My adulthood dragged past in the slowest manner imaginable. I bet having kids or adventures would've filled it with motion, but that was not an option for me, at least not this time around. But I did have Braden, and that was a joy.
Upon reaching her immortality, my mother retired from her job. You can see old man dad there in the photo, being very proud of her indeed.
And we all were. Her museum was complete and now only I was left.
Dad began to spend most nights with us. It was really great to have him around now that they were both retired.
We put all the urns away, though sometimes one wayward ghost does manage to get out somehow.
Braden and I reveled in winter. I joined the business career to give myself something to do, and he joined it as well, but for the most part, the days were just long stretches of snow and time.
We speculated about our next chance at life. About maybe kids. About my dreams of being a singer.
And we never took for granted what time we had together.
One night, on the way home from a date, the worst happened. It was snowing and I'd stopped off to pick up our profits from some of our businesses while Braden met me at the house.
I hate that he died in the cold. And I hate that he died without me. I play good memories over in my head as often as I can until I can have him back. But it doesn't make the loss any easier. He was such a good man.
Dad has spent time trying to comfort me. He's a wonderful ice skater and offered to teach me how.
However, I don't think I'll ever be as good as he is. Or as big of a show off.
Mom is glad to still have him around. She speculates sometimes that he might be the only man to make it past our requirements alive. The rest of us speculate about what we'll do after. If the Watcher is satisfied with us.
I've maxed every available skill, it seems. We're a household of great cooks and mixologists, fisherwomen and sculptors, just waiting waiting waiting for the end.
At least it helps that we like each other.
As spring sprung in Monte Vista, Granny made her final batch of ambrosia. They all ate and she set aside that last plate for me.
I confess love day hurt this year. Though I can't begrudge my mother her happiness.
She and Daddy were inspirations to me for what love should be like. They raised me right, even if he couldn't live here. Even if she still today rolls wishes to marry him and can't.
That's why it was the cruelest day for him to go. Even if it is only temporary.
We were solemn for days. When my birthday finally came, the happiness began to seep back in little by little, like the first rays of summer blooming outside.
And suddenly, it was time. I was old.
The sculptures and portraits were done. The friends were cemented. The time had come.
And so I sat down and placed my fork in ambrosia. I did it alone. The others hidden away, occupying themselves in superstitious disbelief.
The day had finally arrived. Our immortal dynasty was complete.
