Please Mom
The newly reinstated Sheriff drove home from an uneventful day's work in a contemplative silence. She replayed her painful run in with Regina for the umpteenth time. How she had walked up to Regina with such a strong resolve to apologise and then done the exact opposite completely escaped her. The woman seemed to bring out a petulant quality in her. Although, the same could be said for Emma's effect on Regina, this time, the brunette's anger was justified. What perplexed Emma the most was why Regina had disappeared at the peak of her fury. One moment Emma was bracing for a well-deserved punch in the jaw and the next second she was alone, coughing and out of breath, in the insulated pocket of heavy forest.
Pulling up into the driveway, Emma pushed thoughts of the failed reconciliation away. She didn't want her son to pick up on her restlessness, especially since he was becoming increasingly more perceptive by the day. Not only was Henry extremely sensitive, he was also growing more mature. Henry's adamance that their new home be equidistant from the Charming-Snow apartment and his other mother's house spoke volumes about how far he had come in his regard for Regina. It was heart-warming to witness the transformation.
Eager to get inside, the blonde unfastened her seat belt and hopped out of the car in one swift motion. Her wince of pain was as audible as the rusty creak of the yellow Bug's door slamming shut. Her sternum and back still ached painfully. It had, after all, only been twelve hours since Regina's crushing weight had her restrained against rough bark. The blonde had yet to fully inspect the extent of the damage, but had no doubt that she would be bruised tomorrow.
A deliciously rich aroma assaulted Emma as she walked through the front door. Mouth already watering, she was led by her nose to the kitchen. A headphone-adorned Henry adorably bopped and swayed to music while he stirred a sloppy, chocolate mixture.
"Hey kid," Emma waved her hands in front of him.
"Oh, hi Mom, you're just in time," Henry looked up from the bowl with a broad smile, unabashed that Emma had caught him dance-cooking.
She leant forward over the counter, grabbed his head and planted a small kiss on his forehead. Emma wished that he could stay in this phase a little longer, between boy and adolescent, without an ounce self-consciousness or embarrassment about affection. Taking a seat, she watched fondly, as he neatly poured the chocolaty mix evenly into ceramic moulds and placed them in a water filled tray. He bent to place them in the oven and returned with a large, golden topped pie. The boy moved about the kitchen smoothly, tea towel over one shoulder, stirring, tasting and adjusting a velvety gravy simmering on the stove and whipping cream into fluffy, soft peaks. He skilfully plated generous servings of the pie with a side of steamed, lightly seasoned green beans and drizzled steaming dark gravy in lazy patterns across the white plate.
Emma was very thankful Henry had picked up Regina's chef-like abilities, marvelling at his arrangement which transformed a humble slice of pie into an image from a magazine. When motivated Henry could create dishes that could rival professionals. Emma dug in to her slice of pie happily, too hungry to think about what intentions were hidden within the crunchy, buttery potato and soft, tender lamb. For dessert, Henry presented individual ramekins overflowing with dark soufflé dusted with icing sugar and served with vibrantly, red strawberries and a dollop of white, whipped cream. She could not hold back her curiosity any longer.
"Okay Henry. What do you want?," Emma finally asked, sliding her spoon into the solid soufflé shell to reveal the molten, gooey inside.
"What do you mean? What do I want?," Henry scoffed, faking mild offence, "Can't a son cook his mother Shepard's pie once in a while?"
"You made dessert too," Emma responded, sighing contently when she tasted the blend of acidic berry, cream and sweet, soft-solid chocolate.
"This dessert is the perfect accompaniment. You can't have a pie without chocolate soufflé," Henry stated matter-of-factly.
"As delicious as the pie was and this dessert is, I can't help but think that they are both demanding something from me."
"Ok, you got me," Henry paused, formulating the right words, "I'm worried about her. I know when I'm around she tries really hard to stay positive for me but she's hurting. I've tried to cheer her up, but it's like even though she's there, she's not really there...you know what I mean. Isn't there something we can do?"
Emma groaned internally. Of course this was about Regina. The only other times Henry had gone all out to make a meal of this calibre was when he wanted to comfort her or convince her to do something she wasn't willing to do readily.
"Henry, I know you're worried about her, I am too, but it's not your job to cheer her up," Emma replied softly.
"I've never seen her like this before," he admitted quietly. "Can't you do something?," he added pleadingly.
"I don't know what I can do kid. Even if she was open to support, I'm the last person she wants to see right now," the blonde touched her chest lightly, feeling the dull, aching flesh beneath her shirt. She wasn't worried about the council meeting tomorrow. It would be a formal setting with no opportunity for outbursts on both sides. To meet one-on-one however, was an encounter she probably wouldn't survive and one she would not be persuaded to undertake.
"Please Mom. You're the closest thing she has to a friend." Henry slipped a key across the table and proceeded to pull the most deadly expression in his arsenal.