The prospect of it all still leaves Regina awestruck, even as she continues to make her homemade lasagna that she knows Henry loves. She had thought for a split second about making apple pie for the occasion, before realizing that she would sooner skip around a field of flowers with Cora than make something for Henry containing apples. So, as Regina makes the finishing touches on her lasagna, her mind continues to wander nervously about all of the possible "why" and "what if" questions. Why would Emma want to invite her to the Charming family and friend celebration? She is neither of those things. Not even by a long shot. What if it is all just some set up? What if this is all some part of Gold's twisted end game? What if Henry doesn't want her there. No. He'd said he believed she'd changed. She had changed. Henry could see it. And right now, that is enough for her. Maybe it is enough for Emma too.
Regina looks at the clock and silently scolded herself for running late. The Evi- she- was never late. In the end, she supposes it is alright considering her last-minute invitation, and what seems to be her obligation to bring food to a party in which she isn't entirely welcome. What was her reasoning for that, again? Something about a peace-offering? It doesn't really matter at the moment seeing as how she is now standing at the door to Granny's diner, not entirely remembering her trip here, and still debating whether or not to go in. She hears loud cheering just on the other side of the door and thinks that maybe she can slip inside without notice. Besides, maybe she can spend some time with Henry.
With a final sharp inhale of breath, Regina opens the door. She silently curses the obnoxious bell that signals all arrivals at the diner as a horribly loud silence blankets the room and all eyes fall on her. Regina's first instinct is to make some snide remark but immediately shoves it down as her eyes find Emma's.
"Sorry I'm late," she says sheepishly. She allows a small, nervous, smile to grace her features, for Emma's sake, as she moves to set down the baking dish she carries in her hands. Murmurs float about the room.
"What is she doing here?" she hears that overbearing dwarf say before pulling out a butcher knife. How subtle.
"I invited her." Emma's voice rings out in her defense. There is that silence again. It only lasts for a moment before everyone begins milling about the diner, for no one wants to argue with their precious Savior. This party is for the return of her and her mother, after all. Regina's eyes had only just followed Emma to what seems to be slightly heated discussion with Mommy and Daddy dearest when she is almost knocked on her butt by a small, torpedoing, brunette.
"Mom! I'm so glad you came!" Henry. She can't help the smile that spreads across her face as she hugs her son. The two sit down at the bar to dish the lasagna.
"Me too, Henry." That is when she notices Leroy has made his way in her direction. Perhaps she should try to be nice. "Lasagna?" she questions, offering him a plate.
"What's the secret ingredient?" the short man sneers. "Poison?"
"Red pepper flakes." Regina deadpans. "Gives it some kick." Guessing from his reaction, that was not the reply he was expecting. Leroy takes a plate and sniffs the pasta before finally taking a reluctant bite.
"I want some, Mom!" is the singular demand that made Regina smile with a sigh. She looks back to the boy sitting happily next to her.
"Of course, dear."
After spending some much wanted time with her son, Regina finds herself sitting alone at a booth. Everyone around her is socializing, eating, and having a good time. There is not a single glance in her direction, not even from the woman who had made it a point to invite her in the first place. So, after a few more minutes of watching this scene continue on replay, Regina puts on her coat and walks out of the diner, into the chilly Storybrooke night. The fact that she was unwanted there was more than obvious.
"Archie made a cake!" Regina spins around, not that she really needs to; she knows that voice anywhere. Emma. "You don't want to stay for a piece?"
"No, thank you." Emma looks slightly disappointed.
"Oh. Okay then." She turns to go back to the diner.
"Thank you," Regina repeats. Emma turns back around, slightly confused. It wasn't like the Mayor to repeat herself.
"You just said that."
"For inviting me," Regina clarifies.
"Henry wanted it," Emma shrugs as though it's nothing.
"I'm really glad Henry and I got to spend some time together. I was- I was wondering if I could see him more. You know, I have his room just- just waiting for him." Emma is taken aback by the brunette's composure. She is practically begging.
"I don't think-" Emma stops in mid sentence. Regina feels her heart plummet, and her anger rise. It's almost at the surface when Emma starts over. "Maybe we can talk about it later... over lunch?" Regina feels a familiar twinge in her chest. Immediately, she wants to rip it out. Not now. Not with her. Never with her.
"Ms. Swan, I think a phone call would be much more convenient, let alone appropriate, or you can stop by my-" This time, Regina stops herself. She isn't mayor anymore. That isn't her office anymore. It isn't anybody's. "Feel free to call me during your lunch break if you wish so we may discuss my visitation with... Henry." She decided to use his name rather than say "her son." She didn't want to truly anger the blonde for fear that she might not let her see him. The expression that she watches flicker across Emma's face is not what Regina had expected: pain. But Regina sees the blonde's walls go back up almost instantly.
"Yeah, sure. I guess I'll call you later then." The two women stand there rather awkwardly for a few moments, then Regina opens her mouth in an attempt to speak, but closes it again. Emma fills the silence. "Have a good night, Madame Mayor." And with that, the blonde turns around, and practically scurries back into the packed diner. Well, they now have one less guest to worry about. Regina turns to the street with tears in her eyes before quickly blinking them away, and walks home. The only sound left to fill the empty streets of Storybrooke was the sound of her ever-present stilettos on the dark pavement.