Welcome to Whibley

Henry yearned for nothing more than a hot bath and about three days worth of uninterrupted sleep as he pulled up to the Parker house. He could’ve waited to do this tomorrow, but some familial compulsion forced his hand, killing the engine. Was it guilt? For what? He shook his head, then opened the car door.

His sister Jane answered the front door laughing through a wide smile. “Henry? And is that my sweet baby girl, Coco?”

“Uhm—Yeah, yes. Winnie passed, and Dallas told me you wanted Coco if those two ever got, um, separated. You’re pregnant?”

“Yep, have been for a while now in fact. Hurry up, get in, it’s freezing.”

Jane scratched Coco’s adoring head and cooed, “Hey, girlfriend. We’ve been waitin’ for you. Got’cha a new bed and everything. My poor sweet girl, I’m so sorry Winnie’s gone. But you’ll love it here with us though, Coconut, I promise.”

Meanwhile, Henry couldn’t help but worry as he took in the sorry state of their so-called home. When Jane stopped coddling he asked with concern, “Is everything okay? I-I mean, do you really have room for a dog?”

“What do you mean? Oh, the mess? That’s a permanent fixture in this house,” she laughed. “Are you staying? Want some hot chocolate, or coffee? We don’t usually keep tea." Her tone remained playful, he knew she was only teasing.

Nonetheless, he vexed, “Jane, I feel as though I have to say something.”

She stood, cutting him off. “You know what’s really great about our relationship, Henry? In all those years you never bothered to get to know me, at least I know the only MacDonald kid who got to go to university wouldn’t try lecturing me in my own, goddamn house. He’d be a hell of a lot smarter than that, especially since—”

He waved an invisible white flag with his admission of, “Right. You’re right.”

“So, hot chocolate? It’s very wintery out there.”

How could he refuse? He nodded. “Sure.”

It was a little more than humbling to sit at Jane’s table after that. Or was it Jack’s? Did it matter now?

She set a pair of mugs down in front of them and found her own seat across from her eldest brother. “I’m glad you dropped by; I have to admit, it’s getting a little cabin-fevery for me these days.”

“When are you due?”

“Any day now.”

“Same as Gina.” He grinned at that. “So, I guess I made it just in time then, heh? Girl or boy?”

“Boy. We’re naming him Bobby after Jack’s Dad.”

“Jack’s father, huh? Not our Dad?”

Jane scoffed, “That’s rich comin’ from you, Mr. Marion.”

Henry bowed his head. “It wasn’t an easy decision. I love my—our family.”

“So do I,” returned Mrs. Parker.

There was a pause then, signalling another attempted truce from both siblings.

“I’m sorry,” he tried, “I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to drop off Coco and apologize, but I—never mind. Erm, where were we? Gina and I are also having a boy.”

She gushed, “No! Really?”

“Mhmm. Dean.”

“Aw, little Deany-Beany. I love it. I can’t wait for Bobby and Dean to grow up together.”

The thought did paint a nice picture of one large, happy family in Henry’s mind. He smiled. “Me too. We should organize family dinners at the Estate.”

“Or here,” Jane offered, giggling at the little twitch she caused in his brow. “Oh, calm down. Gina isn’t as snobbish as you, is she?”

“Of course not! Erm, wait, I mean she isn’t a snob. Quit that giggling, it was a trick question and it’s been a long day. Speaking of which, when is Jack usually home? I should probably get going.”

Jane slouched back in her seat. “Oh. Should’ve guessed this was more about him than me.”

Henry panicked, his eyes darting to the end of the table where he could easily imagine Jack’s off-the-clock conspiracies manifested. “That’s not true. I-I just think it’s probably best if our paths don’t cross unnecessarily. Delicate time, and all.”

She shrugged, then said, “He’s been working a lot of extra shifts before baby comes. There’s this big investigation he’s working on, but it’s all hush-hush right now.”

“Intriguing. He’s not poking around the Marions by any chance, is he? Actually, don’t answer that, probably better I don’t know for legal reasons.”

“Phfft. And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it, just my attempt at a terrible joke. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”

“I’ll talk to Dal,” she said, seeking a way out of this increasingly awkward conversation. “Maybe we could do family gatherings at the farm instead? Might be nice to start new traditions there now that Dad’s—you know. Greener pastures.”

Newly widowed Rhonda MacDonald touched John Jr.’s cold stone, took a few steps back, then spoke to it:

“Snow brought us together once, but now it seems to have other plans in mind, eh? Well, John, thanks for lettin’ me stay with you for as long as we had anyway.” She paused, sniffed. “I should probably let you know, I told the boys to manage the farm without me. Lilibet’s sick, same as you had it, so I don’t think when I go visit her I’ll be comin’ back. Sophie has a good—She’ll look after things fine, there. Don’t worry, Henry’s got enough business sense for all four of our kids. Those Marions would sooner buy out the farm for its legacy than let it go to waste. ‘Course, Paul would probably die before letting that happen. In either case, your boys have it covered. You just rest easy now, yah hear?”

Rhonda was just about to leave when she remembered, “Oh, right. Winnie followed you up there. Take good care of that loveable dope for us, would’ja?”

Meanwhile back at the farm, the surviving next generation of MacDonald leaders discussed their future.

Paul resigned his military position to take over farmland management and production full time. Henry was keen on investments and overseeing their family business grow, so he took on large scale operations and sales contracts. Dallas had inherited a natural cooking skill from either John Jr. or their grandmother Mary MacDonald. He felt inspired by all the extra time in the kitchen lately, so he pitched opening a small restaurant using some of their excess produce. As the farmhouse continued to shrink in size, the family was projected to harvest more than they could sell or eat on their own anyway. Henry and Paul didn’t hate the idea, but Dallas’ restaurant would have to wait until summer or later to gauge prospects. In the meantime, Dal had to settle for helping Paul prepare and maintain production.

By the end of their meeting, each man looked forward to some long overdue prosperity for the MacDonald Farm. However, their token sister was noticeably missing from the discussion and their succession plans until Dallas asked, “What about Janey?”

Paul smirked with playful side-eye. “You mean Mrs. Parker?”

Henry answered, “Let me worry about Jane. You two just look after the farm, and keep in close contact with Rhonda while she’s in Feverfew with Auntie Lilibet. Dal, I need you ready to hop a train at a moment’s notice here. I’d go myself, but Gina’s due any day now.”

Dallas replied, “Pretty sure Mom can take care of herself, she’s from Feverfew. ’Sides, before she left she said cousin Sophie has everything under control. I’ll mail them some chicken stock, how’s that?”

“Sure, fine, just promise you’ll stay on top of it for me.”

Hi, I'm updating the pdfs again. I've done this a handful of times, whenever I find late edits or visual changes (image spacing, mostly). This time, the biggest change is the body font. Wow, that's so much nicer on the eyeballs!

Henry Marion returned home to the grand Marion Estate later that evening, staring up at its pointed castle structure. As snow piled on its tall A-frame rooftops with no end in sight, Henry wondered how much more weight those drafty attics could take on before finally caving in. The Estate was one of the oldest buildings in town.

He left the farm following another long day sitting at his father’s bedside with his stepmother Rhonda. John Jr. MacDonald gripped to his final days in a stubborn resilience against his age and his sickness. “The MacDonald blood is strong,” he told his three sons, all crowded around his to-be deathbed. Henry couldn’t shake the way his father spoke from his mind, it sounded like a dreadful curse. He promised to visit the farm again tomorrow.

After a short debrief with his wife Gina, he followed her lead to Gordon’s office.

“Mom? It’s, um, me and Henry.”

“Gina, Henry, yes; come in, come in. Sorry, I must’ve dozed off. Oh my, I have the worst headache.”

The couple shared a deep sigh of relief at Maggie’s animated voice. Gina forged on to explain, “We phoned Memorial Gardens for Dad; someone will be here within the hour to pick up his—. In the meantime, I made up the guest bedroom for you, Mom.”

“Thank you, dear. Oh, I’m sore all over. These chairs were not designed for napping, such rigid wooden frames. How Charlie ever found these comfortable in the first place is truly something else.”

“Speaking of Grandpa Charlie,” Gina began, taking timid steps into the office as she ventured, “we have some good news: Henry and I contacted the other family. We know the truth about Grandpa Charlie and the mystery child.”

“That’s my girl.”

Gina was excited to explain, “It’s all true. Her name is Charlotte Humble. Her mother, Clara Humble, and Grandpa Charlie met—”

Maggie stood and put up her hands halting her daughter from saying anything else. “That’s alright. We know now, that’s enough.”

“But, Mom?” Gina didn’t want to put the obvious into words, though her tone clued the room in regardless: Since the only person opposed to this connection isn’t opposing anymore, why stop now?

Henry naturally took on the role of mediator. “Gine, your mother’s right. Let’s not disturb the issue any further. I mean, here in your Dad’s office? We should just let it be for now.”

Gina clenched her jaw and looked to her feet, though she couldn’t see past her swelling stomach. If this epidemic taught anyone anything, why wasn’t the lesson that time together isn’t guaranteed? Was the virus psychically sapping everyone’s intelligence too? It seemed so plainly wrong to Gina to let their Humble discoveries go after everything they learned. Then she felt a jab from inside her gut. Their second born was due any day now.

“Here, Mom—feel, little Dean is kicking.”

“Finally, a good sign,” Henry cheered. “Signs of life!”

The proud grandmother lit up too. “Dean? Is that what you two decided on?”

“Dean Marion,” Henry happily announced. “It’s borrowing a little from your mother Jean’s name. Gina told me about both of her grandmothers. It’s important to us that all sides of our family get recognition one way or another, don’t you agree?”

Maggie Marion still had her sharp wit, she picked up on Henry’s clue. However, following a tearful pause, she replied, “Henry dear, I’m so sorry to hear about your Uncle Collin. He did more for this town than many may fully realize, I fear. I really mourn his friendship and all the great years of what could’ve been if we remained better friends. If you don’t mind me saying, Henry, I see a lot of Collin in you. Dignified, smart, loyal. Gordon loved those qualities in you too, though I never had the heart to point out the irony to him. I miss him; I’ll miss both of them for the rest of my days.” Her bottom lip quivered when she finished speaking.

This was the first Gina heard of her mother’s admiration for Collin MacDonald. She used to call him “an old suitor once,” but that was usually the end of it. As her mother spoke, Gina thought about Jack Parker and felt something click into place.

Henry welcomed his mother-in-law’s tight embrace. “Very few people take the time to appreciate old Uncle Collin. His politics didn’t exactly win him a great reputation.”

She smiled into his shoulder. “Indeed not.”

“Thank you, Maggie. Funny, I came here thinking more about Gord than Uncle Collin.”

“Goodnight, my dear sweet Gordon.”

Maggie Marion cried down the stairs, sniffing and wiping away tears that blurred her path to her late husband’s office. She stopped briefly to catch her breath when she heard the phone ring.

“Oh, Henry. I’m afraid Gina is trying to get Rachel to nap right now.”

…

“Collin. Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”

…

“Yes, I’m alright.” She swallowed, then cleared her throat. “Gordon passed just this morning, too.”

…

“No, no; don’t come home any earlier. You stay right where you are, stay at the farm, be with your father for as long as you can. Gina and I will manage things fine here. Stay well.”

What grieved Maggie more than learning an old friend died was knowing how little she bothered to stay in touch with him over the years. Whatever silly romantic rivalry that kept Gordon and Collin at odds seemed so frustratingly pointless now, in the end. Who knows what good memories they missed out on?

How curious the timing of life plays out when everything is written, said and done. There was never any doubt in Maggie’s heart about choosing rightly, about choosing Gordon Marion. But back in the day, Collin MacDonald proposed a similarly beautiful life. The choice may have been clear, but it wasn’t easy. Collin kept his distance from Maggie ever since her fateful rejection, opting to stay bitter than accept a second place platonic friendship.

There were several loud knocks on the MacDonald farmhouse door. Dallas had his hands full preparing another round of hearty chicken stock for the ailing house, so he hollered: “Hey Paul, can you get that?”

In the living room Paul was studying family portraits. The normally bustling house took on an unsettling quiet while everyone suffered, himself included. He sniffed. Then he moved to answer the door.

Paul met Mayor Adam Green with his hands tightly clasped and glossy, sorry eyes. “I’m looking for John Jr. MacDonald.”

“My Dad. He’s upstairs, sick. He ain’t comin’ down. The flu. I’m the, uh, new—” he sighed instead of finishing.

“I see. Well, I’m incredibly sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Collin MacDonald — erm, I believe that makes him your uncle? — has passed away. The flu.”

Paul smirked a little. “Heh, that ought’a make Dad happy one last time.”

Adam cleared his throat before continuing, “I’ve taken care of his affairs; he left a very detailed will as you can probably imagine. I, uh, just wanted to inform the family in person. Collin meant a lot to me as a mentor and step-father, and I know he meant a lot to Whibley too. City Council won’t function half as good without him.”

“Sure. That all?”

Adam knew Collin was largely estranged from the MacDonald family, but he didn’t prepare for their family grudge to be colder than the icy air that pricked the tips of his ears.

This year was one of the harshest winters in Whibley’s history. A flu epidemic swept through the region marking an abrupt end to one era and the painful birth of another. Residents were routinely reminded to remain calm and practice safe, healthy protocol, but panic became just as viral as the sickness itself.

One of Whibley’s most upstanding community leaders would be, sadly, the first to succumb to the epidemic. She sacrificed her retirement years to serve the betterment of her neighbours’ good health. As such, Whibley’s local hospital would be henceforth known as Hill Memorial Hospital in her honour.

Joanne Payne’s desire to protect Kate’s esteem was a kindness at first but grew increasingly problematic. She blocked Kate from seeking support(s) that could simultaneously be much needed releases too, such as mending broken ties with family for renewed emotional and financial compensation. In place of any such release, Jo inadvertently propelled their friend’s stubbornness and an indeterminate amount of other trauma responses still unknown to the couple. At least, that’s what Lee believed was happening.

He had to say something, so as Kate snored Lee whispered, “Jo? I really think we should loop Brandon in more about Kate. He’s right.”

What Brandon said tonight stuck with him, so Lee replayed the evening in memory with new perspective. He watched Brandon carefully. Even as he threw back beers, he maintained enough control to sober up the minute he needed to, when Kate needed him. Lee was also privy to the gentle, patient hand Brandon guided Kate to and from the cab, then up the stairs. And when the two had their last goof-off session just now, he left graciously despite whatever brave smile he said goodnight with. Brandon was only trying to be a good friend, wasn’t he?

Jo replied with a short scoff. “She’s allowed to blow off steam.”

Lee tried to explain himself better: “This isn’t about tonight at the bar. We’re all young and invincible, I know.”

“So?”

“I just think he can help, as in help us help Kate.” Like I help you, he wanted to add but didn’t. “His group gift idea is good.”

“You think we need help?”

He tried to remind her, “You said it yourself last semester: what else can we even do for Kate? She needs security—ground to stand on, shoulder to cry on, know what I mean? Plus, we all know no one loves Kate more than your brother.”

“Why does this sound like a marriage arrangement?”

“Okay, fine. What about we try contacting her Mom, or—"

“We’re her family.” Jo was extremely serious.

He swallowed. “Right, I know, but—”

“But nothing? Lee, you’ve never been broke before. You’ve never had a shit family that turned against you. She can do this, she’s strong, and she’s got us which is a hell of a lot more than the nothing she has. Look around.”

Of course Jo wasn’t wrong exactly, but Lee could easily sense she was projecting too. He didn’t want to say it, but maybe this was what she needed to hear: “The way I see it, all we’re doing is comforting her shitty situation and it’s pushing Kate to further extremes.”

“So this is about her drinking tonight,” she snorted, and apparently no longer interested in keeping her voice soft for their sleeping subject.

Lee kept his voice low and rational. “Try looking at it from Kate’s point of view. I can’t imagine being our third wheel is helping her much. She needs someone like Brandon, someone in her corner no matter what.” Someone else to watch her when she gets reckless. How long is this supposed to go on?

“Dammit. What can Brandon do that we can’t? He already knows more than he should by coming in here tonight. There’s a reason she chose me the night she came over before RBU, not Brandon.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Women don’t need men to save them, get it? I got this.”

“Jo, come on. Of course I get that, but—”

“Lee. You know everything as well as I do, I don’t understand why you’re arguing with me on this. Kate left her family, her Mom changed her name; that door isn’t just closed, it’s boarded up and plastered over.”

“What about her Aunt—err, her other Mom? What about her Dad? Shouldn’t we at least try getting a hold of them for Kate’s sake?”

“Absolutely not, Lee. Enough, alright? Just—leave it alone. I’m exhausted.”

Lee surrendered the cause then. Once again, he couldn’t find wrong in what Jo said. It was nearing four in the morning by then, not exactly a great heavy conversation hour.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll go get the extra blankets from our room.”

“Thank you, Lee. I love you.”

Brandon approached Lee and Jo while his eyes scanned the bare, personality-less walls around them. He spoke softly to ask, “Is this really her room?” He thought back to move-in day last fall and everyone’s junk littered across the dorm parking lot. Where was all her stuff? Her CDs? Books? Anything? But then he remembered Kate arrived with Jo and Lee, so until now he had no idea the couple served as a kind of poverty trojan horse.

Jo whispered back, “Sort of. Technically it’s my room, so don’t go spreading this around, okay? Her Mom left her with nothing. Kate’s living off a student line of credit to stay enrolled, and Lee and I are helping out with the rest.”

Lee added, also in a whisper, “We should put up some posters or something though, I agree.”

“Her Mom left her with nothing. Lee and I are helping out with the rest.” Is this what Jo meant by, “This goes so far beyond Feverfew”? Why didn’t Kate tell me she was in trouble? Dammit, this has fuck-all to do with money. She’s artsy and smart, she could’ve decorated in her own way if she wanted to. She was so excited for RBU, what the hell happened? I thought we were past this.

“She has a birthday coming up,” Brandon offered a bit meekly. He wasn’t sure if it was very “just friends” of him to remember her birthday or not. “If we all pitch in maybe we can get her something she needs, like a mini fridge or something. She’s so damn stubborn about shit. She won’t accept help ‘cause she’ll just see it as pity. She always has to win. But it’ll be a lot harder to reject a gift if it’s from all of us.”

The couple seemed to like his suggestion. “We’ll make something happen,” Lee agreed, while Jo nodded along eagerly. That’s when Brandon spied the only picture in Kate’s dorm: their high school grad photo with Ben and President Winston. The night that haunted him the most with a hundred different “what if’s,” and Kate kept it, framed it. Why?

He spoke to the framed moment in time when he asked, “Guess that’s it, huh? You guys seem to have everything covered. Don’t need me anymore?”

Jo turned to Lee for an answer, who said, “She’ll thank you in the morning, or whenever she wakes up.”

Brandon swallowed the next words he wanted to say, including a quip about Kate being in better hands with two pre-med students than whatever his undeclared major could offer besides getting Kate so drunk in the first place. He should’ve known better. Kate had always been tall and thin, he figured she was barely over 120 pounds, but her ego was always five times her size.

Through a brave smile he replied, “True, yeah. Thanks. Night, you guys.”

“Night, Brandon.” “Get some sleep, champ.”

“Heh, right. You too.”

Lee knocked on the washroom door. The girls were gone for a while, so he left Brandon and Ben’s foosball match to go check on them.

“Jo? It’s me, just me. Everything okay in there?”

Jo opened the door and answered with instruction: “Go get Brandon, and tell Ben to call a cab.”

He didn’t need to ask why. Lee could hear Kate puking from the toilet stall. “On it.”

Kate wobbled upright and tried to groan in protest. No, not Brandon, anyone but Brandon. She’d sooner flush herself down the toilet. Hell, wasn’t she doing that already?

But Jo shut down her pathetic whine: “Save it. Brandon is the only other guy here that won’t care if you get barf on him.”

Dammit. Why did Jo have to be right all the time?

Lee found the boys upstairs right where he had left them. Without looking up from the foosball table, Brandon asked casually, “Everything good?”

Lee answered, “Kate’s toast, we gotta go.”

“Really?” Ben asked, still turning table knobs trying to balance a toy ball between two plastic player wedges. “Would’ve thought all that time hangin’ around Dere made her unbeatable by now. Oh well. Damn, why can’t I get this stupid trick shot?”

Brandon continued to watch Ben fumble as he pondered a similar thought. Was she sick or something? So he asked, “She okay?”

“Jo’s with her in the washroom. Whatever was or wasn’t in her system should be pretty flushed out soon,” Lee explained. “You and I will carry Kate, Ben will get the cab, Jo will navigate us all home.”

“Damn, stupid—. Why am I gettin’ the cab? Damn. Stupid. Damn.”

Brandon answered Ben, “Because you can’t perform no more, monkey brains. Come on, Kate needs us.”

“Hey, I almost got it! Ah, shit, never mind. Next time I guess.”

Hanging between Brandon and Lee, Kate mumbled, “Hey, that bench looks comfy; just let me go here.”

“Nice try,” Brandon told her. “Come on, we’re almost home.”

“Home?!” she panicked.

“I mean the dorm, chill.”

She groaned a long rumbling, “Ohhh.”

Ben’s room was on the ground floor so he was the first to sign off. “Night, guys. Good luck with El Puke-o. Just tell her band practice starts at 5AM sharp, that ought’a sober her up quick eh?” he laughed.

Jo waved to Ben’s classic finger guns. “Thanks. She’ll be fine, probably just didn’t eat enough. Me and Lee will watch her tonight. See you tomorrow.”

Meanwhile nearing the stairs, it was like Kate forgot how to walk. Lee and Brandon kept her steady as her toes inched slowly forward. Again, she tried to protest her friends’ help: “Watch—? No, no. I’m fine, you guys, really fine. I mostly just need to close my eyes and not get back up for a little wh-while.”

Brandon chuckled, “Yes Kate, that’s called sleeping. You’re like twenty steps away from bed now.”

“Oh, really? Wow! We must be m-moving pretty fast then!”

The boys shared a subtle smirk at Kate’s expense.

Jo unlocked Kate’s dorm room and ushered the remaining crew inside. Within the familiar space and smells of her room Kate no longer needed assistance walking anymore, so she waved the men away with a lifeless grunt. Lee perched himself on the edge of her desk, but Brandon stayed hovering over her until Kate finally made it to bed.

But when she sat down on the squeaky twin mattress, something restarted. She started giggling and playfully grabbing at Brandon’s beanie toque, leaving Jo and Lee awkwardly listening in on their banter:

“No, Kate. Sleep. Sleeeep.”

“Will you tuck me in?” she pouted.

“Uh, if you want me to I guess—Hey! The hat’s mine, give it back.”

“Aww, but I won it. My crown, mine.”

“You didn’t win anything, give it.”

“Nuh-uh! I drank more than youuu,” she teased with a tune.

“No way! Plus, if you can’t keep it down then why should that count? Gotta stick the landing too, right? Them’s the ruuules.”

“Wh—? First the Ben scouting, now you change the rules all up? Pfft! Cheater, cheater, cheater. My crown.”

“That’s really all you want? My hat? Fine, you win. Happy?”

She nodded, smiling. Her blushing cheeks still burned a pinkish red from the alcohol, and damn if she didn’t look cute nestling into the covers wearing his beanie toque. She really did look happy, Brandon decided.

The guys — Ben, Lee, Brandon, Kate, and Jo — filed into the Llama Llama Sports Bar, a beloved house pub in RBU’s quaint college town.

The air was light, completely free from the heavy university pressures that shackled them not three weeks ago during exams.

It was a freedom achieved with experience. Their new status as sophomores fostered confidence in themselves as adept undergrad students and fledgling adults harmoniously. The laughs, groans, leers and cheers only strengthened what the guys would come to realize without saying it out loud:

They were becoming more than friends, but better than family. There was a forceful tidal pull that kept the guys forever young in each other’s company. It felt right; the whole world felt right where it should be for one more night.

At the bar counter, Brandon raised a curious brow. “Are you trying to out drink me?”

Kate snort-laughed while keeping a hazy gaze on the bartender’s careful grip on her glass. “Maybe you’re the one tryin’ to keep up with me, hm?”

“Is that what you think? ‘Cause I’m warning you now, you’re challenging a master when you’re still in little league. You really think you stand a chance?”

“Really.”

The freshman class survived their first round of exams, but the recovery period sent everyone to different, quiet corners in those early days of the new semester.

Brandon W. found Kate Rose in RBU Housing’s dorm lounge. “What the? You’re not Ben.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she huffed, pushing herself upright.

“Not true, who said that? Hey, dye your hair again? What, new semester, new colour?”

Kate chuckled as she explained, “No, He of Many Questions. The colour fades but the bleach is forever, or until I let Jo touch my hair again. Green was only temporary.”

“A fading phase, huh? Makes sense.”

“Does it? Well, as long as it makes sense to one of us.”

“Pass English?” he asked, groaning at the memory.

She grinned. “Yep. You?”

“Barely, but also yep. Seen anyone else up and around yet?”

“Nah, I think everyone’s still hibernating.”

“So, what’re you up to?”

“Nothing really, trying to decompress but emphasis on the trying part.”

“Sounds like the classic My Brain Won’t Shut Up schtick.”

“It’s a classic for a reason,” she returned.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“I better not,” she answered.

“Eh, your call.”

They watched TV for a while in silence. At the next commercial break Brandon asked, “You feel any different now that you’re a sophomore? Freshman year was okay, but I have high hopes this semester will be a lot better. What about you? Any high hopes?” He was not-so-subtly hoping to convince Kate to sneak upstairs with him to do bubble, which had to be more fun than sitting here depressed watching daytime talk shows.

But Kate missed his hint completely focusing instead on the word hope, or hopeless. She frowned, quickly succumbing to an urge to talk about her problems after all. She decided to answer a question with a question: “Um, well—You like Deryck, right?”

He kept his eyes glued to that television screen. “Oh, uh, he’s—I mean—”

She also avoided eye contact. “It’s just—he says things, you know? I worry he might be taking this more seriously than I am. Well, when he’s around, tch.”

“Meaning?”

“Like, he’s super touchy — always putting an arm around my shoulders, waist, chair, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re touching. And he’s so vocal about us being together when we’re out, but when we’re alone it’s, well, not that. And then there’s this.”

She reached for a thin notebook wedged under the couch.

Brandon sat up and gawked at what she held. “Dude, the semester just started. How the hell do you already have homework? You’re worse than Lee trying to get all his assignments done ahead of time.”

“It’s not homework, it’s poetry. Deryck filled an entire notebook’s worth of amateur poetry about me.”

He did his very best to fight off a smirk, or worse — outright laughter. He cleared his throat before feigning, “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. What do I say to something like this? I don’t get it, I don’t get him. When I told Jo about it, she said it sounded like love bombing. There’s a Psych major’s perspective for yah.”

“I thought she was pre-med with Lee?”

“She’s double majoring Psych and Nursing, and he’s aiming to become a surgeon. They’re both completely out of their mind insane, I know.”

“Well, insane or not, you better listen to the geniuses on this one ‘cause to me that just looks like a real pickle.”

“Don’t you wanna read it?”

Brandon let his laughter go then. “More than anything, but I better not. Barely passed English, remember? What am I gonna do with poetry?”

“Ugh, those are my thoughts exactly.”

She crossed her arms, leaned back, exhaled through her nose, and shook her head. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about him. I’m sorry, forget it.”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he lied. “You can talk to me about whatever you want, nothing’s changed as far as I care. Well, you know, besides everything.”

She snorted. “Yeah. Thanks. You remind me of him, sometimes.”

Kate’s stomach dropped like they just drove over a hill too fast. Why did she say that? Brandon and Deryck couldn’t be anything more opposite in appearance or personality. Her brain connected them so quickly like snapping magnets together, and only when that happened did her voice fall a little with the qualifier “sometimes.”

That was Brandon’s clue that “sometimes” she doubted her own words. “Sometimes” Brandon was just like Deryck, the guy she liked. He was stuck on that when she tried to cover quickly with:

“So, we’re all still going to the bar tonight? The place is probably totally dead like everywhere else. Campus is a ghost town right now, we might even be the only ones there. Should be fun.”

“Y-yeah. Uh, actually that’s why I was trying to find Ben. Gotta make sure he’s on my team for foosball.”

“Illegal scouting before the match? Brandon Weasel Weseman. Is cheating the only way you know how to win?”

I hope my ask is clear 😂 I'm just so curious!

Thank you for the good read!

Fun question. Approximately: 85% planned by me, 15% game inspired events.

It’s just like you describe it: I let the game surprise me *sometimes.* (Re: burglaries, pop up messages, speech bubble icons, Wants, memories, and so on). I also use it to visualize scenes. Duh, right? But sometimes I need to spawn characters together, literally see the space they take up, in order to “move through the scene” narratively. I want to give the game partial credit for this ability, even if I’m the one doing all the creative labour/decision making. And also, the Sims 2 as content as well. This universe is SIMS 2 branded, with llamas and Simlish and Daises of Our Lives and flying pig blimp balloons. I factor all this into that 15%.

The story is central to this current generation (Kate Rose, et. al). Conceptually, the world expands from them. For example, it’s important that Brandon W. is the eldest son, which means I need to make him a kid brother, hence Nick Weseman. And so on, and so on, until I developed most of an entire town! So, to your baby/genetics question: I plan ahead for the children born in-game, even if the prose says otherwise. ;) Subsequently, I have a pre-planned idea for how I want these characters to look. This means I don’t always honour in-game genes, lol. Thank you SimPE Sim Surgery for easy face swaps! 🙏

The *next* big generation, however, has not been fully developed. (“The Meaning” stuff.) I know who of our main cast has children, and what they look like, but their story remains largely unwritten. Unlike the previous gens, I haven’t been obsessing over these guys for 20+ years. 😵‍💫🤷‍♀️🤪 In fact, I’m looking forward to writing “fresh” characters when we get there.

The Best of The Mess: A collection of my favourite captured moments so far!

Fall 5 - Fall 6

Just when I think I'm getting a little better at visual storytelling, I put my favourite shots together like this and still find reasons to worry anyway. What do you guys think? Should we forge onward anyway, too? :)

Below you will find another round of bloopers, extras and everything else that didn't fit nicely into Fall 6 of The Mess. (Spoiler Warning!!)

Sim Download: Kathleen Rowe, Vivian Catherine Rose, Allan Murphy, and Kate Rose

Kathleen: sfs / mega Vivian: sfs / mega Allan: sfs / mega Kate: sfs / mega

CC Free. Use Clean Installer.

This family upload requires explanation on genetics and facial structure, so find that below: