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“Kid, remind me again why I agreed to this,” Emma questions, slurping on her soda as she turns from the front seat of the Benz to look at her son, Regina having declared after the last trip that she absolutely refused to travel anywhere beyond the town line again in the sputtering rust bucket that Emma was so curiously attached to.
“Because, mom ,” Henry replies, rolling his eyes as he sees Emma twitching in her seat. “The event is about diverse families. We’re a diverse family.”
“Yeah, you’ll be eating your words once I get up on stage and say “hey guys, nice to meet you, here’s a picture of my mother. Yeah, so she looks the same age as me, but, well, she put me in this wardrobe, and then got frozen in time. Oh, you might have seen her in something, you know that film, what’s it called, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.””
“Miss Swan,” Regina warns, and Henry can her from the amused tone that she’s thoroughly enjoying Emma’s discomfort.
“Regina,” Emma replies, looking her suspiciously in the eye. “Anyway, why aren’t you with me on this? It’s not like you’re normally keen to spill the beans on, well, anything, let alone to a bunch of strangers at the gifted teen program you insist on us schlepping Henry to every month.”
“Well, Emma,” Regina drawls, and Henry knows that she’s plotting something, that this is going to be good. “You can hardly deny that, even when you take out all the bits about curses, and fairytales, you’ve still got a rather fascinating story. Henry’s birth mom, a criminal delinquent and drifter, rescued by the love of her son, and, with the help of his accomplished, sophisticated mother, a local civic leader and pillar of the community, transformed into a semi-competent small-town sheriff.”
“What?” Emma splutters, as Henry giggles to himself in the back. “You cannot be serious, Regina. There’s no way in hell you’re getting up there and posing like my philanthropic benefactor!”
“Ooh, big words, Miss Swan. It would appear that my good influence is rubbing off on you.”
And she flashes Emma a shit-eating grin, and Henry decides to take pity on Emma before the two descend further into their usual flirtatious bickering that’s growing increasingly difficult to watch without slamming his mothers’ heads together.
“You seem nervous, mom. It’ll be fine. It’s just ten minutes, talking about our family, how hard can it be? Just remember: no fairytales, no curses, no mentioning the state of my room or how grumpy mom is before she’s had her coffee in the morning.”
And Emma simply huffs, and turns on the radio, switching the station to the classic rock that, for some reason, both his mothers appear to like (although Regina never actually admits it, he’s heard her tuneless singing in the shower) and she caterwauls along to the Boss, Regina rolling her eyes yet again but humming along quietly.
He puts his earphones in to tune out the frankly dreadful singing, and before he knows it, they’re driving through the centre of Bangor, and Regina’s awkwardly swerving into a space outside the community centre, both Emma and Henry resisting the temptation to criticise her sloppy parking.
“Kid,” Emma says warningly as they get out of the car, grabbing Henry by the arm to whisper in his ear as Regina strides off in front. “The people at this event, you’ve not by any chance given them the impression that your mom and I are a - are a lesbian couple, have you?”
And Henry gives her his best innocent smile, because technically he’s not actually lying to his mother. Yes, he didn’t explicitly say that they weren’t a couple, may have nodded noncommittally when Mr Beach had mentioned how great it was, him living with his two moms, how fantastic it would be if they could speak at the first annual Bangor Diversity Celebration that he was organising for the following month. But semantics are important, at least when it comes to outwitting Emma’s built in lie detector, and so he shakes his head, simply saying “why would you think that?”
“I dunno kid, you just seem suspiciously happy about this, and I don’t want anything to happen that’ll make your mom uncomfortable. We’re - we’re good, you know, right now.”
And, god, she’s oblivious, and Henry would almost feel sorry for her, if it wasn’t so tragic. “Sure mom, don’t worry. No fairytales, no curses, no lesbian lovers. Got it.”
______________________________________________________________________
“Henry,” Mr Beach says warmly as the trio stroll into the main room, which has been decked out auditorium style. “Great to see you,” and Henry nods, a little bewildered in the face of Mr Beach's boundless enthusiasm.
“And you must be Henry’s mothers,” he continues, and Henry can see from Emma’s tight, nervous smile that she’s absolutely dreading this. But Regina takes over, all politician’s smile and poised charm as she shakes Mr Beach’s hand.
“Regina Mills,” she says smoothly. “And this is Emma Swan,” she adds, as Emma raises her hand in an awkward wave, almost a half salute, and, god, how is he genetically linked to this idiot?
“Hi,” Emma adds, in a stilted voice, before his mom places a steadying hand on the small of her back in the way that he’s increasingly seen both his mothers subconsciously do when either of them is uncomfortable.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to speak today,” Mr Beach effuses. “We really wanted to represent the whole spectrum of diversity within the state, and, speaking to Henry at the seminars, it was clear that your family was worth hearing from. Adoption, a mixed race family, LGBT parents, to put it mildly, you do really have a very unique story.”
And Henry looks across and sees Emma gulp in horror, sees her look across at Regina to gauge her reaction. But his mother appears oblivious, merely nodding in agreement as Mr Beach directs the family to a group of seats on the stage, offers them tea and coffee, informs them of the running order. They’re on last, he says, such a compelling story to close the formal section of the event.
______________________________________________________________________________
Over the next 30 minutes, as Henry and Emma play mindless games on their phones and his mom sits, seemingly engrossed in a book, the seats in the room gradually fill, until around two-thirds of the theatre is full. Henry’s surprised, because, honestly, the diversity event itself had sounded kind of lame, but it seemed that Mr Beach’s enthusiasm had been contagious, or at least they were offering a good buffet.
Emma seems to be turning kind of green, he notes, feeling only the slightest bit guilty, and his mom, well, even if she looks cool as a cucumber, it doesn’t escape his attention that she’s been staring at the same page for a good ten minutes.
And then the event starts, and Mr Beach is up, all effusion as he paces the stage in his collarless shirt and slacks, welcoming all the community associations of Bangor for coming together in this “wonderful celebration of the increasing diversity of life in Maine.” And Henry can’t help but roll his eyes a bit, because he’s not exactly struck by the stunning diversity in the room, but, well, he can’t fault Mr Beach for trying.
And actually, once the speakers start, it’s not as boring as he’d expected, and he does even learn a few things. There’s a Muslim family speaking about Ramadan and Eid celebrations, a family with their teenage foster kids (and again, when he glances over at his mothers, he sees his mom’s hand resting on Emma’s back), an amusing Chinese-American family talking about the cultural differences between the US and China.
And before he knows it, Mr Beach is welcoming them over to the seats at the front, and Henry takes Emma’s hand, feels her breathing nervously as he leads her over to the seat. He sits between his mothers, and, it’s there, in this moment, as he looks at Emma’s shaking hands, that he starts to think that maybe, maybe, he hasn’t quite thought this through.
But it’s too late now and Mr Beach is effusing again - a very special family, with a fascinating story - before asking Henry if he’d like to introduce himself.
“So hi, I’m Henry, and, until I was ten, I grew up in the town of Storybrooke with my mom, Regina,” he says, cocking his head in the direction of his mom.
“Your adoptive mom?” Mr Beach enquires.
“Yes,” Henry and Regina confirm, Regina adding “I, um, I adopted him when he was a baby. I’d always wanted a child, and I couldn’t have my own, and, well, although it was difficult at first, caring for a baby on my own, I loved Henry more than I thought I could ever love anyone.”
And he doesn’t look at her, because, although it was years ago now, although it’s sorted and forgotten, he still can’t help feeling incredibly guilty when he thinks that he ever, ever doubted that she’d loved him. He looks at Emma instead, and sees her gazing at his mother, sheer love shining in her eyes.
“But then,” Regina continues. “When he was ten, Henry found out he was adopted, and it was very difficult, for a time, between us. I was very strict - too strict - and he thought that I didn’t love him. And, I suppose, like -
“-I was kind of a little shit,” Henry interrupts, casting an apologetic look at his mom as the room titters in amusement. “And mom, well, she made me eat lots of vegetables and kept me to a homework schedule, and, I guess I was curious too, about who my birth mother was. And so, once I’d found my birth mother’s details, I stole my teacher’s credit card and booked myself a ticket to Boston, and turned up on Emma’s doorstep.”
“When you say it like that, Henry, I guess you were kind of a little shit,” Emma jokes, joining Henry in tilting her head towards Regina in apology. “But yeah, I was sat there, alone on my birthday, when this little squirt of a boy showed up and told me that he was my son. It was - kind of a surprise, you could say.”
“And you, Emma, this may be a sensitive question, but why did you have Henry adopted in the first place?” Mr Beach asks.
“Well,” Emma says, and Henry can feel her steeling herself, although he suspects that this wasn’t the aspect of the conversation that she was really most nervous about. “When I had him, I’d just come out of the care system - it’s great to see how great some foster families here in Maine are, but I’d never really had that, I’d bounced from place to place - and I was a mess. His birth dad and I got into some trouble with the law, and I basically found myself eighteen, in jail, alone and pregnant. It wasn’t exactly the ideal situation to raise a child in, you know, so I thought I’d do for Henry what nobody had done for me - I’d give him his best chance.”
And Henry looks between his mothers, and Emma’s got an awkward smile on her face, and it’s Regina who’s mooning now, gazing lovingly over at Emma as if she hung the moon and god, why don’t they see it?
“But then you went back, back with Henry, and you stayed?”
“Yeah, initially I’d just intended to drop the kid back off with his mom, to get out of his life, but once I got to know him, I just couldn’t leave. Especially not because - well, it’s fair to say that Regina and I, at first, we didn’t exactly get along, and I wanted to see that he was okay.”
“Quite the understatement, dear,” Regina drawls. “To be accurate, Mr Beach, Emma and I absolutely loathed each other at first. She tried to destroy my apple tree with a chainsaw,” she smirks, looking at Emma, knowing that she can’t very well retort without breaking the no curses rule that they’d agreed on.
“Hey,” Emma says indignantly. “That, well, that is true, but there are some other details that she’s very conveniently missing out. She was pretty intimidating, you know, all spike heels and skirt suits , and, well, Regina, let’s be honest, you were kind of a bitch at times. Good thing I got myself elected as sheriff, really.”
“Touché,” Regina states, but she’s smiling, they’re both smiling, and Henry can feel the audience warming to them, suspects that they can see exactly what he’s been seeing for months.
“So, let me ask, how did you ladies get past the stage of wanting to kill each other?”
“Well,” Regina said. “To put it mildly, it was rather a tumultuous time. I had some….some family problems, some personal problems, I’d made myself somewhat….unpopular in the town, and Emma, however much I’d initially hated her, seen her as a threat, well, she was just always defending me, kind of hanging around like a giant golden retriever.” And she rolls her eyes, and Henry looks at Emma, sees her fail to conceal her goofy smile with an attempt at indignation,and maybe, just maybe, this is going to work.
“And I suppose I got used to her bottomless appetite, her deathtrap of a car, her atrocious insistence on wearing cheap pleather jackets instead of her correct sheriff department uniform-“
“And I got used to her insanely high standards for town paperwork, her persnicketiness-“
“Persnicketiness? Be still my beating heart, Miss Swan, you are using an inordinate amount of multisyllabic words today.”
“See? Persnicketiness. And, as I was saying, I got used to her persnicketiness, her way of talking like she’s swallowed a dictionary-”
“-thesaurus”
“thesaurus, yes, and, well, we kind of became friends.”
And Henry can see Mr Beach, torn between letting them continue - because, after all, the audience is laughing along with the bickering- and trying to bring them back on track. Breaking in, he asks the question, the question that Emma’s been dreading, that surely, by now, all the audience are expecting.
“And how did you turn from friends into a couple?”
And Henry’s heart thumps in his chest, for it’s out there now, and they’re all up on stage, and perhaps, perhaps at sixteen, he’s still a bit of a little shit. And he can see Emma start to splutter out a denial, sees the panic in her eyes, but then, once again, it’s his mom who cuts in.
“Well,” Regina states deliberately, and she’s looking across at Emma, and Henry, well, Henry has no idea what she’s about to say. “I suppose…I suppose that over time, the woman that I’d once hated, well, she’d already wormed her way into my life, eventually into my house - because it made sense for Henry to have both of us there, really - and, before I’d even really had chance to notice, she’d wormed her stupid, idiotic way into my heart as well.”
And, as the audience smile, Henry looks across, and Emma’s struck dumb, hardly daring to believe the words coming out of his mom’s mouth. Go on mom, he wills, go on. Be brave.
“And I’m not sure if she knows just how much I love her,” Regina continues, a soppy, scared smile on her face. “I’m not sure if she knows how much every day I thank her for saving - for saving me. But I am lucky, because I never in a million years thought that I could ever deserve to have someone like her to love. And if she wants to, I’d like to spend the rest of my life telling her to take her shoes off the stairs, teasing her about her utterly ridiculous love for 80s rock music, trying to prevent her from dropping dead from all of the grilled cheese and bear claws she considers food.”
And Emma’s crying now, and standing up, and, before Regina gets a chance to look across, to gauge her reaction, Emma pulls Regina to her, sits her on her lap, and they’re both smiling those smiles, again, but at last, at long last, aiming them right at each other. “Hey,” Emma says. “Don’t you dare knock classic rock - I’ve heard you, in the shower, singing along to The Boss.” And then they’re laughing, crying, kissing, and the audience is cheering, clapping, and Henry can see some of them furtively dabbing tears from their eyes.
“So, Henry,” Mr Beach says awkwardly. “How do you feel about it, about your moms being in love?”
“Well,” Henry replies. “They’re my moms, you know, so this” - he gestures behind him - “is kind of gross.” And as the audience laugh, he continues “but I love them both, more than anything, and I - I just think that everything that’s happened, it’s like it was meant to end this way, you know. With them, together.”
And they’re still kissing, behind him, and Henry feels his own eyes tear up, his heart swell a bit as Mr Beach makes the closing remarks, invites people to the buffet, and maybe, maybe, he’s a clever little shit after all.