Mothers and Daughters
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Companion piece to my story, "Puppet Love". Snow is heavily pregnant so Emma offers to help her out in the kitchen and make lunch for the family's usual Sunday get-together. The only problem is that Emma doesn't have the first idea about cooking. Warning: August/Emma, Snow/James!
A little Emma/Snow moment for The-Writer2012 and for you all who'd like to see a little mother/daughter bonding.
"You know, you don't have to do that," Snow called to her daughter, lounging on the couch. She looked tired with her legs propped up and her hand stroking her large pregnant belly.
"No," Emma protested. "It's okay. I want to do it," she said then added mostly to herself, "I can do it."
Snow heard it nonetheless and continued to press the issue. "You're sure? You seem kind of lost."
"I'm not lost," Emma protested defensively. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
Snow raised an amused eyebrow at that watching her daughter eyeing a bag of semolina critically then nodding decisively. She couldn't decide whether to laugh out or grimace at her daughter's apparent inability to deal with the task at hand.
She finally assumed a sympathetic expression. "Then you know, too, that we don't use semolina to make béchamel sauce."
Emma looked comically dispirited as she glanced at her mother. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," Snow nodded with a small smile.
Emma groaned putting down the bag. "I'm such a failure," she said running her eyes dejectedly over the mess she'd already managed to create in the kitchen – and she hadn't even started to cook yet!
"No, you are not," Snow told her. "You just need to learn. With that she started to stand up – which hadn't been an easy task for weeks now – then, throwing a glance at her peacefully sleeping granddaughter, she wobbled into the kitchen to help her daughter.
It was Sunday, the day when the Charmings had lunch together at Snow and James' place. This time, however, Emma had volunteered to help her mother out because Snow could definitely use a little rest. The problem was that Emma wasn't that familiar in the kitchen to say the least. She mostly used that room to heat up take-away and store the kitchen utensils and making a dish was mostly exhausted by burning some scrambled eggs every now and then.
Yup, being a skilled cook wasn't among her talents.
And while it usually didn't really bother Emma, now she felt pathetic. She was used to getting by by herself – she'd always been adapt at solving her own problems, even more so after August had left her but being forced to face something she couldn't really deal with on her own – because let's face it, she was likely to set the kitchen on fire if she was left unattended for too long – and have someone to witness her inaptness was disconcerting.
"All right," Snow started taking in the state of her kitchen. Now she understood why Emma had never ventured to cook anything while they'd been living together. And she was grateful for that. It looked like a disaster from the very start. "It's just lasagna - nothing really complicated. Let's start with the onion. Peel one then dice it… and don't give me that look."
"Sorry," Emma threw up her hands in frustration, "but I came here to help you and I'm just making more work for you."
"Nonsense," Snow dismissed her. "If it makes you feel any better, I won't even lift a finger. I'll just sit here and boss you around." She raised an eyebrow as she took her seat by the counter. Emma rolled her eyes then, sighing, she grabbed an onion and began peeling it all the while trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of Snow's eyes on her.
Quite a pitiable sight she must be – a grown woman who didn't know how to make a simple dish like lasagna. Snow must be so proud, she thought with self-deprecation.
She was putting the diced onion into a pan when Snow spoke up in a contemplative voice.
"This makes me wonder just what you're feeding your family with."
"With take-away from Granny's?" Emma offered sheepishly turning on the gas.
"And they haven't rebelled yet?" Snow chuckled reaching for the knob on the stove and turning it a little lower.
Emma gave her a look before answering, "Well, August didn't fall in love with me for my culinary skills and Meera's got no reason to complain," Emma said, referring to the fact that she was breast-feeding the baby.
"And what about Gepetto and Henry?"
"They know better than to complain," Emma deadpanned.
A little silence settled on them after that during which Emma stood over the stove keeping and eye on the frying meat then stirring in the spices Snow was telling her to after pouring in the tomato sauce.
While the meat was boiling, Snow instructed Emma to pour a little oil into another pan but Emma didn't put it on the stove when Snow told her to. Instead she abandoned it and sat down next to her mother by the counter.
"Shoot," Emma told Snow. Snow looked at her questioningly so Emma had to elaborate. "There's something on your mind so go, ask whatever you want to ask."
"I don't…"
"Yes, you do," Emma quickly contradicted her. "What is it?"
"All right… I was just wondering how was it… growing up with August?" she stuttered then sighed with huge, dreamy eyes. "It's just like your father and I all over again – you were destined to be together."
"Eww…" Emma made a disgusted face. "No need to get so dramatic."
"No, really," the excitement behind her mother's voice made Emma wonder just for how long she'd been wondering about this subject. "Just think about it. If we had stayed in the Enchanted Forest, most probably you two would have never really talked. I hate to say it but you'd be a princess and he the son of a woodcarver. And there's the fact that he'd never been meant to get into that wardrobe but he did. He was an irresponsible, selfish little boy but he stayed with you and protected you…"
"Until he knocked me up and left," Emma pointed out.
"But he came back. He'd denied his very nature because of you," Snow added and there was again that dreamy look. "He found you."
"And just when did you jump the bandwagon and start thinking about August as my soul-mate? What happened to him being the little irresponsible bastard who knocked up your baby girl?"
"I never called him that," Snow protested vehemently then added, "Well, maybe your father did. And I thought you knew that we are over that by now. We accepted him as a member of our family… But it wasn't what I wanted to talk about. How was he?" she asked bouncing on her seat.
"Great," Emma answered in a flat tone, standing up and, resuming her cooking, she grabbed the previously abandoned pan. "So how do I do this?" she looked at her mother, the topic concluded on her part… but not on Snow's.
"Oh, come on, sure you can elaborate on it a little?"
"Really great," Emma elaborated unenthusiastically.
Snow huffed disappointedly. "Well, you certainly take after your father in the talking department."
"I certainly do," she agreed putting the pan on the fire.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," she quipped suddenly finding the emerging bubbles in the oil fascinating. That was until Snow pulled the pan away from the fire and gave her a challenging look. Then she quickly added, "Just wondering why you want me to get all mushy over August. You want to get sappy then tell me about James."
Well, actually she didn't really want to know about him and his relationship to Snow, at least not more than she had already known and what was in the boundaries of what a child should know about her parents but Snow didn't need more encouragement and she – much to Emma's dismay and utter astonishment – happily launched into an elaborate tale about her relationship with James. And there weren't many things she'd left out.
A couple of times Emma tried to get her attention but Snow was so engrossed in her tale that it proved to be an impossible task so after a while Emma decided to give a go to preparing the béchamel sauce. Maybe if she concentrated strong enough, she'd be able to block out the images her mother's account had created in her head.
Well, as expected, trying to prepare the sauce was a failure but at least she had managed to get her mother's attention when the sauce – or the dough-like thingy in the pan – began to smoke.
"Oh my God, what happened?" Snow shrieked practically jumping up from her seat – which looked quite comical in Emma's opinion.
"I don't know," Emma began totally unfazed by the smoking pan. "I think it went suicidal at the account of your MA rated thoughts about James in leather." Really, that image of her father would haunt her for the rest of her life.
At that Snow gave her a dirty look and snatched the pan from the fire, unceremoniously dumping it in the sink. "I really can't help that your father is a really, really sexy man."
"Oh my…" Emma closed her eyes, really wanting to shake those images out of her head. Fortunately her attention was suddenly demanded by her daughter who seemed to have been awakened by the commission in the kitchen and wasn't shy to express her dislike of the situation.
"Now, here's somebody who inherited your talking skills," she pointed out as she made her way to the stroller where Meera was wailing.
"That's kind of unfair, Emma," Snow, who suddenly seemed really angry, told her, reaching for a pan and pouring oil in it. "You asked me about your father."
"But I didn't expect you to answer," Emma came back to the kitchen holding a red-faced but quite Meera.
"Well, now you know better," Snow snapped as she deftly prepared the sauce.
"All right," Emma started in a defensive tone, not really understanding Snow's attitude. "No need to get all bitchy about it." Unfortunately, all she managed to achieve with her comment was that her mother's shoulders stiffened and her movements as she stirred the sauce became more forceful.
Emma sighed, realizing that she'd just screwed up Snow's attempt to get to know her daughter better. After all that time they'd spent together as family, there were still certain topics that hadn't been discussed. However, as time passed it was more because of the lack of suitable occasions than of Emma's reluctance to open up about those parts of her life.
And now she was at a loss of what had just happened. Why didn't she just tell her about August? It was not a big deal, really. And anyway, she'd come to remember fondly that time of her life. There was no reason not to share that with Snow.
But then again, Snow had made quite a big deal about her not wanting to hear the embarrassingly honest account of James, too. He was her father, for God's sakes!
"I'll be in the bathroom if you need me," she finally said in a resigned voice. "I need to change Meera's diaper." And with that she left Snow to calm down.
When she returned from the bathroom, Snow had already started to do the dishes. Emma carefully put her daughter on her playing mat then walked up to her mother and gently nudged her. "Go, keep an eye on Meera. I'll finish it here."
Without a word Snow did as she'd been told and left Emma to wash up. When she finished, she took a quick look in the oven then proceeded to join Meera and Snow in the living-room area of the apartment. She settled down on the mat with her side leaning against the couch Snow was sitting on and with one hand tickling her daughter's tummy. When the baby laughed out, the adults laughed with her and when they settled back into silence, it wasn't tense anymore.
"I'm sorry," Snow spoke up finally. "Sometimes it's hard to make a distinction between you being my daughter and one of my best friends. It just feels good to share things with you…" she shrugged. "You know, stuff girls talk about."
"Well, I always sucked at girl talk," Emma admitted with a little chuckle. "But I'm glad that you feel that way… I mean having you as a friend is great… not as if having you as my mom is not cool or anything… I've never had either of them before… I guess I just don't know how to handle it."
"Yeah, I know the feeling. But you know what? I think we handled it quite well… up until now," Snow stated then scrunched up her nose and assumed a theatrically contemplative expression, obviously ready to lighten up their conversation. "Maybe mentioning how those tight leather pants are hugging him just perfectly and make me want to gra…"
"Mom!" Emma exclaimed scandalized and her outburst made the two women look at each other surprised. It'd been almost two years since the curse was broken but Emma had never called Snow mom before.
Finally it was Snow who broke the stunned silence with a light chuckle. "Well, I think I'll spare these details for occasions when I'm talking with Red."
Emma was grateful to her for not making a big deal out of the situation and was about to tell her so when a surprised yelp left Snow's mouth.
"Oh," she exclaimed and her features brightened. "He kicked," she laughed and promptly grabbed Emma's hand to put it on her large belly.
Emma felt her mother's belly and smiled when she could feel her baby brother kick… then she frowned. "Okay, that is freaking strange."
"I know," Snow agreed with awe in her voice. "I still find it incredible, too. Ouch," she giggled with a little pained frown when the baby placed a well aimed kick into her kidney. "Easy there, little one." She stroked her belly to calm down the baby then looked at Emma with a huge smile that quickly faltered when she noticed her look down at Meera with a melancholic expression.
"Oh, Emma," she breathed understanding at once that Emma hadn't meant the baby's kicking earlier.
"Snow, don't," Emma warned her mother when, after turning back to her, she recognized the look in her eyes. She knew that look because she used to look at Henry that way in the months following her finding out that she'd been pregnant with Meera.
"Don't what?"
"You're thinking about it again."
"I don't…"
"Mom, please. We've already talked about it. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about. And I'm sorry to make you feel otherwise," she reached out to take Snow's hand that was resting on her belly. With a small smile, she gave it a gentle squeeze before continuing. "It's just strange that I've just given birth to my second child and here I am feeling my baby brother kick."
"How can you be so forgiving?" Snow asked referring to the fact that with the arrival of the baby they had put Emma in a situation where she was practically forced to witness all the might-have-beens... all the moments she'd never got to experience with her parents.
"Don't think so high of me," Emma shook her head. "Most probably I'd be sulking in a corner if it hadn't been for Henry and his little conversation with his sister."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if my eleven-year-old son was able to see beyond his screwed up past and tell her baby sister that he's happy about her having their parents around while they abandoned him then who am I to begrudge that of my own brother. What?"
"I'm sorry but it just never occurred to me that we're walking in the same shoe here."
"Yeah… pot, kettle…"
"Why didn't you tell me about it?"
"I don't know. Maybe I should have. Does it make you feel better?"
"I don't know…"
"Then let's put it this way: being the heiress to the throne is a pain in the ass and I sure am glad that there is another candidate on the way. It makes my plan to ditch the royal heiress duties much easier."
"I envy your ability to get so sentimental at times," Snow remarked with amused sarcasm.
"What? I tried sentimental; it didn't really convince you."
"So you don't want to be a queen one day?"
"Damn right," Emma agreed with a serious expression. "Talking of which, where do I sign off of my right to the throne of the Enchanted Forest?"
"That's not that easy, you know," Snow started without batting an eye. "There is a custom here, Emma. When there are more children born to the Royal Family, we usually send them out on a journey to find the most wonderful, most exquisite thing on Earth," she talked in a calm, serious voice. "Now the one who returns with this thing and pleases his parents the most will be the king and the rest can go and try their luck elsewhere. Now, you see, we – as in James and me – are really open-minded, plus you've already done so much for the kingdom that you are just as eligible to the throne as any son of us. I guess we'll just wait and see – let the better win."
"You're just kidding me," Emma looked at her mother as if she'd lost her mind and for a few moments Emma found herself really panicking at the prospect of a stupid fairy-tale quest… but then she saw it – Snow's lips began to twitch, it was only slightly perceptible but Emma was good at noticing these things. Her eyes widened with incredulity. "I can't believe you," she exclaimed throwing a cushion at the other woman. "Don't ever joke with things like that."
"Come on," Snow said chuckling to herself. "You've got to admit it was good. You should have seen the look on your face."
"It wasn't funny," Emma sulked, all the while fighting the smile that wanted to break free on her lips. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Watch your language, woman," August appeared in the door with a humorous chuckle. "There're kids in the room."
Emma made a face at that remark as both women turned towards the entrance door.
"Hey," Snow greeted enthusiastically the little group that had just entered the apartment.
"Hmm… Something smells good," James remarked, pushing Henry a little farther into the apartment then went to place a kiss on Snow's head.
"It does, doesn't it?" Snow smiled. "Emma made lunch."
At that piece of information both Henry and August cocked an eyebrow which James completely missed and turned to his daughter with a huge smile. "And what's for lunch?"
"Lasagna," Emma answered then turned to his boys. "And you can wipe that look off of your faces."
"Lasagna is good," August quickly assumed an enthusiastic face. "They're making some wicked lasagna at Granny's. Right, Henry?" he nudged the boy standing next to him and they nodded in agreement, looking at Emma with a fake smile.
Emma rolled her eyes unimpressed and started to stand when James gathered his granddaughter into his arms. "You're so full of shit," she murmured to herself and while August gave her a disapproving look, the bell of the oven chimed signaling that the lasagna was ready.
While James was occupied by cooing to Meera, Snow shook her head with an amused smile at the scene in front of her.
August was looking at Emma with a genuinely confused expression - having assumed that they'd have take-away for lunch - as the woman made her way to the kitchen then, grabbing a kitchen-towel, she opened the oven and produced the lasagna out of it. Henry ran after her and followed her movements with keen interest.
"You cooked?" he asked in a surprised tone that was filled with excitement. And while Emma nodded proudly, his eyes shifted towards the kitchen sink were the remains of the burnt sauce were still lying. He scrunched up his nose, his excitement vanishing and giving room for apprehension, then he looked up at Emma with a curious expression.
"Oh, cut it. You're worse than your father." This remark only made Henry grin proudly. "All right, kid. Go and set the table."
While Henry was busy setting the table, Emma walked up to August.
"Hey," A huge smile was playing on her lips as she relished the sound of happy gurgles coming from Meera as James tickled her belly. "Guess what?" she threw her arms around August's neck and wriggled her eyebrows excitedly.
A huge grin appeared on the man's face in return. "What?"
"I've just told my mom that I have no intention whatsoever to become a queen."
August raised an amused eyebrow at that but more because of Emma calling Snow her mom in such a natural manner as if she'd done so in her entire life than because of the news itself. He decided on commenting only on the news, though. "Really?" he asked placing a small kiss on her lips. "Does that mean that we can get our little cottage in the woods when we get back?"
"It certainly does," Emma beamed. "No way I'm moving into a castle with maids and servants who're constantly on my heels to do whatever I can do myself just fine. On a second thought, though," she continued with a contemplative expression, "we should probably hire a cook… or find a place near Granny…" August laughed out at that. "…or we should stay close to the castle and let mom feed us."
August had just opened his mouth to tell her that probably the third idea was the most viable one as it was highly unlike that either James or Snow would be thrilled about their daughter moving too far away, but at that moment Henry appeared and demanded everybody's attention.
Just as Henry announced that the table was set, there was a knock on the door and Gepetto entered the apartment.
"Good," Snow exclaimed pushing herself up from the couch. "Now that everyone's here, we can eat," she announced happily then added as she made her way to the table, "I'm starving."
James followed her with Meera still in his arms and tousling Henry's hair as the boy pushed past them to get to his grandfather.
"Come on, grandpa," he pulled the old man's hand. "Mom's made lasagna."
"You did?" his eyes turned to Emma, his eyebrows in a surprised arch, as Henry kept him pulling towards the table.
Emma rolled her eyes and punched August in the chest when he chuckled. "All right," she sighed frustrated, "Calm down, everyone. Nothing's burnt, no one will get food poisoning and I think that the lasagna is pretty darn good. And anyway, mom did most of the work so use your mouths to eat, people, not to bash my cooking skills."
"I didn't say a word about your cooking skills," James, who obviously hadn't got the faintest clue about her daughter's lack of such talent, protested.
"And I love you for that but now, sit and let's eat at last."
Before long everybody was seated by the table while Meera happily reclined in her stroller next to her father and, after taking the first bite, everybody was eager to express just how well Emma did in the kitchen.
She started to protest because, really, she hadn't done that much but Snow's hand on hers stopped her. She turned to look at her mother and Emma quickly found that under the proud, encouraging smile playing on the other woman's lips she didn't feel such a failure anymore, not even knowing that her mother was the one worthier of the others' praises.
She was there to back her up and however trivial the case at hand might have seemed, it meant the world to Emma.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to stumble once in a while as long as someone had their parents to help them up – and Emma had much more than that.
The End
Thanks for reading!