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Henry feels like his eyes are going to roll right out of his head whenever his friends complain that their moms always know what they’re thinking, because their moms aren’t Emma Swan - Emma Swan, a woman whose uncanny ability to call out a lie from even a complete stranger would put a polygraph machine to shame and who can read Henry’s emotions like he’s that mood ring he found in a box of her old stuff. He knows superpowers aren’t a real thing, but sometimes he imagines it’s only a matter of time before Professor X or Nick Fury shows up to recruit her for some off-the-books government agency. His mom always knows when something’s bothering him. Sometimes she even knows what’s bothering him before he does, but this isn’t one of those times. He knows what’s eating him this time. It took him a while, but after hearing his mom say goodnight to her boyfriend on the phone a minute ago, he’s figured it out.
His mom and Walsh have been making plans to go out to dinner this Sunday. Walsh insists on taking her someplace really nice, and though she hemmed and hawed, she’s finally given in. They’re going to a new restaurant in Tribeca that he’s been talking up – some fancy eatery with an up-and-coming chef that’s been generating a lot of buzz in the paper. Henry knows his mother kind of hates places like this. She doesn’t want to see and be seen or eat a tiny main course just because it’s arranged artfully on a plate and costs an arm and a leg. Give his mom a plate of onion rings in a cozy hole-in-the-wall any day. But that’s not the only reason she hesitated. Not if you ask Henry.
She says she really likes Walsh, that he’s a great guy. He’s good-looking, easy-going, and pretty funny sometimes. Work keeps her busy, but she still manages to spend a fair amount of time with him, mostly jogging in the park or running errands or doing dinner and a movie. Henry’s trying to give the guy a fair shake, even inviting him over to play video games. But as much as he thinks he does, Walsh doesn’t get her, not really. Walsh is happy as long as she says she’s happy, which she does. But Henry knows what a happy Emma Swan looks like – that relaxed smile she gets when she takes him to concerts in Central Park and they sit out on a blanket on the grass and eat junk food and sing along to their favorite covers, or when she’s hauled in a particularly elusive skip and they celebrate by ordering pizza and making ice cream sundaes at home. The moments like these are when she looks genuinely content, when she lets her guard down and just seems glad to live in the moment.
He’s never seen her happy with Walsh. She smiles and laughs and goes through the motions, but her face just doesn’t glow the same way. It’s like she’s subconsciously waiting for something more from him, waiting to feel something different; like she’s staring up at the night sky waiting for fireworks that may never come, but she doesn’t know it – doesn’t know that she’s waiting, much less what she’s waiting for. She’s always emphasized that Henry is enough for her, that she doesn’t need a man to make her complete, but he knows she still dreams of finding the right guy – a guy who can be both her fairy tale hero and a father figure for Henry. But it’s like she only understands what she’s looking for in theory, in danger of mistaking an imitation for the real thing. Henry’s no expert on love or anything either, but he’s read books and seen romantic comedies – he has a sense of what a happy ending is supposed to look like, and he’s pretty sure she hasn’t found it yet with Walsh. Deep down in her gut, Henry thinks his mom is starting to figure that out too. So when the guy makes a big deal out of taking her out to a fancy dinner for an occasion yet to be revealed, her instincts put her on edge. There’s a tiny crease in the spot between her eyes when she hangs up with him and adds the appointment to her phone’s calendar.
“Why’d you say yes if you don’t want to go?” he asks, eyeing her from the couch.
She looks up at him, startled, before catching herself and plastering on a small smile. “Oh it’s not that I don’t want to go,” she answers, “It’s just a hassle to get dressed up for a nice place like that. But Walsh is really excited, so of course I’ll go.”
The human lie detector is a terrible liar. Henry knows better than to push her, so he shrugs and resumes his video game, but while he’s busy teaching alien invaders not to screw with Earth for the hundredth time, he thinks about how his mom actually enjoys getting dressed up if it’s for the right reasons, like the time they went to hear the New York Philharmonic play the score to Star Wars for his birthday and she got all giddy over the new shoes she bought for the occasion. The sun has set, and she passes through his line of sight as she moves around the living room to drop the blinds. The expression on her face that he can see momentarily reflected in the windows is the opposite of giddy. She looks tired and a little lost. It’s the same expression she’s had off and on for months now. And Henry’s had enough of seeing her like that.
His fingers violently beat out the combination of commands that kicks the crap out of what’s left of the alien army, and he hastily saves the game and tosses the controller aside with a frustrated sigh. He hops off the couch and makes a beeline for his room, pulling on his coat and unzipping his backpack to retrieve the items he stuffs into his pockets - his phone, iPod, and the little notepad and pen he always carries around with him to jot notes and doodle. Tugging on his worn sneakers, he heads back out into the hallway, calling, “I’m going up to the roof for a little bit.”
The sight of his mom standing by the door, also wearing her coat now and holding his scarf out to him, makes him stop in his tracks.
“You’re going out,” she says calmly, green eyes concerned, her tone such that he knows what she’s about to say is non-negotiable, “But not to the roof. You’re coming with me.”
* * *
The fountain is 5 blocks from their apartment. He knows that’s where they’re headed, but he keeps his silence until they’re there. She’s brought him here a couple of times since they moved to New York to enjoy the tranquility of the square, to talk about his problems, and to make a wish when he’s feeling low. He trudges up to the fountain reluctantly, like a perp in a lineup, and obediently sits down on the cool stone of the fountain’s edge, hands stuffed into his pockets, not making eye contact.
“Alright, Kid,” she says quietly, setting down next to him, “You gonna tell me what’s up?”
He watches cars and people pass by on the corner. He doesn’t want to upset her by telling her it’s more her problem than his. “It’s nothing.” It’s a silly thing to say. Even without her superpower, he knows she won’t believe him.
“Moody for two weeks over nothing, huh?”
He stays silent. The fall evening is cool, and the sounds of traffic are at their peak as there’s still about 30 minutes left of rush hour. The lights from the fountain cast a watery, ethereal glow on the square.
“Did something happen at school?” she asks, sounding worried. Last year wasn’t the easiest for him – being a new kid in a new school, having to start fresh after their move from Boston, but she knows a lot about what that’s like. “Is someone giving you a hard time?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “I just… there’s a lot going on right now.”
“I know.” She nods apologetically. “You just had all those papers and school projects due, and you’ve had to be up late every night, and I’ve been gone a lot too since work got so crazy.” She looks sad and tips her head toward him, eyebrows raised. “Is that it? You’re just really tired and stressed out?”
It isn’t, but she can’t catch his lie if he doesn’t say anything, so he just nods, eyes on his shoes.
She breathes a little sigh of relief, and he feels relieved, too, that she seems satisfied with his answer. She fishes a penny out of her pocket and presses it into his palm, her hand lingering over his. “You know, we’ve got the long Columbus Day weekend in a few days,” she says thoughtfully. “How about we plan on doing nothing on Saturday? No work, no going out, just nothing. We’ll get up late and hang out in our pajamas and eat too much and be lazy slobs all day. It’ll give us a chance to unwind a little.”
He smiles at the idea. It’s not the solution to his problem – to her problem – but he loves those relaxed, do-nothing days at home with her, just reading and listening to music and watching movies on cable. “Deal.”
“Okay.” She grins and gestures at the fountain. “Now do your thing, and let’s go get some dinner.”
Henry considers the coin in his hand, the light dancing off the polished new copper, and tees it up with his thumb. She’s so lonely, he tells it silently. Send us someone to make our family complete. They both watch as he flicks it up into the air, and it breaks the shimmering surface with a soft splash.