Of Ginger & Spice

R&N: A Magical Metaphorical Conception

25: R&N: A Magical Metaphorical Conception

7:35 am, Central Park, Balto Statue

Mel gaped at where the little girl had once stood, then looked around. Nobody seemed to be paying the slightest attention, but then again, this was New York. Nothing was truly out of the ordinary in a city like this. As if on impulse, she dug her phone out of her pocket and typed the name "Tory" and "girl name meaning" into her search engine.

"Tory" her screen read. "Middle Irish origins; modern Scottish Gaelic: "outlaw or brigand" or "pursuit," derived from the Latin-rooted name "Victoria," meaning "victory." Talk about serendipity...

Considering she herself had strong mystical origins and Abigael was a hellacious rebel, the name Tory seemed particularly appropriate, should they choose to adopt a little girl...

10:35 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Bathroom

Mel silently handed Abigael the gauze and antibacterial ointment, which the latter used for her arms, now covered in tiny claw marks and the occasional baby tiger bite.

"Here, let me—" Mel dabbed a bit more ointment on one of the nastier bits, as Abigael winced. "There. All set."

"Thanks, love," Abigael murmured, drawing Mel closer for a kiss, as their eyes closed, their tongues tentatively exploring each others' mouths.

Just then, Mel remembered the child. "Abigael—while you were gone—something weird happened..."

"Hmmm?" Abigael continued to kiss the sensitive part behind Mel's ear.

"I went to Central Park—I met a girl—"

Abigael paused and stared at Mel. "No, not that type of situation," Mel was quick to clarify. She swallowed hard. "I mean, I was near the Balto statue, and a little girl took my hand and called me her "mummy" and she had your eyes..."

"Darling, plenty of British ex-pats settle in the cosmopolitan mecca that is Manhattan," Mel swore Abigael had rolled her eyes.

"But do they wear impeccable hair barrettes that match your Ashford color scheme? Or vanish into thin air before your very eyes?"

Abigael pondered Mel's question for a long moment, before finally replying. "Knowing it's you who observed the child, it is rather unusual, I daresay..."

"What do you think it means?" Mel surveyed Abigael's face, trying to gauge a response.

"I think it means...our daughter may have found us."

9:45 pm, One Month Later, New York Luxury Apartment

They had scoured all the nearby foster care agencies in the tri-state area for a little five-year-old girl named Tory, or Victoria, with no luck so far. Some of the social workers Mel had talked to were only familiar with newborns, others only placed primary school-aged boys, and still others focused on relocating teenagers. And of the small number of agencies that did specialize in preschool or kindergarten-aged girls, there was nobody by the name of Tory or Victoria, nor of the ambiguous ethnicity that Mel described.

10 pm, New York Luxury Apartment

"Do you think our baby's really out there?" Mel whispered to Abigael, as they slowly began to undress in the dark, getting ready for bed.

Abigael thought for a moment while she unclasped her dainty stud earrings. "Perhaps she hasn't been conceived by her biological parents yet...Or maybe whoever she's with doesn't know to unite us with her...Better yet, maybe..." she glanced at Mel through the corner of her eye. "Maybe we need to create her."