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“Okay, maybe the minivan was a good choice,” Tony conceded. Eighteen months after the purchase, Tony was still reluctant to admit they’d needed it. If they’d had a normal sedan, the enormous pumpkin he was currently dragging out of the tailgate never would have fit.
“I told you so,” Ziva called over her shoulder, unlocking the front door. “Tali, boots!” She caught the back of her daughter’s sweater before she crossed the threshold. She held out her hands so Tali could balance one foot at a time to kick off the bright green gumboots, before dashing into the house in her socks, hot on Tony’s heels as he staggered past, arms full of the massive gourd.
“I think she brought half the mud at that place with her,” he commented on his return trip, looking at the caked footwear as Ziva clapped them together trying to dislodge the mud from the grooves in the soles. The farmer’s market had not been especially damp, but Tali could sniff out a puddle from over a mile away.
“I think she did. They’ll need to be hosed down” Ziva sighed, tossing them to the side and wiping her hands on her jeans. “I will get Eden if you get the groceries.”
Ever the gentleman, Tony slid open the van door on the other side, closest to their toddler’s car seat where she was still sleeping, lulled by the 90-minute trip home. “Done, and done. We make a good team, Ninja.”
A few minutes later, gathered in the kitchen, their family inspected their haul. Tali danced around the island bench as though it was some kind of seasonal altar and Eden, unhappy about being woken, was still up on Ziva’s hip surveying the room with a sleepy pout as the adults began unpacking the smaller items, unconcerned that her mother had to work one-handed to accommodate her.
“Whatcha think, Lady T?” Tony pointed to the pumpkin she had chosen specifically. With an aunt like Abby, Tali had become enamoured with the idea of carving her very own jack-o-lantern this year and she’d immediately zeroed in on one of the largest available. Despite his lukewarm feelings about the holiday, Tony had capitulated to her request and purchased it before Ziva returned from the stall with fresh herbs to talk their daughter down into something more manageable.
“It looks like Ima’s tummy,” Tali giggled.
Ziva immediately swivelled to face her husband, “You put her up to this didn’t you?” she asked with a glare.
“Who me?” he asked, fake-shocked at the accusation. “Never!”
“But Daddy, you said the pumpkin...” Tali’s next words were muffled by Tony’s hand landing over her mouth.
He gave a nervous chuckle, trying to usher her out of the room. “Kids say the darndest things. Who knew where she got that idea from? She’s got a point though...” he trailed off, looking significantly between Ziva, all full, lush curves well into her third trimester and swathed in a rust-coloured cashmere maternity sweater and the huge orange vegetable in pride of place. Ziva’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly. “I mean, you’re both... a sign of life... ripe and beautiful... You know?” he added hopefully as Tali squirmed, giggling from his grip.
“Good save,” she conceded with a smirk. “For that though, you may change Eden’s diaper, something else is ripe too. Tali, do you want to cook with me?”
Tony shrugged, accepting defeat. Ziva was definitely bigger this third time around and loathed it being pointed out so getting off that lightly was a blessing. “Bought and paid for I guess, c’mon Edie-bean.” They transferred the heft of their younger daughter between them and traded a kiss in the process.
“Is this apron cooking, Ima?” Tali ran to the pantry once she was alone with her mother and opened the door, pointing to the aprons.
Ziva shook her head, rinsing the carrots. “Not if we are careful today, motek, there is no flour. We will make soup, with the small pumpkin.” She pointed to the butternut squash that hadn’t been packed away. “But what is the first thing we do?”
Tali already knew and dragged her specially made step stool, which looked more like a small ladder with a box on top over to the sink waiting for Ziva to turn the taps on. Hands cleaned, she shuffled the stool across to the island bench and climbed back up, eager to get started. “Do we count them?” Even if Ziva could never teach Tony to lay out his ingredients before he started cooking, she was getting an early start with Tali.
“You count, I will listen,” she agreed, bending to turn the oven on and pull out baking trays. By the time she had them lined with paper, Tali had counted one squash, two onions and three carrots and was trying to work out exactly how many cloves of garlic were in the bulb.
“Good work!” she joined her daughter back at the bench. “Now, first we are going to chop all our vegetables. Do you want to peel the carrot?” Ziva swapped the garlic, which Tali had determined to have “six eighteen” cloves in it, for a vegetable peeler.
Peeling was still a new skill for Tali and progress was slow, so Ziva made quick work of the other two and sliced the squash in half before she’d finished her one. “I not like to do peeling much, Ima.” Tali confided. “Can I eat the skins?”
“Go on,” Ziva laughed softly. She had washed them well enough anyway. “It is not my favourite job either,” she added with an air of equal confidence, using a paring knife to skin the pumpkin while Tali ate her snack. “Will you scoop for me?” She handed over a spoon and turned the pumpkin to reveal the small, seeded hollows.
“Edie’s in the playpen, I’m getting firewood,” Tony called through suddenly. The front door banged a second later.
Tali pricked up her ears. “Will we have a fire?” Her dark eyebrows crinkled as she concentrated on scraping out the seeds. Ziva said nothing when the spoon flew back too quickly sending a spray of pumpkin pulp flying into the dining room but reached to stablise it so Tali could dig a little more firmly.
“I guess your Daddy thinks we should,” she replied, wincing slightly as Tali banged the spoon with a satisfying rattle on the scrap bowl.
“With marshmallows?” Green, pleading eyes were directed upwards.
She laughed, kissing the top of Tali’s head. “That is a treat for when Gibbs visits.”
“Oh,” Tali paused, disappointed. “Will Gibbs come to play?” she inquired, perking up at the thought.
“Probably not ahava,” Ziva said gently. “But look, our pumpkin is empty and ready to cut. Would you like to learn to use the big knife?” She turned the halves flat side down on the board and selected a long chef’s knife from the block.
Tali looked dubious. “Knives are sharp,” she repeated dutifully.
“Good girl,” Ziva ruffled the dark curls like her own affectionately. “But if you follow my instructions we can cut together. When Aunty Abby comes over to make your pumpkin face with you, there will be knives then, too. You should know how to be safe. For now, you can put your hands over mine and push. Keep your hands flat so you are not near the sharp bit.”
With some slow guidance, Tali grew confident enough to lay the palm of her hand directly on the blade to steady it as they pushed down on the handle together, slowly dicing the pumpkin into chunks.
The faint smell of woodsmoke followed Tony into the kitchen and he wove around them, grabbing a drink from the fridge. “She’s not even four, does she need to learn how to use a knife?” he asked doubtfully, watching the scene for a second.
“She is learning how to cook,” Ziva emphasised. As with many conversations between the couple now, eye contact was minimal, focusing instead on whichever child was the subject of the discussion. “Not to use a knife as you are picturing it. It is just basic safety. Show Daddy what we’ve learned, Tali”
She spread her left hand obediently, placing it down carefully along the spine of the knife as she’d been shown, her fingers sticking out perpendicular, well away from anything sharp and her right curling on the very end of the handle, Ziva’s right hand a barrier between her and the heel of the blade. “My hand is flat, Daddy. Fingers out, nothing to cut me, see?” Tali demonstrated her new skill proudly. “Ima showed me!”
Tony chuckled, softening at the excitement in his daughter’s face as she focused and pushed down for another slice. It was obvious Ziva was entirely in control of the force behind the knife splitting the clean orange flesh, Tali’s “cutting” was simply in name only. “I see that Tals, you’ll be a chef in no time.” He kissed her head and straightened to plant one on Ziva’s cheek too. “No teaching her target practice okay? One Ninja’s plenty in this house,” he warned playfully. “Edie and I will be colouring in the lounge if you need us.” He kissed his wife again, swiping a gentle caress over her belly for good measure.
“Watch Eden, not the football game!” Ziva called at his retreating form. “Next time, you can scrub the crayon off the coffee table if she draws on it again. Okay Tali, let’s chop the carrot now.”
When that was done Tali eyed the next ingredient in line with suspicion. “I not like onion.”
“No problem,” Ziva smiled quietly to herself. Tali didn’t like it raw and extended her claims to onion in all forms, but she did not realise exactly how many foods she ate with it cooked in. The same applied to mushrooms and bell peppers. “How about we get our pumpkin and carrot ready for baking? Will you put them on the trays for me?”
More counting ensued, somewhat haphazardly as the number crept past 10, Tali’s current record, as she dropped each piece onto the baking trays Ziva slid in front of her. Taking advantage of this new occupation, Ziva dug into the pantry coming out with several small bottles.
“What are those, Ima?” Tali asked as Ziva set them down. She arranged the last chunks of carrot methodically.
“These are called spices, here, smell one.” She flipped the lid open and held it beneath Tali’s nose. “They will help our soup taste good.”
Tali’s face lit up as she sniffed. “Apple pie!” she announced, excited at the familiar scent before her face grew puzzled. “This is not pie,” she added suspiciously, casting a questioning glance up at her mother.
“Cinnamon, yes,” she chuckled. “And we do have it in apple pie. But just a little bit is good on our pumpkin, too.” She turned the lid to the smallest holes and handed it over. “Sprinkle,” she instructed, guiding Tali’s hand evenly over the trays.
“What next?” Tali looked at the row of bottles. “I like making sprinkles!”
Ziva reached for another and handed it to Tali. “Nutmeg, we can use a little more of this one,” she replied. Again, Tali sniffed thoughtfully before shaking it across the trays. Coriander seed, cumin, paprika and allspice followed in the same fashion, each one being named in English and Hebrew, but Ziva took control of the ground cloves and sumac, adding the barest touches and explaining that the flavours were strong and needed only a tiny amount.
Tali leaned forward, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, I like that!” she declared. “What next?”
“Just salt and pepper.” The solid wood pepper grinder was too long and heavy for Tali’s little arms, but she sprinkled the salt flakes Ziva measured out with vigour. “And now olive oil, this one is heavy too, so I will do it” Ziva brought the large bottle from next to the stove.
“How much oil, Ima?” Mesmerised, Tali watched the smooth liquid drizzle across the trays.
“Just enough to make it shiny,” Ziva replied vaguely. She had never bothered to measure if she was honest. As Tali would do in time, she had learned simply by watching. “But we can mix it now, do you want to get your hands messy?” Tali agreed eagerly and together, they tossed the pieces until it was all coated evenly in the oil and spices
When Ziva declared the job finished, Tali held her hands out in front of her. “I gotta wash!” she announced with disgust, hopping down and dragging her stool to the sink. As she climbed back up, Ziva surreptitiously wiped the greasy handprints off the stool, the edge of the bench and everything else Tali had managed to touch on her way down. She reached around her daughter’s small shoulders partly to wash her own hands and partly to make sure Tali had scrubbed properly.
Ziva had barely got dry before Tali was back at the bench, looking around for fresh occupation. “What next?”
“In Hebrew, you can ask me ma hal’a?” Ziva shifted the food until it was evenly spaced out on the trays while Tali was distracted, practising her new phrase. “Perfect. Now, we roast the vegetables until they’re soft. What is our oven rule?” She picked up the trays and carried them to the stove.
Tali knew this rule too. “Only with a grown-up,” she piped obediently, putting herself back on floor level to follow her mother across the kitchen. “That’s hot.”
“Good.” Ziva smiled. Placing the trays on top of the stove bending to open the door, straightening again to gather them and one more bend to help Tali slide them onto the racks was an effort. By the time the oven was shut again, she was breathless and wrapped her arms around her stomach, breathing out hard.
“You feeling good, Ima?” Tali looked up at her, worried.
Ziva nodded, once she’d caught her breath. “Fine, ahava. But the baby does not like being squashed when I bend down so much. Their head is all the way up here, near my lungs. Sometimes that makes me puffed out like I have been running.”
Tali wrapped her arms around Ziva's thighs as far as she could reach, putting her head against the belly, an action she’d seen Tony repeat many times. “Be nice to Ima,” she instructed firmly. “Daddy says that, right?”
“Right, Tali.” Ziva stroked her daughter’s hair softly, as she cuddled against her. “Toda raba, you are a very thoughtful big sister.”
Tali jerked her head back suddenly as the baby kicked hard. “Hey!” she shouted, indignant. “Does it want out?” she asked, leaning back warily.
“No,” Ziva smirked, running her hand down Tali’s cheek affectionately. “Soon, but not yet. But babies like to exercise. You used to kick me too.”
“Oh,” Tali looked unconvinced, but let Ziva lead her hand back to where her sibling continued to move. “Is it a boy baby or a girl baby? Gentle hands!” she scolded at another firm thump.
Ziva smiled and let her go. “I do not know, we will find out when they are born. But I think it is a boy.” She headed back for one of the bar stools to sit down. “What do you think?”
Tali remained thoughtful as she scrambled back up onto her spot. A handmade gift from Gibbs the previous Christmas, it was designed halfway between a step ladder and a high stool, had rungs to climb, a safety rail for when she stood on the top level and was the exact height to let a little kid who felt big at heart join her family at the kitchen counter. “I dunno,” she said with a shrug, already moving on from the topic. For her, the new addition to the family was still more hypothetical than anything. “Ma hal’a?” she asked, eager to display her newly learned Hebrew.
“Next,” Ziva smiled at her daughter’s irrepressible nature, “we wait for the pumpkin to cook. About 20 minutes. Then we will put it in a big pot with fried garlic and on- and other things.” She dodged the word onion before Tali could remind her how she felt about them.
Tali narrowed her eyes suspiciously, not entirely fooled. “What other things?”
Ziva pointed to the remaining containers on the bench. “Those are lima beans, and that is vegetable stock. After that, comes the noisy part. I have to use the blender.”
“I don’t like that bit,” Tali frowned. She could not be described as “quiet” herself, constantly chattering, singing and generally making noise, but her preference for volume did not extend to kitchen appliances.
“I know,” Ziva replied sympathetically. “But I have to blend the soup to make it smooth. You can go out for that part if you like,” she suggested, quietly hoping Tali would decide to leave of her own accord
“Ah! Perfect timing! We’re all done with colouring, Edie nearly threw a crayon in the fireplace. We had a difference in opinion about whether or not she could chew them.” Tony appeared in the doorway, “How’s about a trade Lady T? We’ll go do bathtime, and let Ima soothe this savage beast.” He lugged said ‘savage beast’ already strapped into a highchair into the room and set her at the counter.
Ziva was already digging in the freezer for Eden’s teething toy. “Oh, that’s a good idea, Tali. If you do that now, by the time you are all washed and in your pyjamas, our soup will be ready for dinner. Here you are, precious girl. Toda,” she prompted.
“Toda,” Eden repeated, clamping her chubby fingers around the toy and chomping down on it.
Tony lifted Tali down from her perch and set her on the floor. “Right, you go pick out some jammies Tals,” he instructed, turning her to the door and giving her a gentle shove in the right direction. “It’s those molars again, I think. We’re back in Baby Shark mode, purple is apparently her favourite flavour. I’d say teething sucks, except it bites.”
Ziva cast an appraising eye over her 2-year-old, brushed the dirty blonde curls off her forehead and then lay a hand on her flushed little cheek. “Poor thing,” she clucked. Eden batted her away and waved her teether, threatening them both in incoherent toddler-speak. “I will give her some Tylenol if that doesn’t help.” She caught the toy before it hit the floor and handed it back with a sigh.
“You okay?” Tony rubbed his hand across the top of her shoulder blades as Ziva turned into him, tucking herself under her arm, the slight sideways rotation that came instinctively with a growing baby in the way. “I wasn’t trying to dump you with the cranky kid or anything though, I just wanted to get her a teether. But then I heard you say blender... and I figured we could both do without another meltdown because Tals decided she wanted to press the button and then flipped out over the sound again. I’ll take her upstairs as well if you want some quiet. You’re already looking kind of shell-shocked... Guessing you got ‘what's nexted’ about 45 times?”
With Tali out of earshot now, Ziva breathed out and relaxed. “I love to cook with her, but the questions are a lot sometimes,” she admitted. “And your son has his head in my diaphragm.”
“Still hanging out upside down, huh Batbaby? You better turn a cartwheel soon otherwise you’re gonna have a hell of a time getting out of there.” Tony patted the slightly more bulbous side of Ziva’s belly, where the baby’s back lay. “You’re doing a great job, Zi,” he said with audible admiration.
“You’re not so bad yourself, DiNozzo,” she answered warmly, tipping her face towards him.
“Da-ad I got jammies!” Tali’s announcement, delivered from the top of the stairs, echoed through the house shrilly a second before their lips met.
They shared an amused sigh combined with an eye roll, then back down at Eden, her teether stuffed so far into her mouth that her first almost disappeared along with it. “We’ll be fine, go on.” They managed to snatch a kiss before Tali shouted again, louder than before. “Food will be ready in about half an hour. I love you,” she added hurriedly.
“Crazy ‘bout you, Zi.” He hurried off in the wake of another impatient summons from Tali.
“Okay, motek,” Ziva addressed her daughter. “It looks like it is up to us to finish dinner. Do you want to help?” Eden offered no response, gnawing on her teether vigorously. She was as different from Tali in looks as she was in personality, her appearance favoured Tony in everything except for her big brown eyes, an undeniable Ziva legacy. Where Tali explored and experimented narrating all the while, Eden watched and considered in silence. Although Tali had been a difficult sleeper, Eden loved nothing more than bedtime, setting her own solid 6-hour overnight stretch from a very young age.
“How about you test the flatbread?” Ziva sliced a round into fingers and tossed them onto the highchair tray. Eden immediately cast aside the teether, grabbed a piece in each fist and jammed both pieces into her mouth at once. Ziva laughed indulgently, bopping Eden’s nose gently with her finger. “Perfect. I’ll finish making the soup.”
“Peace at last,” Tony sighed, shuffling the coffee table back until there was room to sit directly in front of the fireplace. “Come on, let's do this picnic style,” he suggested.
“If I get down there I may not get back up,” Ziva warned. Despite her doubt, she carried their bowls past the dining table and into the lounge, setting them on the coffee table.
Tony took her hands, steadying her as she knelt and then lowered herself to sit on the rug. “Pretty sure I can still haul you up if I got to. I could lift that pumpkin after all. Ouch!” he yelped as Ziva aimed a swift kick at his shins.
“One more comment about my size and I will pour the soup in your lap.” Ziva propped a beanbag against the leg of the table and leaned back on it. Tony dropped down beside her, one of his knees crunching. “Besides, I may have to pick you up after that. You sound as though you might be ready for the shoe factory,” she added, smirking.
“Glue factory,” he corrected, handing her a bowl. “Besides, is that any way to speak to me after I suggested a romantic fireside picnic?” He stretched his legs out, pressing alongside hers.
“This is nice,” she agreed with a contented sigh, cradling her bowl atop her belly carefully and leaning her head into his shoulder.
“All quiet on the western front?” Tony asked, setting their empty bowls back up on the table after they had enjoyed their meal in silence. “That was great, thanks,” he added with a grateful pat on her thigh.
Ziva shrugged. “Nothing tonight.” She wasn't yet overdue but had never been this pregnant before, both the girls had already been born by now, leaving every day that passed feeling like it could be the one. “I am in no hurry while he is breech anyway. But Hannah is coming for a visit on Monday. We will do some exercises to try to get him turned around. I may actually make it to 40 weeks this time.”
“Wasn't McJunior almost 2 weeks late? It could be longer,” Tony pointed out helpfully.
Ziva nodded with a grimace. “Don't you dare wish that on me!” she exclaimed. “Eleven days, the same amount that Eden was early, Abby will not let me forget it. And his name is Julian.”
“I know that, but all kids need a nickname,” Tony grinned. He kissed her cheekbone, then shuffled towards the fire, lifting her feet onto his lap and peeling off her socks.
Ziva closed her eyes as he began working his thumbs up the arch of her right foot in slow strokes. “What is all this in aid of?”
Tony shrugged nonchalantly. “I feel like I hardly saw you today is all. Just thought it would be nice to eat dinner where I could actually touch you.”
The day had been one long relay race, switching off children from the moment they woke up; Tali wanted breakfast while Eden still needed to be changed, then as Eden was ready to eat, Tali remembered she had left her gumboots at Gibbs' house and Ziva had driven over to collect them while Tony got Eden dressed to go. Even their family trip to the market had been carried out separately. Eden needed a fresh diaper as soon as they'd arrived, but Tali swore she didn't need the facilities, begging Ziva to take her to the petting farm instead. Naturally, this meant she immediately asked for a bathroom break just as they'd regrouped and bought lunch. By the time she and Ziva had returned, Eden was full and bored with sitting still and wanted Tony to chase her around the apple cider stall while her mother and sister hurriedly ate. When they made their way to the pumpkin patch setup, Eden took one look at the scarecrow on display and began howling loudly enough to draw everyone's attention. No amount of cajoling would soothe her and in the end, Ziva had taken her off to complete the regular shopping while Tali made her choice. From there, they'd continued touching base briefly and drifting apart all through the afternoon, cooking the soup, bathtimes, feeding the girls dinner and putting them to bed. After a false start from Eden, who was usually the easier one of the girls to put down but still felt sore and miserable enough to need another half hour of lullabies and nursing in the rocking chair with Ziva while Tony cleaned the kitchen. It was only now, eating their dinner in silence that they’d finally spent more than 5 minutes alone.
“I know,” Ziva sighed, both in agreement and with relief as his hands eased the aches from her feet. “And it is about to get busier. This was a lovely thought, Neshama, thank you.”
“We’re going to be outnumbered when that one shows up,” he commented. “What on earth were you thinking?”
Ziva scoffed, her whole belly bouncing as she did. “What was I thinking?” she echoed. “Christmas last year, you looked at the girls and Julian playing under the tree at Abby and Tim’s house and said, “I want to do that again.” That was all you.” She winced as he squeezed the outer edges of her pinky toes, the acupressure point their midwife had recommended to help encourage the baby to face the exit.
“It takes two to tango, Mrs DiNozzo. You didn’t seem to think it was such a bad idea either.” He watched the reaction on her face adjusting his pressure until she nodded, firm enough to feel, not hard enough to hurt. “Are you sure it’s a boy?” Once again, Ziva’s instinct was the only thing they had to go by, refusing any confirmation during ultrasounds.
Ziva nodded. “I am sure. I knew with Tali and Eden after all.”
He hummed dubiously. “It just all seems the same so far, no coffee, a sense of smell that could beat a bloodhound, weird texture aversions in your food... I figured a boy would look different somehow.”
“Those are old wives’ tales. They do not necessarily mean anything. But it is different,” she pointed out. “He has your sense of direction, otherwise we would not be doing this every evening!” she said, gesturing to her feet in his lap.
“David women are way more stubborn than DiNozzo men,” Tony countered with a grin. “It’s been what? Three months since Hannah told you they’re facing the wrong way and we’ve been working on turning them around ever since without budging? That kind of dig-your-heels-in attitude only comes from your genes. It could still be a girl.”
“Oh shut up,” Ziva chuckled, nudging his hands away. “Help me here.” She held her hands out and when he took them rose to her knees.
“Inversion?” he asked, already knowing the answer and reaching for the beanbag and dropping it down so Ziva could kneel on it, then steadied her as she dropped into all fours, gradually bending her elbows till her entire forearms rested on the carpet, settling into a kind of adapted child’s pose, the height under her knees accentuating the angle of the tilt in hopes the baby would turn.
“I never thought I could get tired of yoga,” Ziva sighed. “But it turns out holding the same pose every night can do it.”
“Let’s see if I can help.” Her sweater had already slipped forward with gravity, but he folded it back further, smoothing his warm hands along the small of her back. “Better?”
“Mmm,” she sighed appreciatively. Tony continued the massage in silence for a while, the fire popping quietly in the background.
“You know, it doesn’t look all that different from how you got into this mess in the first place,” he chuckled, breaking the silence. “Think we were both wearing less though.”
Ziva groaned, disgusted, her voice muffled where her head rested on her arms. “You are just lucky I cannot kick you from this position, Tony.”
He chuckled to himself pleased, and bent forward to drop a kiss on her spine, before laying himself down on the rug alongside her head. “You know something, Ninja?” he murmured.
“What’s that?” She turned her head the other way to face him.
“Even if all of today was just passing the kids off like batons, it worked well,” he said, pushing her ponytail out of her face. “You and me, we make a good team.”
“Yeah,” Ziva smiled, leaning over awkwardly to kiss him. “I think so too.”