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.

It's complicated.

I tried to fire Claus but he refused and said he'll be reachable when I decide to summon him again. God bless that man. He tried.

Where's the good in goodbye?
Where's the nice in nice try?
Where's the us in trust gone?
Where's the soul in soldier on?
Now I'm the low in lonely
'Cause I don't own you only
I can take this mistake
But I can't take the ache from heartbreak

The family meeting this morning after the kids set off for school was adjourned quickly on account of everyone ganging up on Caleb, who then started shoving back, catching Sam off guard. He landed on his ass. Lochlan got a good shove too but he recovered easily because he's smaller, more nimble and a fucking former acrobat so really, no big deal.

I helped Sam up and asked them to stop fighting and just talk but apparently that won't be happening today. Sam walked out dragging his pride behind him. Caleb asked if anyone else wanted to go to the floor or could they just honor the choices Bridget makes without adding to the pressure.

When I said I wasn't giving anyone else up ( and really the longer I live in this freaky 'after' life that Jake isn't a part of any more, the less inclined I am to write people off) I meant that we still have to strike a very fine balance with each other with regards to Henry, first and foremost, and then all the other stuff secondarily. Like my finances are pretty much tangled in his octopus reach, our histories are equally interlaced and frankly we have some goddamned serious issues between us with regards to sex and permission and brainwashing that I don't think Claus will live long enough to fix and even if he could I won't share ninety percent of the details with him because he would judge me or run away horrified.

Everyone judges me, which is why I'm so up front with certain details that seem provocative but are just my own attempt at transparency. But not all the details, because...yeah. No one needs to read that.

And as angry as Lochlan gets he feels as helpless as I do sometimes, in that Ruth and Henry are mostly inseparable and she goes where he goes, so if Caleb takes Henry away for a weekend, he takes Ruth too. And I know Caleb would never harm them. He's a very good father. But he still runs legal roughshod over me and if he decided to be less nice about things he could make my life as a mother pretty fucking difficult.

So, yeah. It's a dance that I only know half the steps to. It's a dance I'm going to continue to learn, and if anyone is surprised that I crawl into people's beds to have important conversations with them about important things than you don't know me very well at all. What I did was not give up and resume a sexual relationship with Caleb, instead I merely left the door open in case it comes to that again. Sometimes it's easier to give the Devil what he wants than try and be as powerful as he is. Something I am clearly not. I'm just a well-indoctrinated little clown.

And I don't see that changing any time soon.

So if you see his name mentioned in my posts, hold your cries of hyprocite! and consider the permanent damage instead. Sometimes it's too severe and people can't be saved, no matter how hard Lochlan tries.

I've put on the makeup before in public. It's liberating and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, okay?

Lochlan said that last picture wasn't so happy after all and so he did this:

*POOF! pic removed*

It looks more like I usually appear. You little fucking clown, as he said.

Damn right I am. :)

Photobombed by death.

I don't know how long I'll leave this post up because I hate looking at my own little head but here's an amazingly morbid shot of me attempting to hide behind Halloween decorations that we are finally putting away, when Lochlan said there are no pictures of the pixie cut I alternately love and despise and took a shot.

(I have similar photos with actual people who were living when we took them but I guess now they're not so it's possibly kind of fitting.)

Actual post later when we're done, unless I just take this guy and go curl up in a corner somewhere. Loch will probably set it on fire before I can do that because he's the one who gave me the title for the post when it flew out of his mouth before he realized that...yeah...and now he feels like shit.

But I'm smiling in this picture, and that hardly ever happens anymore.

*POOF* {picture removed}

On Sundays we're a cult.

Looking at horse auctions in church and dead silence eventually overtook me and I looked up to find Sam staring at me. He made a curt reminder to put phones and devices away, that we might be the better for it if we were engaged and in the moment more instead of virtually parking our brains.

Yes, Dad.

Loch nudges me hard and holds out his hand. I surrender my phone and sigh, settling back to listen to the pre-pre-pre advent service in which we are reminded to find the spirit early and hold on to it tightly in the midst of a psychological war to appeal to our consumerist, excessive sides. A reminder to exist within our means but fully explore them with God in mind.

A real hell of a fundy sermon for Sam this morning, who is still kind of losing it here. I'm not sure if it's relief because Matt is gone or sheer panic because..well, he's gone. Every time I try to talk to Sam he flips the conversation around and tries to make it all about me and we get nowhere.

Batman leans in toward my right ear and asks What kind of church this is again? 

Roman Catholic, I say while staring straight ahead. Loch stifles a huge laugh on my left and PJ kicks our feet under the pew from behind. If I start giggling now we'll all be goners and Sam will be even more weird so instead in my mind I formulate a plan on how I'm going to spend the afternoon once lunch is cleaned up. New Jake invited me to go for one final ride on the Sunbeam before he takes it apart and stores it for winter but instead I think I'll take the other bottle of Laphroaig and lie on the garage floor and talk to ghosts for the rest of the day.

I bend my head forward and look down toward the end of the pew on the right and there's Caleb looking back. He shakes his head once to the side to indicate No, you won't and I slouch down further in my seat and try and focus on Sam, who's now heading into Baptist territory. He likes to make everyone comfortable (even people who aren't even held hostage by him today, people out in the rain) and so he takes his own advice to explore all aspects of the Christian faith, whether we want to join him or not. Choose your own adventure, he says to warm laughter.

I pick Lochan's pocket and he grins as I go back to looking at horse auctions. It's better than listening to patchwork religion, frankly. I think Sam's pinwheeling for answers and it's so obvious it's rather painful to watch today.

Three steps forward, seven back. Today is Jake's birthday and he's in the copper box on the shelf.

Ten in the morning and it's pouring rain and I find Lochlan on the beach. He's in a sweater and a raincoat and boots and he's got his best friend whiskey with him. He doesn't acknowledge me until I slip on the rock I try to step up on to stand beside him and he reaches out an arm to steady me.

I'm sorry. We didn't speak much the rest of yesterday.

Maybe Caleb's right and I'm a fool.

I'm the fool.

No one's debating that today, Peanut. 

Then what are we doing? 

Toasting the one who didn't make it to his birthday, maybe. 

I thought you didn't care. 

What I care about is that the person I adore most in the world had someone pretty important to her pass away and it fucked her up good and so I'm going to mark the day with respect and then get on with my life. He's gone. I'm still here and I love you. 

Any bitchy assholerish false composure I had just drowned itself into the sea. I love you. I just feel weird and abandoned and betrayed. And I miss him. He was big here. Like so big he blocked out the sun. 

What happens if you put it away? You think somehow that will dishonor his memory? 

Maybe. I don't know.

I get that I failed you and then I ran but I came back. He failed and ran and never came back. So he gets hero status and I get pummeled into the ground? I don't get it. 

You're a safe place to take it out on. All my fears. Everything stupid. You never told me it was dumb or blew it off. 

So I'm not safe but then I'm safe? 

It's an easy event to use against you in an argument. That's all. 

I get it. But I'm not going to live in the shadow of a coward. He couldn't love you the way I can. No one can but me. 

But I'm an asshole. How can you love an asshole?

No, you let things get to you and had an asshole moment. If I thought you were an asshole for wearing your grief so transparently then I would be the asshole, now, wouldn't I? 

How did you get so smart?

I'm not. I just had to grow up fast. I had you asking questions all the time. I had to be ready with answers, you know?

So can I ask you something?

Bridget, he's not coming back. He's gone. I'm sorry but the men in front of you who put up with you, we're the ones who love you. We're going in circles here. We need to stop doing this. I love you. Just stop.

I nod. He's right. I'm lucky. And at the same time I can't handle this outpouring of support that I somehow push away. Claus isn't working. Sam isn't. Not Joel. Christ. No, he's not working either. Help me, please. I'm drowning in the sea I made.

Loch is still staring at me. What about Caleb?

I take the bottle from him and take a long burning swallow and then pour the rest out on the rocks. Happy Birthday, Jacob. Forty-five. What a milestone. What a waste.

I should be planning a forty-fifth birthday instead of this.

(Eight years today and this doesn't hurt any less and everyone's a liar.)

The ache of regret and dread woke me up early and I made my way downstairs to see Sam, after telling Loch that I was going to get juice, that I'd be right back.

What if the letters had instructions on where to meet Jake in the future? Maybe he just needed some time and now he'll be waiting forever? We made a big mistake burning them. I shouldn't listen to you. Maybe I just need to keep listening to myself on this subject and not let you all steer me in the wrong direction. 

Bridget, stay here for a bit. Let's talk about-

I need to go. 

He lunges for me but I've already gone back up. Loch and Ben are dozing still, the house is dark and quiet and I go see Dalton next.

He puts his arm up with the quilts over it and I crawl in beside him. He brings his arm down and pulls me close.

Any other day I'd be drawn and quartered for this. 

Would I be a bad person if I keep Caleb? 

Depends. What's the motive?

Not losing anyone else. There's too many empty places at the table as it is. 

And you think you can fill those holes by sleeping with the Devil? 

No, but I feel less alone. 

If you still feel alone between Loch and Ben then I would say nothing's going to help you and maybe you should keep the Devil on ice until you figure this out. 

I say nothing but kiss him on the cheek and slide out of his bed. I put on my docs at the side door and head across the driveway to the boathouse. I look back once because I think I hear PJ call me but it's the wind so I keep going. The boathouse is dark too and the Devil is in his dreams so I guess I'm already there.

I slide under the furs beside him and his arm comes around me as he wakes up.

You okay? He says, in a voice thick with sleep.

I shake my head against his arms but say nothing.

I don't think Loch can be the man of your dreams if you wake up missing someone else, Neamhchiontach. 

Keep Loch out of this. 

He's in it, though. Fighting a ghost. It's the only thing that helps me sleep at night, knowing that he knows he'll never be number one to you. 

Do you need to do this now? 

Forgive me. It's hard to wake up triumphantly and triumphant to wake up hard because there's a Bridget in my bed. 

I'm not going to give you up. 

Music to my ears, Baby Doll. 

I can't lose anyone else.

You never lost me, even when you asked me to step aside. I don't think it matters what you do. I'll be here until the end. He kisses me on the forehead but doesn't let me go right away and I don't try to leave. It's warm. Secure. Safe.

I leave him reluctantly and head back across the driveway, where PJ opens the door before I can turn the knob and frowns at me. How long were you there? 

Five minutes. You going to lecture me? 

If I must. 

For the record I'm going to manage my own affairs from now on. 

How does Loch feel about it? 

Feel about what? There's Lochlan now. Awake and ready for a fight.

Bridget's going to use her grief as a shield to deflect any criticism she faces for continuing to sleep with everyone. (Thanks, PJ for picking sides today of all days.)

I shrug. You don't have to be assholes about it. 

Neither do you, Loch tells me. His eyes are flashing with tired rage.

This is what you signed up for. Maybe you shouldn't have walked out when things got tough. 

I came back. All in, Bridget. You have my heart. 

I'm not all in. So I don't know what I have for you. 

Look, just ride out the day and tomorrow things will seem better. 

Why? Is he coming back?

Who? 

Who do you think?!

The day before.

Sycophants on velvet sofas
Lavish mansions, vintage wine
I am so much more than Royal
Snatch your chain and mace your eyes
If it feels good, tastes good
It must be mine
Heroes always get remembered
But you know legends never die

An old familiar face slides up beside me as I hurry to run a couple of errands downtown before we head home. Batman took me out for breakfast to pick my brain on gifts for people he isn't especially close to and I'm great at corporate gift-giving. Vintage ornaments and modern music boxes for all.

Whiskey for those without problems. Alcohol is a loaded gift these days. You never know.

So while he fetches the whiskey I need to return some things, gifts sent unsolicited from my Devil. I'm so out of time and then I look up and the brown hippie curls of Skateboard Jesus frame the face staring back at me.

If you change for them, what happens to you?

I...change.

How long can you be someone else? Why do they get to demand this when they realize they aren't special?

Maybe they are special and I'm the one who's ordinary. 

That's not how this works. Why would you want to be someone else?

A fresh start. 

You've already done that a few times over. Does it work? 

Not hardly. 

Then stop changing and stop apologizing and be who you are. Onwards and upwards, Princess.

I looked up into his face and see Jacob's blue eyes and freeze. When I blink they're brown again and Batman is beside me saying my name. Asking me if this man is bothering me. Trying to get information from me but I can't. I can't talk. I can't do this.

Who are you? He finally asks directly.

An old friend, Jesus says, and glides away.

It wasn't anything I could control. I just needed it and I didn't care that everyone was still sleeping. I turned over and pressed myself into Ben, putting my arms up around his neck, kissing under his jaw. He woke up instantly, His hands sliding down over my back, pulling me in tight. I felt Loch begin to turn away in his sleep and I flung my right hand out and grabbed his arm.

Stay. I pulled him closer too as he woke up slowly. All of it now. I need you now. Ben's eyes are black and he pulls himself up to the headboard, sitting up, lifting me up tight into his arms and bringing me back down slowly. Agonizingly. I feel Loch's chest against my back and then his arms around me, holding me up. I'm their puppet in the dark. This show is all me. Loch's arms wrap around my neck as Ben's hands slide down under my thighs. I put my hands on Ben's shoulders and he holds his breath. Naw, Bridge, he says and he lifts me up as he gets up on his knees and then puts me down on my back again, threading my legs up to frame his hips. I feel Loch's fingers leave my hair and then his hand takes mine and squeezes it as Ben begins to move. So harsh. So warm. He touches different places with his mouth as he grinds into me and I cry out with every point of contact. I may explode. I don't know. I tell them to be ready if I do. It'll be like sex confetti and you can just pick up the pieces and make me whole again some other time. 

Lochlan laughs when I say this but it isn't his Scottish braying donkey laugh, it's this smoldering low chuckle that means he's amused but too far gone to do anything about it. Ben's lips are back on my face and he kisses my eyelashes and drops me into the arms of the juggler, by surprise. Lochlan wastes no time keying me right up into the stars and then I decide I can no longer lift a finger but I have enough strength left to reach out and touch Ben's face. He laughs and tells me he knows where that hand has been and I would laugh but I'm almost crying instead. Lochlan sits up, pulling the blanket up around my back but we're sitting on it so it's the perfect leverage for him to use to wind me out so hard I beg him to be like this all the time. He's not even breaking a sweat and I've turned so slippery if he didn't have the blanket around me I'd probably be on the floor.

But no one cares. Because this right here is one of those serendipitous moments that makes all the tough ones fade out of our memories.

Ben's hands are on my shoulders and he pulls me until I'm on my back again and he leans down and kisses me thoroughly, upside-down. I can feel Lochlan's fingers digging into my hip bones as he finds the sweet spot in his efforts and then Ben lets go and I am pulled back up into space, resuming my orbit around Lochlan. He swears when he hits the stratosphere and pulls me tightly against him, his lips coming to rest against my throat, and he tells me this is what will save our lives, and it's never changed. And then he lets go and tells Ben it's time to finish me off and then I am lifted right off the bed and Ben carries me to the door where he pins me against the cool wood and I forget my name and what month it actually is and how to breathe because I don't need to anymore. He's going to do it for me. He's surprising gentle considering I'm being fully controlled and by the time he follows us into outer space he's got one hand underneath me and the other holding me up by my neck. I can't see the floor, only the ceiling and as I watch the glow-in-the-dark stars melt together into one shining light they give way completely into a silent but deep shuddering crescendo that blows my little fucking mind.

Twins.

The replies to Sam's little power play weren't the ones he was hoping for. A unanimous chorus of WTFs, with a few hell nopes scattered throughout and punctuated with a lovely paragraph from the Devil spelling it out quite clearly.

If anything, we've gained another Bridget to look after in a trying period. Don't kid yourself, Samuel. When you're done strutting like a peacock you're going to collapse like a house of cards. If I were you I would camp on August's doorstep for the foreseeable future. Rather than dismissing him I think you'll most likely need him to save your life. 

Stowaway.

Matt left for the UK this morning for his contract there until Christmas and Sam up and ran roughshod over Lochlan, August, Claus, and PJ in attempting to assert his place as the penultimate expert on me, and said he would look after things. That he has the time and the skill and everyone else could go back to whatever they were doing.

Sam's heart somehow became stuck on me and I didn't realize I was carrying it. I didn't realize I would become his pet project. I didn't realize he would use me to ease his pain and hurt Matt in the process but it seems like he's going to, right off the bat without even foreplay here. His announcement came via our family SMS message group and the 911 group as well. One is used for stupid shit like reminders to stop loading the dishwasher steak-knife blades up and the other is for emergencies, like someone needs CPR or to have a truck lifted off their chest.

I got it too. Ten minutes after I saw his car pull into the driveway from taking Matt to the airport.

I found him downstairs in his kitchen making coffee. The table is piled with notebooks and books from the library. There's a stack on the chair and two books on the floor too. Just like Jake. Sigh.

My phone is blowing up in my pocket, on vibrate but I need to deal with him first and then I'll put out the fires across the rest of the point.

Samuel. 

Bridget. Did you sleep?

Yes. Did Matt get out okay?

Of course. He's a good traveler. 

Why didn't you go, Sam? 

It came at the worst time of year for you. 

For me. What about you?

I'm not leaving you right now. 

I'm not yours to be left. 

He made that horrible face when he's trying not to show any emotion and then resumed making his coffee with his back to me. Between Caleb probably about to come barging up here with ultimatums for you, Ben's recent recovery glitch and Jake's anniversary I know where I need to be. 

Yeah. With your husband. 

I don't know how long that label is going to hold, Bridget. He says my involvement is fairweather at best and maybe he's right. I don't have enough room for everything. 

So then what's the matter with you? I yell at him and turn him around so he'll look at me and not miss. You need to pick the most important thing and everything else will be okay!

I did.

Dancing on the ashes of a love that never ends.

(Maybe we're all working that last nerve today. It's going to be such a tough week in more ways than one.)

I kind of got into it with Matt this morning. I don't even know how we got to the point that we did but it's amazing to find out the dynamic of how we interact isn't how I thought it was.

I got up at six, did all the chores, drove the kids to school and then came back and traded off with PJ, who took over because I'm still not at full capacity and so I took my headphones and my phone and crawled into his bed with the curtains drawn and the lights out because his bed is warm, usually unmade and smells like Irish Spring and spilled whiskey.

I had a blissful nap, emerging around ten. PJ asked what I thought of the new album and I smiled big. It's just like Hysteria, I said.

Matt is off this morning, packing for London (here we go again) and was pouring himself a cup of coffee. Def Leppard? You going to make a new pole-dancing playlist?

I don't know if I could even fault him. My very brief attempt to pay the rent stripping (why the hell not? I'm used to being on stage. I'm used to having my clothes off) is rather legendary. I danced to half the songs on Hysteria. Matt wasn't there. He's only heard the stories. Maybe that's why he doesn't get to make jokes about it. It was so brief I don't even know if I have the right to be offended but I am. My face must have said it all.

Oh, Bridget. I didn't mean...I'm sorry. You've led such an extraordinary life and done so many crazy things, I was just trying to..I don't know what I was trying to do. Be too familiar, probably. I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you.

You didn't exactly. I don't even know why it stung. Facts are facts. Let's forget about it.

I just keep my feet in my mouth these days. I didn't mean for you to be a victim of that as well.

How are things?

Tense.

I can well imagine.

Why won't he join me?

Loyalties.

Hoes before bros? Wait. Too soon?

Jesus, Matt. Get on the plane before I rip your face right off, okay?

Samhain until sundown.

Took Sam vintage shopping last evening, and he bought himself a corduroy blazer. If it had been green I would have burst into flames but it's caramel-colored like his hair. It suits him to a tee. I cried anyway because yeah. Don't go there, Samuel. I know it's been eight years but I'm not ready for preachers in corduroy blazers just yet.

I saw a Prada bag at the vintage store too. Three Louis Vuittons, a lot of Michael Kors, one very lovely pink Chanel, and enough Fendis to fill the trunk of my car. I bought nothing.

I should have bought something but Sam kind of blindsided me. Then we did our grocery shop for the food bank and the halloween treat shopping for the church and then we came home and battened down the hatches like in The Purge movie where all crime is legal from sunset to sunrise.

It's kind of hilarious. I donate the candy now instead of giving it out because then I don't feel bad but both Ruth and Henry were at parties and really I still am not at a hundred percent and now I see why fancy stores have big overstuffed chairs to sit in. I used to call them 'husband chairs' because husbands hate shopping but it seems they should be wife chairs. Because I hate shopping sometimes.

***

This morning I got to see the jacket in action at the Samhain service, and Sam did a lovely All Souls Eve/Druid/Unitarian/Wicca mashup that left everyone a little breathless and spooked. He's good at roping in everyone, even the absolutes (as he calls them, people with closed minds. A lot of them read my blog and send me shitty emails) and today was no exception. I came home and lit every candle in the house and then blew them all out again hoping for that same goosebumpy feeling.

It'll come. It's probably still in the garage, preparing for its grand entrance later this week.

Food.

Got a cheer this morning when I appeared at breakfast. Dressed and showered and only holding my head when no one is looking.

And all you people want to know is how big is the bathtub in the master wing ensuite?

It's big. Really big. I think a giant built this house. There's a couch in the bathroom too. A sitting room with bookshelves and a fireplace.

But yeah, that bathtub is big. It's like a small hot tub but oval. No jets. Just a soaker tub that fits us without a lot of room to spare and a nice big window for lots of light.

I kind of love it and love hot baths so it works and if it fits Ben easily, well that's a bonus because he's six foot four and all legs.

And eyes. Big gorgeous dark brown eyes that warm me without having to light a fire for the bath. I could eat him up with a spoon sometimes because of those chocolate-hot coffee eyes.

Snort. Light. I mean press a button on a wall and flames appear. Shazam.

***

Schuyler and Daniel are having a feast for their anniversary and anyone who wants to come is invited except they didn't think I would like it so they cautioned me to be prepared. I walked into their kitchen, saw a huge platter of crawfish and screamed. I don't like baby lobsters. They're spooky.

I will never live this down.

They had a wonderful anniversary for the record and are doing amazingly well. We got them a porch swing for their present. It's hard to leave but I did because they needed privacy. They couldn't keep their hands off each other after a while and I worried I might get rolled up into their plans if I didn't make my exit sooner rather than later.

***

I went to Fat Burger last night for the first time. Overpriced? Undercooked. Not inspired. Expensive chain with few tricks? Will go back and try something non-burger. I'm not a food snob but come on.

I mean really. I'm not. Went downtown for ACDC, wound up eating nachos in the stadium hallway. Rush show? Pizza Hut in the arena hallway. I'm maybe the furthest thing from a food snob you've ever seen. And I'm hungry today. Really hungry which means I'm getting better finally.

***

Update: Fat Burger got another visit and has redeemed itself. Ben figures I probably was too sick to enjoy it the first time and also cannot possibly eat one of their burgers because they're too big for me and should stick to baby burgers or pretty much anything else. He's right and the nacho fries were divine. Also the chicken tenders. And the wings. Poutine. Alright. Now I see why they call it what they do.

I spy five birds, a small safety-pin, a pinecone, a spring and a pumpkin's grin.

Something about being sick sees me spoiled rotten, if only I were well enough to enjoy it. Trust me, I'll enjoy it when I feel better but for now I'm moved to tears every time someone comes in and sits down on the edge of the bed and says I brought you something.

Ben brought me eggs Benedict take out from the place we go to sometimes. Extra hot. With potatoes on the side and juice too. He said Feed a fever, right? And I ate everything. Then I slept, the sleep you can only have if you don't have to get out of bed ever again. It was glorious. I'm up all night so I'm enjoying the drifting off during the day. It's like being on a boat that's been cut from it's anchor except that I am double-tied.

August brought me a bracelet to balance my chakras, tying it firmly on my wrist. You need to get yourself in order, he said. I asked if he would be back later with his singing bowl and he got all excited. I will! I didn't think you were interested in that!

PJ brought me I Spy Spooky Night because I used to spend hours searching for the things in those books with the children on snow days or when they were sick in bed. He helped finish the first pages and then left me to find the rest. It'll keep you busy, he said.  

Lochlan brought contraband Laphroaig, and we had a toast to our good health and then a good ironic laugh because who is healthy? Not I. I slept hard after that. Licking gravestones is exhausting. He said, Sleep, Baby Girl, which is where Cole got it from.

Cole came and fluffed his wings and left black feathers all over the floor. When my fever broke, they were gone. Sleep, Baby Girl, indeed.

The devil brought me a visit with my soul. It's got a few cracks and when I held it up sideways, sand poured out of it in a fine stream like an hourglass. You said you'd take care of it, I accused.

I did, he said. I left it the way I took it from you, from the beach at low tide. Time hasn't marched on, Neamhchiontach. It stands still. 

Duncan came up and made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Want me to sit outside your door and keep these clowns out so you can get a little rest for a couple hours or so? 

Yeah, that would be great. I smiled at him so weakly I'm sure he thinks I'm about to die but instead of panicking he pats his iPad and leans down to kiss me on the forehead. You smell funny. Have you been drinking? 

Just a toast to my good health. Apparently that's how the Scots fix everything. 

Naw, Bridge, that's how they break everything. I'm not letting him back in. 

That's fine. But only for a couple hours, okay? If I sleep too long I'll be up all night again. 

When I do wake up I have missed supper and there is a small pile of offerings beside Duncan, out on the landing in the big easy chair with the ottoman by the window.  Flowers from Corey, A whole gift basket of treats and comforts from Sam and Matt, and the promise of a Halo 5 tutorial from Dalton, because there's no local multiplayer and that sucks. And Duncan is replaced by Schuyler and Daniel, who take up residence on either side of me in bed and proceed to spend the rest of the late afternoon watching movies on my laptop and snarking on my appearance until I kick them out, replacing them with Lochlan and Ben, who now complain that the bed smells like Chanel Number five and coffee.

It does.

We change it. I am just about to crawl back in when Ben stops me, saying I really need a shower. It's been two days. I smell like a boy.

This surprises you? I laugh and then cry because I feel too weak. He reworks it to be a bath for three and we strip down and pile into a steaming hot tub, with a boy at each end and I get the middle. Ben rubs my feet while Loch washes my hair and then we add more bubbles and hot water and I float until I'm weaker still. A butter not, because now I can't move at all and this was a mistake. It wasn't though, as Ben pulls me out, wraps me in a warm towel and sends me back to bed while they go downstairs to clean up dinner.

And now I'm wide awake.

Cloudy and seventeen. Not sure if you'll get gibberish or just poor editing here so humor me.

I figured it out.

I'm allergic to rain.

It figures, since I am also allergic to cold weather, snow, wind and too-hot sun. I told this to Loch before and he laughed and agreed with me. Today he just rested the back of his hand against my forehead, frowned into my eyes and then refilled the humidifier and checked to see if my juice was still cold.

It's the high point of the day now. I get fifteen minutes with my laptop  to do emails and everything before he takes it and I go back to sleep for the rest of the day, which is dumb because today is our anniversary and it's supposed to be a special, exciting day out of the ordinary, a day in which we celebrate our fourth anniversary as old marrieds, except we're technically not married because that's illegal here but we don't really mind because this is a choice not a birthright like gay marriage and I doubt there are ever going to be a lot of people fighting to be married to more than one person at once because as everyone always says marriage is hard enough with one other person, let alone two.

Being sick is harder though so I'm going to try to get better. Rest. Fluids. Blah. The flu sucks. They let the Russian doctor (the old one, they don't trust the younger son in emergencies such as Our Princess Is Sick) all the way into my inner sanctum (bedroom) because I couldn't walk to the bathroom even and Ben helped me and then I couldn't pull the covers back up because my head hurts so bad so Ben did that too and he didn't like it so he called it in and nope, it's just the flu because there's a lot of people living here and I'm never a very good fighter so I just get everything and go down for the count while they generally work through it or fight through it and come out okay. Ben joked that if I doubled my weight I would probably be okay but then I pushed away the toast I couldn't eat. It's not going to happen any time soon.

But I still remember that morning on the cove when the fog was still low and it was chilly at sunrise and Lochlan took my hands and told me I was his heart and I thought good when he said that because mine had liquified and absorbed into my body and my hands shook because I thought my head might explode from happiness because it doesn't know what to do with that feeling, it's fleeting and unfamiliar but somehow we persevered when we were always fractured before, we made it through when we usually get so bogged down and we still have Ben with us and he's a gleeful sort of happy that doesn't go away easily anymore so maybe I can let my guard down for thirty seconds or so and just enjoy it while I get better. They've promised me scary movies and pizza in bed later and maybe a champagne toast if I'm still awake after that and god knows Ben can't keep his hands off me but Loch will probably yell at him for pushing too hard while I'm too sick to meet him halfway and that will be par for the course because that's how it goes and I don't mind, I'm just pinching my grey skin today and marvelling at how happy I am (and how pale too). Geez.

Here comes Loch. Fresh juice, grim face, a late rose from our garden in a vase, and the ipad because I can read it lying down. Things have changed from the days in the camper when he would steal bags of ice from the bin by campground office and pack them so tightly around me that he would have to sleep on the floor for the lack of remaining space.

God love him, we finally found some first-world problems to have. Don't think we don't know how lucky we are here.

Princess of good intentions.

This is what cancellation insurance looks like but it's okay, we have an open invitation to reschedule our trip (pending availability) which involved a long drive to a remote but exceedingly well-appointed mountain cabin for a close but far getaway for three. A staffed cabin with wi-fi and a huge bathtub and four fireplaces so 'cabin' might be selling it short, here.

Except I woke up with a fever of a hundred and four and chills and delerium and hallucinations and can't walk a straight line to save my soul. Caleb told me I'm allergic to being without him. Ben said he knew the fact that I had the sniffles and was uncharacteristically draggy and uninspired this week was going to result in something awful and Lochlan said You have the flu. We'll go another time.

I laughed and told him I said already I wanted to spend our anniversary in bed and it looks like I got my wish.

Netflix and chill it is.

Or I suppose, Netflix and chills.

Microjunkie.

I sat through my sessions this morning with Claus,  then with August and Sam and then with Joel too and then finally I was released to Daniel who helped me soak off the nail tips and all of the acrylic goo. I wound up with my fingers wrapped in acetone and tinfoil for the better part of forty minutes, all told, but there's no damage to my actual nails and I can feel my fingertips again.

What an awful feeling. I can only imagine what breast implants feel like. God.

I promptly painted my very short nails black and now I feel like me again.

***

Lochlan was gone for the morning, heading out with Ben for a monthly No Girls Allowed breakfast in which they discuss me (I could tell because my ears were burning) and then he worked for a couple hours and now he's home. I have to pack for our trip but he won't tell me where we're going, only that it involves a little bit of everything so dress comfortable.  I will probably just let him pack for me then. Ben came back in between and said Loch seemed lifted and confident, happy instead of defeated, humiliated and in turmoil. Then Ben looked up and said he didn't mean to say that and I said he should have, that if everything is sugar-coated then nothing is good for me, right?

And he said if you're finally fixed after all these years what are we going to do with all of this new free time, Bee? 

We're going to fuck, Ben. We're going to fuck like rabbits and it's going to be so good you won't remember that there was a Before Normal and After Perfect.

I love it when the strangest, filthiest things come out of that perfect little mouth. 

Come out? 

I mean go in. 

Jesus, Ben. 

You started it. 

***

What happens when he comes looking for you?

I keep doing what I've been doing, Loch. We've had breaks before. 

Is that what this is? A break?

I don't know what this is, to be honest. I just don't want to hurt you. 

Maybe we're even now. 

Maybe. 

He squeezes my hand and I squeeze back as one of those concrete-kisses lands against my forehead. Every kiss, each word has weight with this one. Every gesture has a meaning a thousand layers deep. Every emotion is turned inside out and worn for all to see. If ever there was a mate to the soul I used to have then it's definitely his.

Part 2: Death of a Party.

Ben looks at me in the candlelight but doesn't address me directly. It's like I'm not in the room but no way is Lochlan going to take his eyes off me for a second.

Let her have what she wants, Brother. Be generous. It works. 

I can't. Loch is stoic and anguished. He'd like to be as confident as Ben but most of the time Ben finds his courage in a barrel, bottled after twelve or twenty years.

He can't have her the way he wants and so all this does is function as a transaction. She keeps her predictable routine, he goes away for a little while. You don't want him leaning on her or you, for that matter, if she puts him off indefinitely.

I don't want him touching her.

Don't think about it like that. Think about her coming back to you.

Hey. I almost shout it from my place beside the window and they both stop and look at me. If you don't want me to go, we won't go. If it's not a good time or you think I can get around it some other way then I will. I don't want you to be so unhappy, Loch. 

Since when do you listen to me. 

I'm trying to be...um..useful. Proper. Righted. Less insane. 

You're not insane, Baby-

I know exactly what I am. And you still want me anyway. You think I'm going to risk that now? 

***

Five in the morning and I crawl into bed with the Devil. He left lights on and glasses out. He really thought I would cave in and come to him but I didn't. Not the way he wanted me to, anyway. He wakes up slowly. I watch his eyelashes flutter and his head lift in confusion, arms coming down around me. The horns are hidden, the goatee gone, and all he is now is a man in pajama pants and tangled sheets. A restless sleeper. A devil with his stinger removed.

He clutches me tightly against his chest.

I'm going to miss you, Diabhal, I whisper but I don't think he's still awake to listen.

Part 1: Death of the party.

I could hear people as I moved from room to room, checking to see that food was being circulated, drinks refilled and everything was clean. I don't have to do this, it's technically Caleb's job once I make the calls, but it feels like my responsibility all the same. Plus I hate mingling with people I don't know but who know me, or at least like to pretend they do.

Someone grips my elbow a little too tightly in her claws. I turn to see one of the wives of Caleb's former partners from Ontario, with garish makeup settled into the lines on her face that even a stellar plastic surgeon couldn't erase.

I hear you are the party planner? Can you tell me more about the fire juggler? I think I'd like to hire him for a night-or maybe a lifetime! She cackles as I move to the window and look out, ignoring her. Loch is in the driveway surrounded in a half-circle by Caleb's cronies. He's dispensed with the flowy flammable shirt but kept the vest on with those tight jeans (not mine) and is throwing his batons to raucous applause. He's concentrating but charming too. Smiling, and keeping up a banter with the crowd but sometimes letting the conversation fade as he does more difficult throws.

He looks damned hot.

(Mine.)

The woman with the claws chases up behind me. Maybe you have a card for him?

I turn and try not to glare at her. That's my husband.

Oh, I didn't know. I thought you and Caleb were-

No, Caleb is my brother-in-law. I don't want to do this right now. I want to escape.

Oh, I was mistaken then. I heard through the grapevine that you were together. She looks doubtful.

No, sorry.

Maybe you can play matchmaker for me then, if Caleb is the eligible bachelor?

Isn't your husband out there? I point toward the driveway crowd and she laughs harder and pats my arm sympathetically, because I don't get her joke. I excuse myself finally and head outside to watch Lochlan, with a bottled water for him. He gets warm, unsurprisingly, when he performs.

He sees me and wraps it up. Maybe later on I'll do a little more. Thanks for the attention, kind folks. A hat is passed. They don't realize he isn't hired entertainment. He collects some six hundred dollars and change, several business cards for people who want to hire him and far too many admiring stares from the women in the group.

He hands me the hat and shrugs. I don't know who it belongs to. And then he kisses my forehead and wraps his arm around my neck. Several people remain, watching openly as he stares at me, with that look that we exchange that apparently makes other people burst into flames on the spot.

Case in point as Caleb steps forward, putting a hand on Lochlan's back.

You're a hit, he says. Caleb is dressed (not at all ironically) as the Devil, but in a seventies cut three-piece pinstripe disco suit and he has shaved his facial stubble into a goatee. He added horns from a theatrical makeup kit and all-black contact lenses that color his entire eye surface. They're bottomless and hungry. They're frightening too. His costume seems so normal and yet out there for him. He rarely dresses up.

He is frightfully drunk as well and has forgotten Lochlan hates his guts.

You two. When Ben goes to bed, come back for a nightcap.

Not tonight, asshole, Loch tells him and picks up the torches.

Maybe. We'll see. I'd rather leave Caleb twisting in the wind then outright angry at our refusal.

Bridget- Loch's warning is predictable.

We'll see how tired I feel. I smile at Caleb. Trying to keep the peace and pull the rug out from under him at once. I bat my giant fake eyelashes at him and he grins dazzlingly back at me.

Go have a coffee and some sugar, baby. That will perk you up. He kisses my cheek and heads back into the house.

Save the night.

Lochlan leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes, the quilt pulled up to his waist, a stupid sleepy smile on his face. Had it been 1985, 1995 or 2005 he would have lit a cigarette by now but it's 2015 and he doesn't smoke anymore. No one is allowed to smoke in the house anyway.

Bandraoi-

I smile. Come on. We have to get ready. It's late.

It's true. You are.

I know.

***

Caleb is throwing a party tonight, at the new house since it's staged perfectly (still, having come with the few pieces that populate its rooms) and isn't a place where anyone lives, therefore being perfect and mysterious for the man who loves keeping people guessing all the time. The theme is the 1960s and so I'm going as Twiggy, which mostly involves platform boots and eyelashes. Ben is being Elvis, but from the bloated Vegas years with prescription bottles spilling out of his costume and a toilet seat glued to his behind, and Lochlan is going to be..

Wait for it.

Janis Joplin.

Because he can, though I suggested he borrow my skinny jeans and go as Robert Plant. He didn't think that would be as fun.

Our escape plan is simple. Eat some salmon canapes with capers (flesh d'oeuvres), have a couple glasses of blood-red champagne or black punch and then run like the fucking wind when all of the networking people have left because the minute they do the devil puts a target on my back. Halloween is his thing, only Loch put the kibosh on that already earlier in the fall by planning a little romantic getaway for the three of us to celebrate our anniversary next week. We won't be here, so Caleb acted quickly and threw together this little shindig and surprisingly had a great amount of positive RSVPs. I arranged for the decorator and the caterer myself and didn't have to buy a thing for my outfit save for the false eyelashes.

Ben had a costume in his closet.. Because...yeah..stretch satin with sequins. We don't go there. I want to hope it's from Halloween years ago but..you just...never...know.

We're not even going to talk about the whole Janis thing but if you saw Lochlan's hair right now you would nod enthusiastically and say yes, that's perfect. I straightened his hair for him this morning already and the humidity brought a little wave back into it and it's well past his shoulders again and nothing short of hilarious so why the hell not?

(And yes, we'll pat him down for weapons before we go.)

The best part of this party will be the scary SWAG bags I have for everyone as they leave. I stole the idea from a tech party I went to at the aquarium once and it's going to be awesome. They have glow sticks, masquerade masks, white candles that drip red wax when lit, a candy apple, chocolate eyeballs, lady fingers and gift cards for the movie theater with free popcorn but only if they use them for horror movies. They are wrapped in a bag with Frankenstein's monster silk-screened on the outside. It's reusable but I'm guessing only someone like me would use it as a daily driver.

I did good. The Devil is proud.

Let's see if he will be harmless.

Better yet! Let's see who he dresses up as!

I'm sorry for breaking your heart.

I bought Adele's new single before I was even out of my pajamas. And then I tested the turkey soup from Christmas, thinking it was bad and it wasn't and I ate two bowls full and now my belly hurts but it's Friday so I'll soldier on.

Oh. When the chorus kicks in at 1:09. That VOICE. Jesus. She's amazing.

Did I mention it's Friday?

Did I mention they're all hovering close, being kind and quiet and sweet, waiting for me to self-destruct with regret over not reading the letters, especially since I am the Most Curious Person In The World but it seems like I'm tired of my own shit. I'm tired of dead people running my life. I'm tired of memories sabotaging what could have been perfectly good days if only I had let them see the sun, instead trampling them down flat and pulling a black cloud over the tops of them until they had no tools with which to thrive and I had nothing handy with which to change. Maybe I just reached a point with a plan to get through the future in case it doesn't go according to plan and a whole different plan to just be happy. Guarded but happy. Bearing my scars without any goddamned apologies anymore but smiling up front so you see it first, before you can see how horribly disfigured I am when the whole picture comes into focus.

No more apologies.

No more ghosts.

Temporary? Sure. I don't know. I wanted some of my own power back and I got it. Maybe it's just a strong day. Maybe I'm trying to hard to honor everyone, honoring those who stuck around and made the effort to put up with me and withstand my doubt, my mistrust and my terrible insecurities that drown everything within a seven-hundred mile radius, a veritable tsunami of refusal to let you forget I got my heart broken so badly it couldn't be fixed.

But it still works and that's the important part.

That's the bottom line.

That's the road home.

And now I honor myself.

Because *I* deserve it. I'm still here. I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be happy. I deserve this.

I also...really deserve not to be listening to these triumphantly sad songs at six o'clock in the morning, don't I?

Appearances.

Wowee. I get to spend the afternoon with Caleb and Lochlan at the high school for our parent-teacher interviews in which we are asked what we do while they prepare their notes on our children. Caleb always says he's a solicitor, which sounds pretentious as fuck and then I watch him pale when I point out I was a circus performer but now I'm a stay-at-home mom.

Executive Assistant, Caleb will correct me.

Temporarily, yeah. I'm a temp then. Everything is temporary anyhow, I tell the teachers with a smile and they wonder what I did in the circus just like they wonder what life is like at our home address because people talk and everyone knows Henry and Ruth live in a commune.

Caleb will be satisfied with Henry's high marks and efforts in class, while Lochlan will fret every last vestige of his quite unscholarly genetics that leave teachers telling us Ruth is such a sweet girl but she daydreams and if she only applied herself, she would go places. Loch will look up from a dizzying pile of hard-fought essays and say This is how I know she WILL go places. Because she doesn't want to be in here doing reports. 

Pro. Found./ Am. Lost.

I turned my head and Sam threw it all into the fire. Three in the morning, pitch-dark sky, bone-chill wind, unread words on pages I didn't even unfold. He dug until he found everything that remained (things I had no energy to look for because every time I did it felt like someone was standing on my chest, keeping me from breathing, proper) and then he burned it all. Loch lit the fire, Ben took up sentry duty, throwing his arms wide or taking a step to block me every time I moved.

I used that fire to warm my bones and I refused to give the momentum any weight at all. I refused to acknowledge this big thing, the fact that every time I walked in on him ostensibly writing a sermon over the course of eighteen months, that he was living a lie and writing me a goodbye letter instead, which is why this fire tonight burns so large, so brightly.

So many letters I'll never read. So many words, up in smoke. Ideas sparked and dead in the ashes. Like Jake. It serves no purpose to read his words any more. I know what it was. I know what he could and couldn't do. It still amazes me to think about how he wasn't strong in the end, something he raked Ben through fire for, because he was afraid the mirror would show his own face instead of Ben's.

Lochlan, bless his heart, hasn't said a word. The tears rolled down my face and he took his entire flannel-covered forearm and wiped my face and simply turned me back to Sam to watch the flames until they died too. Like Jake. Like the letters I will never know, or the man I didn't get to grow old with because I was tough and he was a goddamned chickenshit.

Be angry, Sam says. This is good. 

What is? Memory Rage? The only person I can take it out on isn't here anymore. How is this good?

When I open the door the room has been ransacked. Papers have rained down over everything, drawers are pulled out and upended on the floor, chairs are knocked over and the blinds are tangled and bent, strings knotted permanently. Half the lightbulbs are burnt out and several are broken off in the spartan fixtures. The memory thief made a break and enter, I think.

Sorry, Bridge. I had some work to do in here. I'll tidy up within the week.

Why didn't you ask me, Sam?

You were busy.

What were you looking for?

Some of the good parts so I have enough ammunition for the war coming up. I aim to wound but it better be good, you know what I mean?

I do. I nod at him. I've decided to attend the war unarmed for once and see if I can make it out unscathed.

I just want to bring you down in a positive way that won't scar, if it comes to that.

I understand.

I didn't mean to leave it in such a mess, though. I didn't think you'd be in here, to be honest.

I'm in here every day. What are you talking about?

Which files did you access?

Whatever I want. Why? Am I suddenly not allowed?

I'd prefer it if you waited for me to go with you. It's so dark and bleak. Almost dangerous.

I know. It's easier that way, Sam.

I know it is.

But what exactly were you looking for that involves knocking over chairs?

The rest of the letters, Bridget. I'd like to find them before you do.

"Life is on both sides of the coin: Death is only on the edge."

Ben got his one-week chip this morning. It says EVERY DAY IS A GIFT. Receipt of it came a day late but he stuck around with me yesterday and wouldn't even leave me in perfectly good company to go to his meeting despite being ordered to do so. I was kind of glad he stuck around, to be honest, but since I am the supreme cause/enabler let's just say he went straight out this morning with Sam and took possession of this latest chip with great pride and humility. He showed it to me when he came home.

I have a coin I put in my pocket every morning too but it's got Saint Patrick on it and it is a lucky coin. It keeps anyone else from dying as long as I have it. I've put it through the wash fifty times. I once gave it to Skateboard Jesus and had to flag him down and take it back after I got halfway down the block and realized I gave it away. I've tried to jam it into parking meters and shopping carts but it's determined to see me through and so maybe a coin token is the perfect little fiddly reminder for Ben, who's brain works at only a marginally-less screamy rate than mine. He seems to be a big pea in my pod. I wish I could fix him and he sorely, newly wishes he could fix me. I guess that makes us even at last.
 

Allergic to treating myself, or something.

Saturday somehow went to hell in a handbasket as I had possibly one of the worst migraines of my young life take over by lunchtime and try to take me out. I would have gone to the hospital for shots like back in the good old days but it frankly hurt too much to move so I cried until I was sent to bed and there I laid and cried some more. I had been planning to tell you that I went back to the pharmacy and brought home a few boxes of the Relpax, on prescription, because the Cambia isn't portable and because it works best if you take it right away and I always wait until I know it's a migraine for sure, usually missing the window of opportunity to fix it and sending myself down a rabbit hole of physical misery, which is better than emotional misery, right?

So I took a Relpax (NSAID) in the morning and then another three hours later, as instructed. And then my head exploded so I can only tell you that it not only didn't dent the pain, instead it seemingly magnified it.

Lochlan blamed the sushi we had Friday night. I blame wakeful sleeping and psychic stress and anything else you want to offer up, frankly. I wondered if the nail tips squeezing my nails had done it. I gave myself checkpoints to make it to (if I wake up like this I'll go to the ER) and then Sunday morning I slept in until I could get up without wincing and moved in slow-motion throughout the day. I did no cooking or chores, we mostly got caught up on our television series that we wanted to watch (finishing Season One of The Strain, SO GOOD) and I'm still moving gingerly today, not pushing too hard because my head feels sore and I'm just completely out of whack now. Still.

As always?

I know. Slow down, Bridget. Stop stressing the fuck out over every little thing.

Why is that such a tall order for such a small girl?

Nailed it.

Might have fallen into a nail salon yesterday afternoon(blame Daniel and Schuyler and their metrosexuality) and came home with a french manicure on long glamorous nails (solar? Something acrylic tips). I can't pick up pennies off the floor nor can I button my jeans but I don't have stubby eight-year-old hands now.

The downsides are that I feel like I have press-on nails on right now, I can't pick up pennies off the floor nor can I button those damned jeans and also the jury is out on whether or not Bridget can successful look or act like a girl.

I think the jury came back with a no because I also went to Schuyler's Korean barber and let him cut my hair back into a sticking-up pixie and then I promptly used my new nails to finish scraping all the grout off the shower door so it can be redone.

I don't know about this at all.

Daniel and Schuyler were thrilled. Treat yourself, Bridge! 

(How am I supposed to do that when you paid for it?)

Caleb nodded his approval. Look how neat and pulled together you look-
 
(Aye. Fuck off.)

Ben was all Ha! You got the porn nails. Yeesh, glad you didn't have those when we hit the chandelier! I'd be one-eyed Ben the Pirate now. Also, don't touch my junk with those. They hurt.

(Forgot. He had another life once.)

August and PJ shared their opinion. This doesn't seem like you. 

(Tell me about it.)

Lochlan didn't mince his words at all. When can you take them off? 

(Sigh.)

Ruth wants to get hers done now. I think they're okay but when they start to grow out I'll probably take the chainsaw to them. I can't see going back to have them redone or doing this long term. I can't type. I can't wipe my ass. And I feel like a total impostor. Loch is usually right, and he has a lot of generosity and patience for my experimenting but at the same time I think he knows me better than I know myself.

We're good, thanks.

(I almost called this one Adjustable Brightness.)

I was standing in the foyer, just a step or two past the door to the hallway that leads down toward the kitchen, talking to Duncan who was waiting for Ben to come so they could go to a meeting. Duncan is going four times a week right now and is doing well. Ben goes every day and is doing well, admitting now that his plan backfired rather terribly.

So I didn't hear Ben come down the hall and duck behind me, sticking his head right through between my knees and then standing up so I was now sitting on his shoulders. Then two things happened. One, he failed to gauge how close I was to the chandelier and two, when I hit the chandelier I tilted backwards and to the left and grabbed for purchase. Purchase was his head, and as I screamed, I gouged a deep scrape right across his eye and cheek.

Duncan just stood there and laughed.

I managed to break two lightbulbs with my own head and have a huge bruise on my temple and a scratch on my neck and Ben only bled a little bit but we bandaged him up (no stitches required) and now he looks scarier than ever. 

Happy Friday.

Metal devil.

I bought our Iron Maiden tickets this morning while sitting on the cold white marble floor of the hallway of house number four, having chose correctly for the myriad of presale passwords I had for some really good seats. We don't get comp tickets much any more these days. Ben has chosen to leave most of those circles in which handshakes beget events and then I somehow wind up doing music videos for bands whose names I can't even pronounce without a shitload of priming beforehand.

Truth be told I know two Maiden songs. Run for the Hills and...and Ace of...well it's not Spades because that's Motorhead.

Aces High?

Ah yes. I have six months to sort them out.

Oh WAIT. I know Number of the Beast. Hallowed be thy Name. Fear of the Dark. Okay, I'm good. I pull a fist down in victory from my sprawl on the floor and Caleb comes back in, shooting a cuff, checking the Breitling, probably to make sure I haven't stolen it off his wrist moreso than for the time and he looks kind of pissed off.

How on earth is Pyro going to know if we leave the point. I have things to do and I'm not going to remain stuck here because he 'said so'. 

Well, I have to so if you have work with me than we do it here. I have an imaginary perimeter. Like a dog. An invisible fence. I laugh and he does..not.

Did you have one of these on the Midway?

Of course. I was a little kid. 

You were a teenager. 

Twelve doesn't have the word teen in it, does it? I ask him innocently. I am rewarded with that look that indicates he can't even believe I have spoken back to him.

Get your things. We need to have some breakfast and then I have some things to do. He can order you around but he can't order me. I'm not the bad guy today. 

Depends. Are you coming to Maiden with us? 

Hell, yes. Now I get the smile. No surprise there.