Dry Spell

Chapter 1 - Wednesday

Hey Girl!

Before you start searching the skies for flying pigs, yes, it really is me and I am writing you an honest-to-goodness letter with an address and a postmark and everything. No, I have not gone off the deep end, or been convinced by my very interesting survey course on European fairytales to go native and live some middle ages fantasy. The fact is, yours truly has accepted a challenge to go on a digital detox and as of today, I am going to do my darnedest to stay unplugged until Christmas. I know, I know. Maybe not the most practical move for a college Sophomore just weeks away from end-of-semester finals (and term papers up the you-know-where) but if I succeed I get extra credit for my Behavioral Psych class and believe me, I could really use it after accidentally sleeping through the mid-term. Oops!

Henry is keeping me honest and I'm actually hopeful that a break from social media and the internet, aka the Wonderland of Distraction, will get me a little more focused on writing. My writing, that is, not school stuff. Fortunately, as a writer himself he is fully supportive and started touting the merits of longhand the second the word letter was out of my mouth. He's sort of an old soul that way, always scribbling in a notebook with this fountain pen he favors, which I know sounds pretentious but it's actually pretty adorable. I did tell you we're finally official, right? Well, we're official. So official, in fact, that he's finally taken me to meet his family. Yes, I am spending Thanksgiving with Henry Mills and his frankly mind-bogglingly complex network of relations, friends, and hangers-on. But I should probably start at the beginning.

We left New York at an ungodly hour this morning and caught the bus at Port Authority to Portland, Maine, which is the closest city to his hometown, Storybrooke. I know, right? That really is its name, though, cross my heart. Turns out, it's so small it's not even on Google Maps, a claim I wanted to put to the test when Henry first told me but alas I had already embarked on my media fast. The bus ride was long, and would have seemed interminable if Henry hadn't kept me occupied with stories of well, Storybrooke. He's been so private about his life outside school until now that I was honestly a little surprised about how excited he seemed about going home. I guess I thought maybe his home life hadn't been that great, but it quickly became obvious that wasn't true. He did have a warning for me, though. Maybe warning isn't the right word, maybe more like a disclaimer.

"The thing you have to know about Storybrooke... it's a little eccentric."

Of course I couldn't let him leave it at that. "The town," he said, when I pressed him, "well, like I said it's not really on maps. Definitely not Google maps. Most people are pretty wary of outsiders and you should know you'll probably notice a lot of eyes on you. Just don't let it get to you and you'll be fine."

I didn't really know what to say to that, and while I fumbled for some sort of appropriate response, he added, "Don't get me wrong, they're nice people, most of them. Our town has just had a run of, I guess you could call it bad luck. For the past seven years at least."

"What, did somebody break a mirror or something?"

"Yeah there was a mirror, and a bunch of other stuff." I had meant it as a joke, but his response seemed serious.

"But your family knows I'm coming, they know to expect me?"

"Oh sure, they know. You don't have to worry about my family. They're going to love you."

That set my mind at rest, and I didn't really begin to worry about it until we arrived at the bus station in Portland and Henry pointed out the window at a yellow Bug and the two women standing next to it and said, "Oh, there are my moms." Then he started talking really fast under his breath. "The one with dark hair, that's my mom Regina, who adopted me, and Emma, the blond, is my birth mom and she moved to Storybrooke when I was eleven. All you really need to know is that it was a little awkward for a while but now it's great and my moms mostly get along fine, which is pretty cool. The rest of my family is basically a big sprawling group connected by adoption and marriage and sometimes multiple degrees of separation that I can't even begin to explain in any way that would make sense to you, but I love them I hope you'll love them too."

This little speech made me confused and nervous, as you might expect, so if I was quieter than usual while we collected our bags and went to meet his moms, that was probably why. Both of them are younger than I expected, and much – for lack of a better word – cooler than I would have imagined for Henry, who is many things but could never be described as cool, but they were clearly really fond of him. That I could see at once. He gave them both long, warm hugs and didn't seem at all embarrassed to do so, unlike some guys I know. Their arms were still around him, their faces glowing when he turned to introduce me.

Let me just say this: Regina Mills has a strong handshake. She also has a piercing gaze that basically told me if I proved in any way to be unworthy of her precious son she'd personally throw me out of town. Or at least that's how I interpreted it. If you can picture perfectly coifed hair, very red lipstick, and an outfit that's somewhere between sensible business attire and Devil Wears Prada, you've got Regina in a nutshell. If I'm honest, I felt a little terrified of her.

Emma Swan (yes, again, that is really her name) was definitely less terrifying, but even she had something of the badass about her. It could be that what I found out later is coloring my memory now – that she had Henry as a teenager, had a few run-ins with the law, and did a stint as a bail bondswoman in Boston, no less – but she also sort of telegraphed attitude with her eye-catching red leather jacket and skin-tight jeans and boots. Her face and smile, though, were just plain sweet – there's no other word for it – so I felt like I was being very discreetly judged by a sort of warrior princess. At least it made a change from Regina's cobra stare.

It was pretty freaking snug in the vintage yellow Volkswagon, which turned out to be Emma's, and as we all packed inside, the thought crossed my mind for the first time to question if this hadn't been a very, very bad idea. Henry and I have only been officially dating for just over a month, and what was that, really, compared with the years he'd had with his moms? I wondered if we were just thinking with the brains of two teenagers who might or might not be in love, which is to say, seeing the world through tunnel vision. Did it make sense to put ourselves through all the drama of family introductions when this relationship was so new, so fragile with no troubles yet to temper it? I know these are pretty grim thoughts to have upon first "meeting the parents" but I'd be lying if I didn't say that they gave me pause and really shook my confidence for a few minutes there, as we left Portland and soon found ourselves on heavily shaded back roads, bordered by evergreens that went as deep as the eye could see. It struck me too that I was in the middle of nowhere, headed to a town that wasn't on maps, which was a little too like the beginning of a horror movie. My rabbit-holing thoughts might have gotten the better of me, but then, no doubt noting my discomfort, Henry put his hand on my knee and gave me that semi-awkward, charming little smile of his and I felt my better senses returning.

You'd be proud of how well I rallied. A minute later I was making smalltalk with Henry's moms like a pro, and when he and I took turns at telling the story of how we met – pulling an all-nighter together in the library for our Fairytales Survey course, if you remember – I just had this sense that it was a story we would be telling a lot in the coming days. We both gave each other little teasing compliments and talked about how nervous and shy we were before I finally got up the courage to ask him out, and I swear you'd have to have a heart of stone not to find it totally adorable. By the way his moms seemed to soften, I think I succeeded in making a good first impression.

I'd been staring out at the seemingly never-ending wooded road for what felt like an age, and it had just occurred to me to ask Henry the adult equivalent of "are we there yet?" when I heard Regina say, in an undertone,

"Emma, we're getting close."

"I know. Do you have the... thing?"

"Right here." Regina opened the glovebox and withdrew something I couldn't see because at that very moment Henry directed my attention out the window.

"There it is."

I couldn't see what he was pointing to at first – probably the misty rain didn't help things – but then I saw the tiny green speck of a sign, which gradually grew legible as we approached. Entering Storybrooke, it said in large letters.

"Home sweet home," Henry said cheerily, and his grin was so contagious he had us all smiling like dorks as we crossed the yellow line that marked the border of his hometown. You'd have thought we were entering Narnia.

As it turns out, the town we entered a few minutes later looked about as ordinary as they come. Henry pointed out a few landmarks, promising a proper tour when the weather improved, but it was the people that interested me. I kept my eyes peeled for the eccentrics Henry had warned me about, but the few souls out braving the rain looked pretty normal to me, especially compared to the New Yorkers I deal with on a daily basis. There's a reason for that slogan, "only in New York" and I've seen the proof of it with my own eyes. I was feeling almost a little let down by Storybrooke as we pulled onto Main Street and Regina turned halfway around in her seat to address Henry, as if about to break some bad news.

"I know I said you'd stay with me this time, but your aunt's having a little... crisis at the moment..."

"My aunt Zelena's a bit unstable at times..." Henry started explaining.

"She's... she's just been having a bad week."

"Is she going to be okay? What about Robin?"

"They're both fine, and they're both at home, but given the circumstances, we all thought it would be best if you two stayed with Emma."

"Fine. Cool." Henry met Emma's eyes in the rearview mirror and she smiled and you could just see how happy she was to have her son home. It almost made me regret not making the long trip west to my parents, but not quite. Coast to coast airfares are a bitch, am I right?

Emma dropped Regina off at her house, a pretty sweet white mansion with pillars – turns out she's the mayor – and the rest of us pulled up a few minutes later in front of an equally impressive three-story Victorian. Turns out Emma's the sheriff. I was definitely thinking I could get used to a town run by women, eccentrics be damned, and then just as we were getting out of the car, the front door opened and out stepped – and I kid you not – a dark-haired, black leather-clad, eyeliner-wearing man with a hook. Yeah. A hook. I tried my best not to stare, but I don't think I succeeded. I might have stood there for ages, frozen and tongue-tied, pondering whether a simple hello would do for this eccentric, or whether shiver me timbers might be more appropriate. Luckily, I was spared mortal embarrassment, and any sense of bewilderment, or even – to my secret shame – fear (it really was a lot of leather, and the hook was very shiny and sharp looking) was dispelled an instant later, when said eccentric laid eyes on Henry and flashed this huge winning grin. Henry barely had a chance to get the word "hello" out of his mouth before a second person appeared in the doorway, a much smaller one, with a very pink outfit. She tugged at her father's sleeve in excitement, begging to be lifted up.

"Look who's home, Love," the man in black told the little girl in his arms, and as I stood witness to the day's second heartwarming reunion, I couldn't help but wonder why the hell Henry had never mentioned any of these people before, who so clearly loved him.

"Well, lad, aren't you going to introduce us?" was the prompt Henry received once the exchange of smiles and embraces and words of welcome was over, and I was formally presented to "My stepdad, Killian and my sister, Hope."

This time, there was absolutely no aura of judgment. Henry's stepdad welcomed me into their home with perfect, almost old-fashioned courtesy, and Hope took an instant liking to me after catching sight of my Unicorn Tapestry print scarf – apparently she's "going through a phase". I might have guessed this current penchant by the small stuffed unicorn she clutched in her hand, but instead I acted surprised and declared my affinity for the magical creatures as well – a true fact, I'd have you know – which seemed to seal our friendship.

My hosts showed me where I'd be sleeping – down the hall from the master bedroom on the second floor, and a full story below Henry's room on the top floor (probably a very deliberate placement, but subtle as all heck, I have to hand it to them) – and I took the opportunity to change into some fresh, slightly nicer clothes before heading down to find Henry. After I was told he was still in his room, I made my way back up the stairs to the room under the eaves. When I opened the door he was seated on his bed with a huge leather tome in his lap and I couldn't help smiling to myself, it was so like him to seize every spare moment to read. He shut the book and put it hastily aside when I entered but I was surprised to see a look of guilt, or at least of evasion, in his eyes.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Looking at some old stuff."

"So this is the inner sanctum." I said, teasing him.

"What do you mean?"

"The childhood bedroom of Henry Mills. What tales could these walls tell?"

He laughed, but it seemed uncomfortable.

"This room has only been mine for about three years, give or take, so not really the childhood bedroom."

"What wails of teenage angst, then?" I continued, but his lack of enthusiasm dampened my humor a bit. I tried a different tack. "Your sister is adorable, by the way."

"Yeah, she's pretty awesome."

"How old is she?"

"Three."

"You must miss being away from her."

"Yeah, I do."

"Hey, how come you don't have any pictures of them – of your family?"

"I have pictures."

"I mean at school. I've never seen any in your dorm room or your wallet or anywhere."

"Have you been looking in my wallet?" He feigned outrage.

"I'm serious, Henry!"

"I've got them on my phone."

"Really?"

"Really."

"How come you never showed me? Anyone would think you were keeping them a secret or something."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

The coolness in his tone surprised me, but it had the effect of halting me, making me consider my words. "Nothing. I don't know what I mean." I laughed, nervously. "Your family seems cool. That's all."

To my confusion, Henry found this so amusing that he started to chuckle.

"What?"

"They would be so delighted to be deemed cool." He looked at me with warmth, and I was relieved to see that whatever strain had been in the air earlier was gone.

"Come on, brown-noser. Let's go down. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

By her own admission Emma is not much of a cook, so for dinner we went to meet up with some other members of Henry's family at a place called Granny's Diner. It's pretty much exactly what springs to mind when you say the words "Granny's Diner." Classic old-school diner with a bar – packed with regulars, of course – red vinyl booths, a jukebox, and run by a gray-haired old battleaxe that everyone literally calls Granny. She also runs the attached Bed and Breakfast with her granddaughter, Ruby. A part of me was tickled. Another part of me asked, is this for real?

The first few minutes aren't really worth mentioning, filled as they were with the necessary remaining introductions and polite, nonintrusive personal questions which I answered as brightly as I could. The one thing that did strike me as a bit bizarre was when, after we'd finished ordering, a series of shortish, middle-aged men with varying quantities of facial hair stopped by our table to say hello to Henry. I counted seven in all, and though they appeared to have nothing in common apart from their short stature, they behaved as if used to operating as a group, ducking their heads briefly at the mayor who was seated regally at the head of the table. When the last of them had left, and they were all back in their corner booth near the door, I turned curiously to Henry, but all he said was "family friends" and I mentally added them to the growing list of eccentrics I'd been warned about and had thus far had occasion to meet. I expected I'd encounter a lot more before the holiday was over.

"So, what's new in Storybrooke?" Henry posed the question several minutes into dinner and it seemed an innocuous enough question to me, but for a few moments the whole table fell silent.

"Honestly, not much," the woman called Snow said after a couple beats. Henry calls her Grandma, and he calls her husband David Grandpa, and he introduced them to me as his grandparents, but there must be some sort of connection that I'm just not getting because there's no way either of them is older than his moms.

"Really?" Henry looked around, curiously. "No more... bad luck?"

"Not recently," David said.

Emma nodded. "We've hit sort of a dry spell."

"That's good," Henry said. "That's really good. Right?"

"No one's complained yet." This from Regina, who suggested, by her tone, that she was more than used to getting an earful from townspeople if the slightest thing met with their displeasure and they thought it within the mayor's purview to address.

"We were nothing if not overdue for a few quiet moments," Killian conceded, "but at this point we're all wondering how long it can last." He raised an eyebrow at his stepson and took a pensive sip from his mug of beer.

"My husband the optimist," Emma said wryly.

"Can you blame me for being realistic, Love?"

"He's got a point," David said. "After everything we've been through in this town..."

I felt myself bracing for an argument, stuck in the middle as the clueless, awkwardly placed non-family member watching the back and forth like a tennis match, but then Hope started whining and as Emma turned to lift her from her highchair Snow took the opportunity to say with meaningful emphasis,

"Anyway, we're all very hopeful that this respite will last for a good long while, aren't we?"

This brought everyone back in agreement and back in at least temporary harmony.

"This must be very boring for you," Regina said to me, almost apologetically.

"No, not at all. I just had no idea things had been so bad for you. Henry never mentioned it and I never saw a thing in the news."

"Oh, we don't make the news much here in Storybrooke," Snow said, rather dismissively. "Not the national news, anyway."

"Well don't take this badly but it sounds like you're basically saying your town was under a curse."

"That's one way of putting it," Emma said, sotto-voce.

"Is there another way?" Killian muttered back.

"That sounds newsworthy to me," I said, priming myself for some tale of random illnesses and mysterious disappearances. The sorts of events that might prompt some people to believe in curses, particularly people in small New England towns who were already predisposed to such superstitions.

"The dramas of small-town politics are hardly the fodder of front-page journalists," Regina cut in, dashing my hopes in an instant.

"Huh?"

"I just mean the story of a few puffed-up, power-hungry poseurs trying to seize control of the town by throwing their weight around or making threats is not going to win any Pulitzers."

Silence reigned again for several long moments, and I noticed more than a few of Henry's relations exchange glances, though what those glances might mean was beyond me.

"That's a very concise way of putting it, Regina. I'd never thought of our... misfortunes in quite those terms before." Snow's voice was a study in measured, dispassionate tones.

"Maybe you should take a shot at a Pulitzer." Emma's suggestion to Regina had everyone pausing again in that unsettling way, and I honestly had a moment where I pictured Henry's two moms taking swings at each other, but then Regina cracked a grin and let out a low, hardy burst of laughter and everyone else tittered along with relief.

"Guess I missed my calling."

She raised her glass of Merlot at Emma before taking a queenly sip, and I looked at Henry to try and gauge his reaction to all this, but he just smiled and shrugged, as if to say this was normal family behavior. Myself, I was feeling ready to eat my earlier words of admiration for the extended Mills clan, and more than a little worried. If this was normal behavior, what the hell was Thanksgiving dinner going to be like?