like a pocket watch.

It keeps perfect time.

They don't like that I say that. Maybe they're right.

The ring is Caleb's. The diamond ring he gave me. Maybe I'm crazy. Sometimes I put it on. It's a bookmark in my story to keep his place, in case I lose it (the place, not the ring). It's a beautiful diamond but I have Lochlan's heart diamond and two bands already and if I want to be able to bend my finger there's no room left but Caleb won't let me wear it on any other fingers and Lochlan won't let me wear it at all.

The phone is my GPS tracker. They always know where I am.

The heavy things at the bottom, pulling out the stitches with every step I take, are their hearts, complete. They soak through the cotton, blood pooling around my shoes whenever I stop to take in life, slipping as I resume my steps, leaving a trail of gore and rebirth in my wake as we try to reinvent ourselves every single day.