Tumblr prompt for annytecture – Emma/Snow, "Go and live with her then, see if I care!"
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world, just my imagination.
She was going to kill her mother. And she wasn't even sorry.
"Emmaaaaaa!" came the shout from down the hallway.
Calm down, only 3 more days, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth, her hands clenched in tight fists as she tried to breathe slowly. She could feel her blood pressure slowly lowering as she counted backwards from 100. 45, 44, 43… Next time, she swore she'd have to start at a higher number. And there would be a next time, she was sure of that.
"EMMAAAAAA!"
Yup, there it was.
She took a deep breath, fixed a grin on her face, and walked down the hallway to the guest room.
"Yes, mother?" she said as sweetly as she could muster.
Mary Margaret was lying on the bed, her casted foot propped on 3 pillows, the bed strewn with books, empty food containers, and needlepoint accessories. The crib was set up next to her, empty for now, as baby Neal napped in the pack and play in the living room.
Her parents and brother had moved in with her and Killian 5 days ago when a major storm – "Hurricane," Mary Margaret had asserted – blew off a bunch of loose shingles on the loft roof, leading to massive amounts of flooding in the main room. Her mother had been clearing up some of the mess when she slipped and broke her foot. David, Killian, and Henry were spending most of their time dehumidifying and sorting through the rubble, while she got to play nursemaid and babysitter for her mom and brother. When it rains, she thought, internally shaking her head.
Her mother, she quickly learned, was NOT an easy patient. If she wasn't busy cooking food that wasn't too hot and wasn't too cold, Emma was bringing her extra pillows, spare blankets, and something to keep her entertained – all that on top of feeding, changing, and playing with her brother (who was definitely adorable, but a lot of work). She was low on patience, low on energy, and just plain tired.
"Could you possibly reheat my tea, sweetie?" her mother was asking. "Granny always makes sure it's hot, so you can really taste the flavors."
That's it. This was the same cup of tea she'd already reheated three damn times.
"You want Granny's stupid tea hot like Granny makes it?!" she said, sounding manic even to her own ears. "Go and live with her then, see if I care!"
She had to get out of there. Her fingers were itching to punch something, and she didn't want to say anything else she'd probably regret later. She turned and left the room, ready to stalk down the hall and into the kitchen where a cold beer was waiting in the fridge.
"Emma?" Her mother's voice came to her, sounding much smaller than it had a minute ago.
She froze halfway down the hall, breathing much harder than she should be. She debated whether or not to go back, tried to relax and unclench her neck muscles.
"Please, Emma," Mary Margaret called softly. "I'm sorry."
Emma closed her eyes, the tension melting. She couldn't stay mad at her mother, no matter how annoying and frustrating she had been.
Slowly, she re-entered the room. Mary Margaret had pulled herself to sit straighter, her fingers twisting in her lap nervously. She looked up at her daughter.
"I'm sorry, Emma," she said again, sincerity written in her gaze. "I know it's been hard for you, I know I haven't made this any easier for you, and…" she broke off for a second. "And I'm sorry. You've been so great and so helpful, with Neal, with bringing me things, taking care of us, I forgot that I could get… um…"
"Annoying?" Emma offered helpfully. "Obnoxious? Demanding?"
Mary Margaret flashed a half smile. "Yeah. Thanks."
Emma let out her breath. "Non-stop? Perfectionist? Way hungrier than I ever thought you'd be?"
Her mother just watched at her, a sad look in her eyes. "Emma, I'm really sorry."
Emma walked over and sat on the bed next to Mary Margaret. "It's ok," she started, looking down at her hands. "I guess I'm just not the nurse-people-back-to-health type. And you're not exactly giving me much of a break. I have paperwork from the station stacked nearly 12 inches high on the table downstairs that I haven't been able to get to."
Her mother reached out and touched her hands. Emma turned toward her. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," she said.
Mary Margaret smiled. "I deserved it, honey." She shifted on the bed slightly. "I have an idea. Let's call David and have him bring me downstairs to the couch. At least that way you don't have to go so far to reheat my tea for the fifth time."
She laughed. "Ok, deal." She leaned forward and wrapped her mother in a hug.
"Thanks, sweetie," Mary Margaret said, as she hugged her back.
Emma sat back. "But can you please drink something else? That tea really stinks when it's hot."
"It does," her mother laughed. "It really does."