By the Grace of Sim Gods

Emilie: “No News is Good News”, Right?

A sudden weather change had everyone on edge; Charlotte coped, managing her time and emotions by copying her sister’s pattern. She hoped the routine Eliza kept would share its clues, and Charlotte would find her. The mission, documented in a journal, failed to share its secrets. Emilie wondered if the young detective was on to something, the cliche of “walking a mile” in another’s life; perhaps they should have started here.

Undeterred by storms, Emilie and Sparky took regular jogs through Newcrest; she prayed her daughter was somewhere safe, warm, the idea Eliza huddled under a bridge, scared, or slept rough on the streets made her mouth bitter and chest tight. At home, Sparky attached himself to his new pack leader, a replacement for Eliza. He followed Emilie, watching her clean, cook and shower; her tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes a permanent feature. Emilie knew he wanted to understand, be a comfort through long days; it was her time to release. The hard part was the pretence; to keep normalcy for Charlotte and Patrick, masking the pain with smiles and food, whatever it took to get through the night.

Patrick looked to Eliza for guidance; it had been her influence that made him accept the leadership of her social group; thinking back, he wondered if she planned to leave years ago. His thirteenth birthday would be difficult; friends were weird, with both him and Charlotte. She opted to ditch that friend in favour of another, but Patrick felt different. Due to his shyness, he relied on Eliza, the grounding force, who pushed him to speak and take risks. Eliza had gone, so was that confidence; how could he go to High School without her? The other problem was Charlotte; she enjoyed teasing him, Eliza had been the referee, keeping her in check, the youngest sister’s behaviour bordered on mean. Throw in the tension in his parents, the hushed conversation of what comes next; Patrick wanted to cancel the celebration.

Emilie forced the routine, three square meals, sleep schedule, she focused on what she could control, snapping at the insignificant things when Charlotte stole a bite of Patrick’s cake or Rylan made a noise during her quiet moment of days reflection. The idea Eliza would stay lost was unbearable; Patrick had to ask, how do they move on with the unknown? She forced a smile, holding the tears; Rylan, no anger, he sank, head bowed; there would be a whole in their world, but they would find a way to live with the absence. This would be their life, nothing would fill the gap, with joyous occasions marred with guilt, and any happiness a reminder.

The cake looked delicious; there would be plenty of leftovers, the two friends that showed were there because of Charlotte and the pirate ship. For all the tormenting Charlotte enjoyed dishing her brother, his birthday was something that should be good. Patrick watched the candles, the flickering light, wax melting, the “Happy Birthday” tune sung. Rylan nudged him, a wish, blow the flames, they were waiting to eat cake. His son continued staring, what was the point, wishing to see his sister remained unfulfilled, Patrick stepped outside leaving Emilie to remove the candle and serve.

If you are affected by this story https://www.missingpeople.org.uk/about-the-charity supports people left behind by their loved one and a way for the missing to reach out or get advice.

Emilie: Empty Leads

Sparky tugged the lead, he sniffed the air, plants trees, Emilie wondered if they were clues or for the pleasure of being a dog, either way, he looked to have fun with their outings. Emilie glanced, the neighbourhood occupied itself, mundane and forgetful of the missing. She hoped, to see raven-hair bouncing towards her, or if she turned her head towards home, she would catch her running back to the welcoming arms of her siblings. The police had nothing to report, her bank account had gradually emptied, wherever Eliza was going, she had planned this months ago. It confirmed what Emilie feared, Eliza wanted her independence to escape her father and his dreams for her future. Eliza’s reasons to escape were clear, to where remained hazy, Emilie wanted to protect her family, to tell Eliza to stop being foolish and come home, but everyday her heart had a missing piece. Dogs had complete disregard for these complex emotions, he did his business as Emilie fought tears, standing in the emptiness created by her missing baby.

Rylan’s head pounded with the questions, his son anger at those unanswered. Eliza had vanished; Patrick wanted a note, something that explained why, perhaps a forwarding addressing or was that it, she no longer loved him. He wrestled thoughts, was it his fault; he did put frogs in her bath and the violin she gave him, he had failed to retune it. The next target for blame was Rylan, with sentences he started with “if only…” continuing the negative vibe; Rylan’s positive contribution ran to the missing person forum. Checking twice a day, praying one person could write, “I saw her on the train to Windenberg from Newcrest”, perhaps they caught a glimpse of her reading in the park; Rylan had to believe there would be answers to his daughter’s whereabouts.

How could life move on? The remaining children had school, albeit a temporary distraction; it was better than the nothingness Emilie faced. She stopped her freelance work, unable to give the focus the opportunity demanded. Emilie wished her daughter could see how important she was, how other people, those outside the family, reacted to her absence; would she still have disappeared from her life? Her school showed their support, and the volunteers Eliza worked with made posters, paid for newspaper information requests and made phone calls. It came clear they would find Eliza when she was ready; Emilie followed up on empty leads to Oasis Springs, the opposite direction to the one they believed she would travel.

Another wasted journey, this time to San Myshuno, a train guard saw a young woman matching the description purchasing another ticket, unable to see where to, or if the purchase was for the underground Emilie and the few police who remained on this case spoke to passengers. They shrugged; the overcrowded stations, filled with people commuting, Eliza, to them was another faceless person they walked by on their journey.

If you are affected by this story https://www.missingpeople.org.uk/about-the-charity supports people left behind by their loved one and a way for the missing to reach out or get advice.

Rylan: Gone

The family slept, Sparky barked, howled, pawing the door, Rylan groaned, padding downstairs annoyed at the late hour, assuming it was a toilet emergency, Rylan opened the door. Sparky sniffed, darting towards the road, Rylan hollered, but Sparky disappeared. Emilie had checked the children, Patrick slept obvious to the chaos, and Charlotte cried, frightened she had run to Eliza’s room, she climbed into bed to discover her sister was a pillow mountain. Frantic, Emilie ushered Rylan to find Sparky, believing he was looking for Eliza. Wherever their daughter was, her bed was empty.

The police had questions; Emilie felt numb, comprehending the idea, her daughter, lost in the world, alone; were they bad parents? It seemed that way; the phrasing of their inquiries implied they were responsible, of course, they were, but how did she fail to see this coming. Eliza had been miserable, avoided being near them, stayed in her room, or went running with Sparky. The house suffered, father and daughter with similar tempers; Eliza stormed, a friends birthday; she wanted to party rather than study for exams, one night to blow off steam. Emilie prayed this was the answer, Eliza would be back ready for school Monday, willing to accept her punishment and life would continue. Except, she knew this was different, perhaps knowing was an overstatement but the chaos of Eliza’s room overturned as the police looked for clues, told her Eliza had no intention of returning.

Emilie sat quiet, thumbs stroking a teddy; some clothes, books, and money were missing, along with food taken from the kitchen; Eliza had runaway. Rylan dismissed the idea, believing Eliza, his sensible daughter will call, either hanging with friends or visiting Ziva; she wanted to get back at him for grounding her; rebellion was natural at her age. Sparky whimpered, Rylan scolded him for waking the neighbours with his cries, stared sombre at the locked front door. Family, the few friends she had, no one had heard from her, Rylan accused them of lying, directing his anger, the blame at everyone.

Emilie stretched exhausted; she slept a few hours, torn, a piece of her needing to call everyone begging them to find Eliza, the other hoping she would call home. Each knock brought well-wishers, friendly faces, bringing a casserole; although Emilie appreciated the distraction, the conversation crept back to Eliza; and why such a smart girl would disappear. Vicky was on hand to interrupt the unwanted questions; with Ziva dealing with a delicate space mission, she welcomed the change of scene. She busied herself with housework and school projects as Milly slept in her bassinet, oblivious to the chaos.

If you are affected by this story https://www.missingpeople.org.uk/about-the-charity supports people left behind by their loved one and a way for the missing to reach out or get advice.

Ziva: Milly Cavanagh-Grace

Getting pregnant had been a breeze; it came as a surprise, despite the awkwardness Vicky succeeded on the first attempt; destiny smiled in favour of the couple, at least Ziva believed this. The months that followed were difficult; Vicky suffered, first and second trimester brought nausea, several days of stomach upsets and irritation with everything from furballs to her art. Vicky’s third trimester brought pain, back, breasts and neck, comforted by a craving for sweet pancakes ladened with maple syrup. They were walking, taking in the post-storm sea air; Vicky felt a contraction in her abdomen, she had another month until she was due, but the batter-loving baby decided otherwise.

Vicky growled at the nurses, her usual polite demeanour lost amongst the contracting pain and comment that she required patience; her body needed time to dilate. She sobbed as time ticked into hours; they monitored her, the beeping adding to her stress over this premature birth. The doctor assured her the baby would be fine, perhaps a lower weight, but strong like her mothers. Exhausted, Vicky pushed their daughter into the world, Ziva wept as she cut the umbilical cord, and the loud cry announced a change in life; her name was Milly.

Big green eyes, a hint of ginger hair, Ziva had to count the fingers and toes; she moved back to the bassinet to check she was there, the baby so quiet wriggled. Vicky rested, patting the empty space, hope that Ziva would lay, enjoy the silence and the view across the ocean. They had the sudden realisation the boxy storage room was inadequate for their baby girl, work and hospital appointments kept them busy for nine month, neither considered how the baby would require a bedroom. Building work was a headache; Vicky shared her vision of a spacious room, pinks, blues, yellows, a small balcony with large windows. Ziva looked alarmed, a balcony, and a toddler; Vicky curled, suppressing her laughter as Ziva’s concerns turned into a dramatic monologue of protection and added panic over the proximity to the ocean. The excitement of becoming parents hid the fears of “What If…?”, Milly deserved everything they could offer, but both wondered if they were enough?

Vicky’s concerns grew, Ziva’s birthday, the big six-zero was coming up, she had been busy learning motherhood, prioritising Milly above everything, including the animals. Patches and Asher hated the change, sofa relegation, an uneasy truce for cats and Fiona. Knowing an interesting new addition awaited their approval had them scratching the door. Abby bided her time; Vicky prepared Chocolate cake, hoping six lit candles would keep interested paws at bay. Undeterred, Abby inched closer, her whiskers twitched, the warmth of the flames, dripping wax, she followed her nose, tasting the sweet, creamy frosting.

Gone were the long hot summer days; the birthday plans seemed to have involved summoning storms, the cats hid, hissing when approached, and Fiona howled in response to every sky tearing rumble. Neither had experienced a similar storm, Vicky worried her efforts were in vain and the party cancelled. Vicky clutched the spoon, jumping at the thundering crack, mac and cheese splattered the floor, rain cascaded, the window cleaned, Ziva had been promising to do them but seemed distracted by Milly.

Huddled together, the families made their way into the house, Ziva handing towels, Vicky with steaming coffee and cocoa. Rylan grinned, peering towards the kitchen, knowing Vicky would have baked. He hoped as the older twin to take the first slice, hands-on shoulders Vicky guided him to the table, at least, he should indulge her savoury offerings.

Eliza, Liam, Rhonda, Patrick, Emilie, and Ziva

Eliza sat alone, moving each time someone made a beeline for her. Ziva cornered her in the kitchen; there had been words, Eliza and Rylan on the porch, shivering as he lectured her on social interactions and watching her siblings. Her tense niece crumbled the cake slice, pressing fingers in soft icing, her face hard, as though she could see every molecule and attempted to move it with her mind. There would be a space for Eliza, should she want to escape during school holidays, plus Fiona would love Sparky, the two dogs could have run along the beach. Eliza tripped her cake, Ziva’s heart sank as it fell, the bin felt metaphoric for her niece’s mood. Rylan said Eliza wanted to stay home; this hurt Ziva; she hated seeing Eliza unhappy and unwilling to speak.

Eliza: Piling on the Pressure

High school is nothing like juniors; Eliza excelled in all areas enjoying the work and the escape from home. She thrived on debating; maintaining friendships when they took opposing views was difficult. Eliza’s determined attitude, inherited from her, cost her friends as she learnt to balance this with respect for their opinions. Lee walked her home; the pair enjoyed each other’s company as they loved debating everything from the best sandwich filling, the perfect grilled cheese to policies like “No Sim left behind” and the upcoming election. They walked slowly, Eliza resisting the plan to go home, Rylan seemed to have a plan for her life, and he expected her to go along without complaint.

Parties, bowling with friends, her volunteer work; squeezed into Rylan’s strict timetable for her. She understood he wanted her to succeed where he failed, but this was her life and future he was trying to control. Charlotte and Patrick were free of this obligation; Eliza suffered as he began to feel regret, refusing her entry to private school when she was younger. The teachers said Eliza needed a challenge, she understood material taught to senior students; they predicted great things were abundant in her future if she put in the extra work. Rylan took this to mean a 9 pm curfew, regulation of activities, and additional responsibility in the form of volunteering.

Eliza embraced any opportunity to escape her family; she loved volunteering, the conversations with people outside her family and peer group gave way to life lessons. She listened to the older generation; without grandparents, these were the closest she got to hearing what life was like when they were young. Romanticised memories were nothing like her home life, whatever she or her siblings needed shoes, a party dress, or a replacement part for the pirate ship, Rylan had them covered. Money gave her father power; he held her desires hostage; denying her a trip to San Myshuno with friends as she had an uncompleted project, despite having the weekend to work on it.

Sparky was her other joy, Charlotte teased, overusing the phrase “Pets are like their owners”, referring to his stubbornness. Exercise through the day was hard since she had school, and Emilie was no substitute for the long runs; Eliza started taking him on. An unstimulated dog was trouble, scratching the carpet, flowers dug up, and a routine inspection of the bin, Sparky deposited samples of his finds in various areas of the house. Rylan fumed, his shoes host a moulding sandwich, he threatened to send him to the pound, but Sparky was safe, Rylan outvoted four to one.

Rylan sighed; he planned book writing that evening, hoping another murder mystery would bump his flailing book sales. Instead, with the project in hand, at Emilie’s suggestion, engage in a father-daughter bonding activity. Eliza attempts to follow her father to give him space to read instructions and assist in the literal bridge she needed to build. Her patience is short-lived, agitated by his fumbling and presence; Eliza bites her lip, desperate to shout, thankful for the phone call.

Ziva: Our Desire, Our Love, Our Future

They took their seats in the restaurant; Vicky slid her hand into Ziva’s beneath the table, nervous at how Rylan would react. Ziva began with a pleasant conversation, enquiries on how Eliza was finding high school and Emilie’s fears regarding Patrick starting school. Rylan knew Ziva had something to say, rare his sister was coy, she kept looking at Vicky, their fingers interlaced out of sight. The twins loved their food; seeing Ziva’s plate untouched for once, caught his attention. Vicky squeezed, encouraging Ziva, she had made her peace with her life, the choices that led her to this moment, and if their desire, the last piece of what they wanted to call home was nothing but a pipe dream, she knew she could live with that. Emilie and Rylan shared a puzzled look; Ziva continued, adoption had been their first thought, their age meant the agency wanted to place older children someone Eliza’s age into their care. Vicky had no issues regarding her fertility despite being in her forties, she was healthy, but they declined to assist. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her eyes, nervous with her question; they wanted to try, even if it failed, to conceive using an insemination kit at home, for that Ziva hoped Rylan would be willing to help.

Silence, the request hung in the air, Ziva thought she would cry, the bite of dinner lodged in her throat. Emilie, agast, said nothing; Rylan’s face broke the seriousness, he grinned, enthusiastically agreeing to whatever they needed. He was happy the responsibility stopped when he handed them his essence. Relief was short-lived, Emilie worried, she loves her in-laws, they would have been wonderful parents, but they were older. It concerned her they would die before the baby became an adult. Jose died when the twins were children, and although Aria lived to see them become young adults, it had affected them both; their choices and behaviour. Vicky agreed, adoption may be the better option; holding Ziva’s hand again; they wanted to create something with their love. Rylan repeated his agreement, ignoring a disappointed Emilie, his mind made, she needed to accept.

Ziva wondered if she should have made this special; the process was clinical, unromantic, her brother in the bathroom, as she and Emilie sat uncomfortably. She pondered what Vicky may have liked, scented candles, a moment or two being a couple, the thought that her brother and sister-in-law were in the house, made her shudder. Vicky waited upstairs, praying her dates were correct; it felt strange, cold. Afterwards, did she need to lay, legs raised high? A headstand? Panic: what if it failed? This process had given them both hope; Vicky wanted Ziva to have everything, her wife confessed her secret desire, holding Eliza; Ziva knew she wanted children. Both accepted their preference, or at least Vicky’s preference, meaning they required a third person. A gentle tap interrupted her train of thought; Ziva lay, the warm pot in hand. Had Vicky changed her mind? She shook her head kissing Ziva; their future was somewhere in the gloopy chaos of this decision.

Ziva: Happy Ever… Napping

Rylan thrived on attention; regular ego massages came with the growing popularity of his books and the movies they spawned. Vicky and Ziva hoped an evening surrounded by family, drinking, maybe dancing, would be quiet, free from Rylan hogging the spotlight by announcing his attendance. Her brother forgot his fame for five minutes, pretending that he, with a beautiful woman on his arm, was a regular guy. The barman recognised him offering a free drink then the bell rang as the star struck tender announced the celebrity presence, the quiet night turned to a party, with Rylan front and centre.

The job commanded Ziva, launched into space, chasing rogue aliens and smugglers, she needed good fitness. It sapped her energy resources; at home, she dozed, the tv sound muted, Vicky humming, cooking their supper. She watched jealous, Vicky and Emilie had the whole bar dancing; her young beautiful vibrant wife laughed, eager for Ziva to join. Ziva wondered if it was her advancing age, but she preferred the quiet evenings, her aching feet massaged as she read Rylan’s books to Vicky. Resting her head, Ziva closed her eyes; the music fizzled to the background and sleep found her.

Since the wedding, Vicky had distanced herself from the dominant personalities that made up her three siblings. They had families; spare time was a rare commodity; Vicky knew she would be lucky to see any of her nieces. Rhonda, the eldest, enjoyed her visits, wanting to play fetch with Fiona, build an appetite ready to devour the buffet spread Vicky and her anxiety prepared. The weather had alternative plans for Rhonda, the game of fetch brought her inside; she was bored, Vicky distracted her with music. Ziva had installed a new sound system; the invitation to dance was infectious amongst the visiting siblings.

Ziva slept through the day; Vicky worried the job demands were excessive, her concerns met with a sleepy dismissal, blaming her age and desire to keep pace with the younger rangers. Vicky found worrying impacted her inspiration; the blank canvas taunted her; for days it loomed, Vicky felt certain, it mocked her. The cats followed the ins and outs; Vicky transferred her work to what passed for a garden, an unkempt patch of grass surrounding the house. Asher and Libby stretched themselves, sunbathing and napping. Abby had other plans, prowling; Vicky theorised she wanted to fight; when dogs barked, Abby headed their way, unafraid.

Vicky brought creative energy; the house came to life with her singing, artistic flare and the sweet smells that arose from the kitchen. It surprised Ziva how easy Vicky had embedded herself into the routine; this home with her fur babies was complete. Ziva felt the tug of jealousy watching Rylan with his family; she could see the same loving looks in Vicky’s eyes, her nieces, and nephews, Ziva wondered if they should consider their own. She plonked Patches on the sofa, running fingers through thick fur; Vicky grinned at the notion, they needed a man to volunteer, and Ziva had the perfect candidate.

Eliza: Sparky

Charlotte was going through a morning phase; she believed everyone should be awake at dawn. Running into Eliza’s room, she jumps on the bed, screaming how it was Saturday; they needed to go swimming, have a picnic, and Eliza had to bake her brownies. The excitement of the weekend replaced by Emilie, an exhausted smile, another school day deadened the atmosphere. Eliza groaned; the duvet pulled above her head; Emilie made Rylan promise, an A grade today would grant her a puppy.

Eliza stared at the soggy cereal, wheat hoops swelling, floating, her maths test nausea taking the desire to eat. Life felt unfair; hoops Rylan made her jump through, Eliza had proved she was responsible, why did he object to her having a dog? Uneaten breakfast disposed, Rylan frowned; Eliza started to see school as stupid, a way to make people conform to impossible expectations, become repetitive parrots and live within societal norms. She wanted a challenge, adventure, the world held possibilities to expand the mind; school dismissed her creative thinking rather than encouraging it. Emilie was the go-to when they required advice and encouragement or sense; Rylan struggled to understand his children, but this feeling he knew. Society demanded an educated individual; he knew Eliza’s intelligence was akin to Ziva, but she had surpassed his sister. He remained certain, Eliza, despite her intellect, still unprepared for the world outside. Handing her the lunch sack, Rylan suggested volunteering as she had as a child.

It seemed weird; Eliza considered her father’s advice, the school demanded regular volunteers for nursing homes, soup kitchens, local clean-up and bake sales, the latter being her favourite kind. Saturday morning, Charlotte provided the much-needed alarm call; convinced her father would welch on the agreement, she headed towards the bowling alley. Cake stalls were laden with goodies, her stomach rumbled, regretting the choice to skip breakfast. Her role, greeting the visitors, taking entry donations; many were tight, offering tiny amounts or ignoring her, what was worse the charity event brought minimal interest. Eliza sighed, her stomach aching, sweet aromas filled her nostrils, intensifying the feeling. Unattended Macaroons tempted Eliza, she could imagine the pink crispy shell popping on her tongue, the smooth strawberry cream making her mouth water. Resistance was difficult, she gazed longing; ditching her post, Eliza took the tray, stepping to the street she hollered at passers-by, promoting the delicious wonders waiting inside. The promotion worked, each welcome donation received a macaroon, she watched as people entered, intrigued and exit with arms of cakes, biscuits and full stomachs. Rylan may have thought she would be fearful of the world, Eliza believed she was ready and this event proved she had something special, as the organiser gave her a dozen chocolate macaroons as a thank you.

Her family gathered, greedy they took a share of Eliza’s reward, unresponsive to the knocking. Eliza ditched her macaroon to answer, a man with a large cage smiled. He looked through the house, the cage whimpered, tiny yaps, but the man refused to let her look until satisfied she and the home were suitable. A frown transitioned to a big smile, he asked Rylan to sign, nodding to Eliza she opened the cage. Wary of his new surroundings Sparky, a black and brown furry ball with four clumsy paws sniffed the air.

Eliza: Birthday Girl

“Don’t wake the Llama” is a game of strategy, a steady hand and luck. Eliza teased the log, aware the Llama already rocked; it sat precarious and stared, daring her to make a mistake. It was her special day; nothing was stopping her from winning, except Charlotte; she glared needing, Eliza to topple the logs so she could be safe. Charlotte kicked the table as Eliza safely removed her chosen piece, the game tumbled, Patrick yelled, Charlotte argued back it was falling, that her tap changed nothing. The game was finished, Eliza tidied the pieces watching them, it was a game, why did Charlotte need to turn everything into a competition, one where she had to be the winner.

Eliza gives her aunties a twirl, she was a perfect combination, the parents best elements, Rylan, his black hair, brown eyes, from Emilie, the shape of her face, curves of her body. She felt confident, self-assured, ready to take on school and the lessons they had. Vicky and Ziva invested in an animal treat crafting station, encouraging Eliza to follow her veterinary dreams. Listening to Ziva, stories surrounding Fiona and her band of cats influenced her love of animals. The present she longed for was a dog; Rylan kept pushing the parameters, the achievements to gain; each time Eliza reached them, Rylan moved the goal. Her current target was a grade A in high school, although his irritation over her lifestyle choice, being vegetarian reduced her chances. Emilie had sympathised, considering Eliza at mealtimes, adapting where possible. It had put extra strain on her mothers, but Eliza was old enough to cook for herself, eager to learn from the best.

Patrick stood curious as Eliza directed her parents; the changes to her bedroom included space for her crafting station and an upgrade to a double bed. The brother awaited his chance to claim anything, preferably activities he could do in the bedroom. Being shy, Patrick spent his time reading, pushed aside by Charlotte as she took charge of the Social Butterflies. Eliza moved the violin and art table to the hall; this was his chance; he dragged the table a couple of feet, Rylan interrupted the rug ruffled, unimpressed, Patrick stared at his feet apologising. Emilie had planned to put the table downstairs, the play area emptied since they were no longer toddlers; Patrick won her over, as he believed Charlotte uninterested. His promise to spend time making friends lay broken, the table and violin in his room; Patrick knew that if mum delivered meals and he had a private bathroom attached, he could remain safe in solitude.

High school, nothing like Eliza expected; the moment she stepped foot into class; it was as though she was in quicksand. Eliza established her intelligence, creative genius, maintaining popularity, feeling unstoppable. She returned mortified; teens stared, making her feel like a freak, as she stammered through answers. Homework increased, a thick blue book filled with information they expected she learnt and understood. Things faired the same for her sister, an attitude fueled by believing she was the best. Looking back on her school, Charlotte realised she had overestimated her abilities; her grades suffered. Emile couraged her daughters to focus; they will match her peers and succeed.

Ziva: Now and Forever

Ziva took a breath, reminded herself, take each task in hand; the next fortnight would be a challenge, the long-awaited vows at the end worth every ounce of stress. She had dreamt of the chapel her parents wed; plans were to knock it down, make room for a gym or burger joint, the irony lost on the builders. The current owners were eager to sell it on; Ziva hoped they would allow for one ceremony, it was either there or Magnolia Blossom Park, and knowing her luck, it would rain. Vicky hinted, teased and tormented Ziva, the dress she brought, green, rainbow, poofy skirt, all descriptions made her cringe. Emilie volunteered, Ziva needed assistance to brave the shops; dress shopping went beyond her understanding, comfy worked best.

Decisions on where to host the party, warily addressed as Rylan offered to host his delicious barbecue. Emilie and her cake testers, Eliza and Charlotte, had the perfect icing for the delicate sponge, the difficult part, finding a topper with either two turtle doves or brides. Vicky agreed a quiet affair suited them. Rylan’s home offered enough space for their guests, a list restricted to their siblings, their partners and children.

Patches looked to offer distraction; health issues were a part of growing old; Ziva wondered if the kitty enjoyed her many trips, the vet had the same impression. Blood tests, pressure, Patches objected to the rectal thermometer; she took a swipe. Treats settled her except for a few growls; Ziva glanced at the medication; this would be a challenge. Vicky suggested they took action, the number of strays frequenting their house, Libby and Abby took their place in line, the cone of shame emphasising the prevention of future kitty pregnancies.

Ziva’s palms were sweating; aside from a few cobwebs, the church looked beautiful; White flowers adorned the arch, guests in their finery. She smoothed the bright pink dress; the silver thread detail made it shimmer in the light. Waiting for Vicky made her anxious, worried she would change her mind. Simon, Vicky’s eldest brother, placed her hand in Ziva’s, a gentle smile at the beauty of the pair, taking his seat. Vicky had chosen a baby-pink gown; white contrast created a sweetheart neckline; Ziva eyes drifted over her future, her breath held. They took the long slow walk, their family looked on with awe, as Vicky and Ziva kept their eyes on each other. Beneath the arch, flushed cheeks, Vicky giggled, shy at the audience as they recited their vows to teary eyes. Their rings signified a commitment to appreciate the time they have together. A promise of love, to support each other through whatever life had in store.