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A victorious little grin edges onto Henry’s face as he lays the recipe card down onto the counter, and looks at the ingredients laid out in front of him–and he can hardly contain his excitement, wishing that he could just fast forward to the part of the surprise when he got to wake her up for breakfast.
It was their first Mother’s Day together, and he wanted it to be special.
He’d planned it all out the night before–he’d made a card, drawing a bouquet of flowers on the front and writing “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM” in big red, bubble letters. He’d been so careful to stay in the lines he’d drawn, and when Robin called a few minutes after nine–just as he always did on the nights they weren’t all together–Henry snuck downstairs and snagged a recipe from her box. And then, he woke up before the sun was even up, quietly tip-toeing down to the kitchen–and when he reached the kitchen and turned on the light, and Regina didn’t join him, he’d let out a sigh of relief, glad to not have ruined the surprise.
He took a breath and he reached for the baking dish, and suddenly felt uneasy–he’d never cooked alone.
Well, not successfully, anyway.
Looking between the card and the ingredients for the baked apple French toast he’d decided to make, he wrung his hands together, and wondered if maybe this was a mistake…
He could barely see over the countertop but a grin stretched over his lips as he pushed two fingers down on the lever of the toaster. He smiled and turned away–he couldn’t wait to see Mrs. Termaine’s face. The night before she’d been on one of her tirades, complaining about how thoughtless Louie and the girls were, how they never did anything for her, how they only thought of themselves.
But he was different, and this was going to prove it.
And maybe then, she’d even love him.
Grinning, he opened the back door, deciding that flowers might look nice on the table–and before he could pluck the first one, he could hear the smoke detector screeching. For a moment, he froze–his eyes widening as his heart raced, and then he bolted toward the house.
Throwing open the door, he watched smoke billowing up from the toaster–and then, his eyes shifted to Mrs. Termaine. Her jaw was tight and her eyes were narrow, and he felt his stomach drop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
“Look at what you did!” she yelled–and he flinched. “Look!”
“I-I’m sorry,” he heard himself say in barely audibly voice as tears filled his eyes. “I just wanted to…”
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted! The only thing that matters is what you did!” Henry nodded as his jaw started to tremble–and wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t seem to find his words. “I don’t want to see you!” She spat as she looked away from him and forced the lever on the toaster up, pushing four charred slices of bread, in spaces that were only meant for two. “You over stuffed it,” she sighed as his tears spilled over his eyes and he offered an muffled apology for disappearing to his room…
“Henry!” Regina gasps–and his eyes widen as he lays the last slice of bread into the baking dish. “What are you doing?”
His stomach flutters a bit, and suddenly, he feels so unsure. “I… I wanted to surprise you.” His bottom lip catches between his teeth as her eyes shift from him to the slices of apple in a bowl to his right. “I… I’m making you apple French toast,” she tells her. “For… for Mother’s Day.”
Her eyes widen as she looks back to him, and a slow grin stretches across her lips. “You got up this early to make breakfast for me?” He nods as her smile brightens and she steps into the kitchen, quickly making her way to him. Her hands cup his face and she pull him to her, brushing her nose against his. “You are so thoughtful!”
“I wanted it to be a surprise…”
“Oh,” she murmurs, as she pulls back. “And I woke up and ruined it.”
“Well, no, not exactly…” He shrugs. “This just isn’t how I pictured it.” He grins. “I wanted to set the table and put some flowers in a vase and wake up and…”
“I could… go back upstairs and…”
“No,” he cuts in. “It’s better this way.” His grin brightens and he hands her an egg. “Especially because I can’t actually separate the yolks.” She laughs as she takes the egg from him, once more she leans in, this time pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around her neck, and pushes himself deeper into her hug.