The Charming White Gold Swan Thanksgiving Dinner.
All the curses are broken, the dust has settled, a few years have passed and our two favorite families, the Rumples and the Charmings, are celebrating Thanksgiving Dinner together. May God help them.
Part 1: The Arrival
From the street, the old Victorian appeared an unassuming house. It was larger than it's neighbors and the pink color splashed across it's clapboards was not what you'd normally see in the newer developments, but it fit perfectly in with its surroundings. From the outside, you could hear the faint sounds of what appeared to be a gathering going on beyond the mahogany and stained glass door gracing the front entrance.
"You do realize we're late, guys," a young man around the age of seventeen said to the two adults who were slowly following him up the porch steps.
"Yes, Henry, we're always late nowadays," the man sighed as he helped his companion up the stairs.
"Umm, excuse me," his companion said in an exasperated voice as she struggled her way onto the porch. "It's not like you didn't have anything to do with this," making a sweeping gesture down her body with her hands.
"Yes, I did," he replied proudly and she swatted away the hand he rested on her swelling abdomen.
"Guys," Henry said in disgust as he rang the doorbell, "I'm happy for you and all, but could you please stop it. I like Dr. Hopper, but I really don't want to have to witness anything that I need even more therapy for. This family is strange enough as it is. We don't need to add any more issues."
"Shut up," the dark haired man said as he flicked his son playfully across the head. As Henry was pushing his father away, the door opened to reveal a dark haired little girl with pigtails.
"Henwee!" the three year old exclaimed, removing the thumb that was lodged in her mouth as she launched herself into the young man's arms.
"Hello, Meg," Henry's mother said as she leaned over to give the little girl in her son's arms a kiss on the cheek. "Does Mother know you're answering the door?"
"No, Mother does not." replied the woman standing in the entrance way who bore a striking resemblance to the little cherub in Henry's arms. "Meg, how many times do I have to tell you not to answer the door unless someone else is with you," she admonished as she motioned everyone into the foyer.
"Sorry, Mama," the little girl answered as she laid her head on the young man's shoulder and returned her right thumb to it's previous location.
"You're forgiven, this time," she answered, "but don't do it again. Now let Henry get in the door and go play with the others," she said shooing the little girl into the hallway. Turning her back on the little girl as she shuffled away, the pixie cropped woman reached out and pulled the young man before her into her arms.
"Hello, Grandma," Henry answered with a smile on his face. It still amused him that the woman standing before him was his maternal grandmother, despite appearing to be only in her thirties. This woman, who had a place in his heart even before he knew his birth-mother, or his father. As his teacher at the time, Ms. Blanchard, she ignited a spark in him the day she place a simple storybook in his hands.
"Oh, how you've grown, Henry," she replied as she looked up into her grandson's eyes.
"Please stop. You're making me feel old." crinkling her nose at the thought.
"Hah," exclaimed the man standing behind his son. "Snow, you're younger than I am…I think."
"Neal, I thought we all agreed that age was a much too complicated issue with this family to be discussed." she laughed as she hugged her…well, son-in-law if she could call him that. Snow and her husband were not ecstatic over the thought that her daughter was having her second child and still not married to the children's father. But that was an argument for her husband to bring up.
As Neal moved past Snow and further into the foyer with his son, Snow turned her attention to her daughter. She sighed and remembered back to the first time the woman before her brought up the ridiculous theory Henry had about Snow being her mother. How they chucked at the thought. Little did they know how correct Henry was at the time.
"How are you holding up, Emma?" She took her daughter's coat from her extremely pregnant body.
"I guess as well as can be expected lugging this thing around," Emma complained as she walked, or waddled as her son was wont to tell his father lately when Emma was out of hearing range , further into the hall towards the kitchen
With a glance to see that Henry and Bae had hung their jackets and moved into the parlor, Snow followed Emma to the back of the house. As they passed the dining room, two children, who both appeared around five years of age, leapt across Emma's path with plastic swords clashing against each other.
"Kids," Snow chastised, "watch what you're doing. You could have knocked Emma over with your fighting."
"Emma! Where's Henry?" the little boy asked as he realized whom he bumped into.
"He's in the parlor with his father and the others, Leo." Snow answered as she glared down at her small son. "And watch where you're going." But the boy was already gone, along with the little girl he had been sword fighting .
"Come on," Snow told her daughter, "Let's go to the kitchen and get you up off your feet and leave the men alone to talk."
"Do you really think that's wise?" Emma grinned as she approached the swinging door.
Snow chuckled at the thought of the group currently congregated in the parlor as she and Emma entered the kitchen, "No, but that's what's fun about it all. Besides," she continued, "It's not like they're going to kill each other…anymore."
"There will be no killing today in my house," exclaimed a muffled voice from the vicinity of the oven.
"No, Belle," Snow laughed. "We'll hold off on that until Christmas," she continued, thinking that wasn't far from the truth if an engagement didn't come soon from the daughter standing beside her.
"As long it's after the presents are opened," the auburn haired woman of similar age to the two ladies present replied as she finished checking on the turkey that was roasting in the oven. She turned toward her guests who were seating themselves on the island stools in front of her as she checked the pots on the stove top.
Emma groaned as she inhaled the aromas around her. "Mmmm, is it done?" she asked, "because right now I could eat that whole damn turkey and think nothing of it."
Belle smiled at Emma as she poured the pot she held into the ornate gravy boat before her. "I remember that feeling. I think I emptied the pantry myself during my last trimester."
"I don't remember being this hungry with Henry," Emma replied. "Of course, I was a teenager then so it's been awhile."
"You are quite large, darling," Snow replied to her daughter, chuckling as Emma threw a dirty look in her direction. "Are you sure you're due date is correct? Because to me it looks like you're about to burst, just like that popper on the turkey over there."
"Yes," Emma sighed. "I'm positive. I have another month left. I'm not due until Christmas."
"Honey, I hate to be bearer of bad news," Snow informed her daughter, "but unless you're carrying more than one, you're not going to last the week."
Emma broke eye contact with her mother and looked down at her thumbnail in sudden fascination. As she studied her finger with intense concentration, Belle and Snow stared at her with looks of shock and surprise.
"Emma!" Snow demanded, "What are you not telling us?"
"Nothing" she replied in an evasive manner.
"Emma, you look me in the eye and tell me you are having only one child." Snow exclaimed as she grilled her daughter in a voice Emma rarely heard.
Emma looked into Snow's eyes and said with a straight face, "I am only having one."
Then she mumbled something under her breath that neither of her companions could catch.
Belle smiled as she watched the strange exchange between mother and daughter. There was something Emma was leaving out and she was betting on Snow being tenacious enough to get it out of her strong willed daughter.
"Even though our history is complicated," Snow explained, "I am still your mother and a mother can always tell when her child is not being honest with her."
"Okay," Emma broke down exhaustedly, realizing it was a losing battle trying to hide something from Snow. "I'm having one…of each."
"Oh, Emma," Belle joyously exclaimed as she came around the island to embrace her friend.
"Why didn't you tell us, sooner?" Snow asked as she squeezed Emma's hand.
"Well, we were planning on announcing it tonight during dessert," Emma explained, "But that's shot to hell now that you gave me the third degree."
"Gave you the third degree about what," Neal replied from the doorway. "What's all the commotion? I was sent to see if dinner was almost ready."
Snow approached Neal, smacking him in the chest as she reprimanded him and Emma, "Why did you guys wait so long to tell us?"
"Well," Neal answered, "I see the cat's out of the bag now. We were planning on telling everyone at dinner. But now that you guys know, should I just go and announce it to the Paters?"
"No," Belle answered, "we'll leave the telling until after dinner. They can find out about it then."
Neal leaned over to kiss his stepmother on the cheek in greeting, "You do realize the old bastard does not deserve you?
"Of course, he doesn't," Emma answered for her friend as she reached for a few olives sitting on the counter. "What he deserves is a …"
"Emma!" interrupted her mother as Belle and Neal chucked. "That is enough. I have enough problems with Charming without you throwing your two cents into it."
"Neal, help Emma into the dining room." Belle asked as she began plating the food and trying to diffuse the situation.
"And tell the children to wash their hands before dinner, " Snow yelled to Emma's and Neal's retreating figures as she helped Belle finish the preparations.