This day hadn't gone at all the way she'd anticipated—but nothing ever did.
She'd wanted to get away—away from Storybrooke, away from the monotony, away from the loneliness. She hasn't done it often, and it's been years since the last time she's ventured away, but something had compelled her and somehow she'd gotten it in her head that a trip to New York City would give her a thrill. She'd spent the early afternoon browsing in expensive shops. She bought a couple of things—a smart pencil skirt, a new pair of Jimmy Choos and a cobalt dress that fit in all the right places—and she ate lunch in a café where people smiled at her and made small talk. She spent the early evening visiting museums and admiring the blooming foliage in the park, watching unfamiliar faces come and go. And for most of the day, it really was a thrill—a thrill because it was something out of the ordinary—but it hadn't lasted.
With a sigh, she grips her fingers around the handles of her shopping bags and dips beneath the overhang that connects two shops, blinking up toward the darkening sky and watching as the rain pours down, beating against the sidewalk as puddles quickly pool.
"Well, isn't this just great," she mutters, setting her bags down beside her feet and digs into her purse for her cell phone. Looking up, she crinkles her nose, knowing it'll be impossible to catch a cab in weather like this—and when she finds her phone, it's of course dead. "This couldn't be any worse."
"At least it's not cold." She jumps and her phone falls back into her purse as she spins around to see a little boy staring up at her. His hair is matted and there are dirt smudges on his cheeks, but his eyes are bright and his voice is sweet. She blinks as he offers her a lopsided grin. "It would be worse if it were cold out and raining."
"Oh—yeah—I—I guess it would be," she says slowly, her brow furrowing as she looks at the boy, huddled up in a worn winter coat, his arms hugging his knees as his fingers clutch to a backpack. "Trying to stay dry?" She asks in a skeptical voice, wondering why a boy his age is hiding away in a dark corner of Manhattan.
"I guess so," he tells her, shrugging his shoulders as he looks away from her.
She takes a tentative step inward, looking around him and noticing a pile of candy wrappers at his side. He's sitting on a dirty blanket that's spread out beneath him and she can't help but notice he's eyeing the bakery box that sits beside her Jimmy Choo bag. She feels a stabbing at her heart when she realizes the boy isn't just ducking out of the rain—this is where the boy lives.
Swallowing, she finds herself crouching down in front of him and her voice hitches in her throat, "I…I…I'm wondering…do you like hot cocoa?"
She watches as a small smile tugs up at the corners of his mouth and he nods, "With cinnamon."
"Hot cocoa with cinnamon," she says, her own smile stretching across her lips. "Would you like to go get some?" His eyebrows arch in reply and she finds herself holding her breath, surprised at how much she wants him to say yes. Tentatively, he reaches out and takes her hand and together they stand. "Come on. If we run fast, we'll barely get wet."
He nods and holds on tighter as she pulls him up. She reaches for her shopping bags and he tosses his backpack over his shoulder before they run across the street toward a diner with a blinking 'open' sign in the window. She holds the door open for him and lets him select a booth—smiling as he slides in gingerly and grabs hold of a menu.
"We can get more than hot cocoa," she says slowly, watching his eyes devour the menu and he licks his lips. "Whatever you'd like…"
"I can get anything?" He asks, looking up with wide hopeful eyes that are somehow familiar to her.
"Anything," she tells him, watching as his fingers tap against the laminated menu as he tries to decide on something—and her heart clenches tightly in her chest at this boy's excitement and she finds herself wondering the last time this boy had a decent meal.
"Can I get ya something?"
Regina blinks, looking up at the waitress, "We'll start with two hot cocoas—and he'll have his with cinnamon and whipped cream." The boy grins up at her and once more she feels her heart clench. "Extra whipped cream." The waitress nods and disappears behind the counter. "So," Regina begins in a tentative voice, "See anything you like?"
"Everything."
"What's your name?"
"Henry," the boy says, looking up from over the top of the menu. "What's yours?"
"I'm Regina," she says, watching the boy curiously as her mind drifts to another Henry. "That was my father's name."
"It was?" He asks, placing the menu down on the table. "I've never met anyone else named Henry," he tells her as his hands clasp together atop the menu. "And I've decided."
"Yeah? What are you going to have?"
"A cheeseburger. With bacon." He pauses, "And fries….and soup."
She grins, "You forgot about desert."
"Can I?" He asks in a sheepish voice.
"I noticed apple pie ala mode on the back of the menu." His eyes light up at her sincerity—and finds herself taken aback by the way it warms her heart—and again she wonders the last time anyone had allowed him to indulge, if anyone had ever treated him. "And I can never say no to a good slice of apple pie." She takes a breath. "Henry, can I…"
"Ready to order?" The waitress asks as she sets the hot cocoas down in front of them. A sad smile forms on her lips as Henry begins to list his order, asking for extras of everything, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the waitress as she blinks at Regina.
"And I will have the Caesar salad," she pauses and looks to Henry. "And a side order on onion rings." With a nod the waitress leaves them. "I saw you eyeing them," she confesses—not really understanding why she feels so inclined to indulge him or why his hopeful grin eyes make her heart feel full or why his brown eyes feel so familiar to her.
"I'm glad it rained today."
"You are?"
He nods, "I wouldn't have met you if it didn't rain." He pauses and shrugs his shoulders as he dips his finger into the whipped cream and smiles. "I guess it's true—everything does happen for a reason."
"Yeah," she says, breathing out as her stomach flips. "That is what they say."
"Do you have kids?"
She shakes her head and tries not to linger on the thought, "No."
"Oh, well, that's too bad," Henry says, as he takes a sip of the cocoa. She can't help but laugh as he pulls the mug away from his mouth, leaving behind a whipped cream mustache. "You'd be a good mom," he tells her, as he bats hand over his mouth. "You're nice."
"You think I'm nice?"
"Yeah," he says easily. "No one's ever been this nice to me."
It's a sentiment she understands—and it breaks her heart to hear it from this boy. She finds herself thinking of her own mother and how absent and cold she'd been when she was a girl—and then her thoughts shift to the child she'd almost adopted years before, a boy she who would have had her father's name, a boy who certainly deserved better than what she could give.
"Henry," she says slowly. "Can I ask you something?" He nods and she takes a breath. "Do you…live in that little space between those buildings? In that little space where I found you?"
His smile fades as his eyes meet hers and he swallows hard, setting the mug of cocoa down. "Are you from social services?" He asks as shoulders tense and his eyes grow distant. "I won't go back," he tells her as his fingers curl around the strap of his backpack. "You can't make me. I won't go back there!"
"No, no, no," she's quick to say, reaching across the table and covering his hand with hers. "I'm not from Social Services." She smiles gently and feels an ache intensifying in her chest as tears well in his eyes. "I'm…I'm from Maine."
"Maine?" He asks, his brow furrowing as his small shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath as tries his best not to cry.
She nods, "I'm the mayor of a…a little town called Storybrooke." She shrugs her shoulders. "I came to New York to shop, not to take you back to anywhere. I promise." She squeezes his hand and feels relief wash over her when his fingers hold around hers. "I was just…wondering."
"Oh," he says, somewhat sheepishly as his cheeks flush and he lets go of his backpack. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize to me. You didn't do anything wrong." For a moment he's quiet, but he continues to hold her hand. She rubs her thumb against his wrist and when finally looks back up at her, his face crumbles and the tears that welled in his eyes begin to fall down his cheeks—and once more, she sees something familiar and her heart breaks. She swallows the lump of tears that rise into her throat and takes a long breath, slowly exhaling it. "Henry, can I ask you another question?"
"Yeah…"
"How old are you?"
"Eight," he tells her. "Well…I will be in three days."
Her lungs deflate and her fingers curl tighter around his hand, and she wonders if it could be this much of a coincidence—and deep down, she knows that it's not. Her eyes sink closed and all of the guilt and doubt she's stifled for the past seven and a half years comes bubbling up to the surface. She'd convinced herself that it was for the best—that not adopting the sweet baby boy she'd so easily fallen in love with was what was best for him, that without her he could be raised in a family by people who truly knew how to love, that by giving him up she was offering him his best chance.
"Oh, Henry…"
She can say no more because the waitress arrives and sets plate after plate of food onto the table. Henry pulls his hand away and reaches for a fry, tossing it into his mouth. She smiles as she watches him eat, watching as he devours the food and savors every bite. She pushes her fork through her salad, unable to eat it as her stomach flips and flops with guilt—she couldn't have been more wrong.
He doesn't seem to notice the way that she's looking at him or that she hasn't touched her food—and she's glad when he slips into an easy and energetic conversation about his favorite comic books. She smiles as she listens, nodding and laughing, asking questions and finding herself more interested in The Avengers than she ever knew possible.
"Have you seen any of the movies?" He asks as he licks ketchup from his fingers.
"No," she admits softly. "I've never even read the comics."
His eyes widen as if she's said something incredible and then he reaches for his backpack. He pulls out a stack of worn comics and thumbs through them. "You should start with this one," he tells her, handing her a copy. Slowly she takes it from him and her eyes wander over the cover, lingering momentarily at the red New York City Public Library stamp. "I didn't steal it," he's quick to say as his voice grows defensive. "They were throwing them away because they're so torn up."
"I didn't think you did," she tells him, blinking as she looks up from the comic. "I was just…admiring…the gentleman in the purple shorts."
He grins, "That's Hulk."
"Oh…"
"The one with the bow and arrow is Hawkeye. He's my favorite."
She feels her smile deepen as he goes on to tell her about his favorite Avenger and the character's trials and tribulations, and she can't help but laugh as his voice piques with excitement and he squirms in his seat. When he eats the last fry, she feels a splintering in her chest—she doesn't want this meal to end.
"Henry, you didn't answer my question before." He blinks and reaches for an onion ring. "About where you live."
"I…live in a lot of places," he says quietly. "It's…better than before."
Her brow furrows, "Henry, why did you think I was going to call social services?"
"Because that's what adults do," he says, shrugging his shoulders and dropping his eyes away from hers. "They send me back."
She hesitates for a moment and heart aches, "Back…to where?"
"Them."
"Your…parents?"
He shakes his head, "I don't have parents. Not real ones." He looks up at her and once more, there are tears welling in her eyes. "My foster parents don't like me very much."
"They…don't?" She asks, her voice cracking as she feels warm tears brimming in her eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"They told me," he admits quietly, as his fingers circle around an onion ring. "No matter what I do, it's not good enough. I'm not good enough."
"Oh, Henry, it's not you who's not good enough," she says with a sigh. "It was never you."
"That's not how it feels."
"So, you…ran away?"
He nods, "I didn't know what else to do. Everything else I did made them mad."
"Isn't it…tough being all alone?"
He shrugs his shoulders, "I've always been alone. Even when I lived with people."
Her chest aches and she takes a breath, her lips pursing as a question lingers on her lips. But before she can their waitress appears, slipping a bill onto the table and inquiring about to-go boxes. Regina nods and says they'll probably need a few, and once more the waitress disappears with their plate and Regina's credit card.
"Oh, do you have to leave now?" Henry asks with disappointed a sigh.
She blinks and shakes her head, "No, Henry. I don't have to leave." Again, she reaches across the table and gives his hand a light squeeze. "I'm really glad it rained tonight, too."
"Really?"
"Really," she nods. "I think…I was supposed to find you." She feels a grin tugging at the counters of her mouth, as she watches him watching her with wide, wondering eyes. "I think it was fate."
"What's fate?"
"It means that things happen for a reason, that some things are meant to be."
He considers for a moment, mulling over this new information and then he smiles. "I think it was fate, too."
"Henry," she says in a tentative voice, realizing how crazy her idea may seem. "I was thinking…" She takes another long breath and feels an odd mix of emotion rush through her. "You see, I came to New York today because I was feeling lonely. I'm not happy and I…I had this feeling that…if I came here, I would find something that would make me happy."
"And you found me…" he whispers in a barely audible voice as he fidgets in his seat.
"Exactly, I found you." She smiles gently. "Do you really think I'd make a good mom?" He offers her a vigorous nod and her smile stretches tighter across her lips. "You see…I never thought I would be, but I'm wondering if…maybe you'd give me a shot at it?"
His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, and again her heart clenches. "Are you…saying that you…want to adopt me?" He blinks in disbelief, "But…you just met me."
She nods, "I know, it's…it's kind of crazy, but I…" She pauses, unsure of how to explain what she's feeling and she doesn't allow herself to think of how complicated this could become. "I just think that…you're a kid who needs a mom and…I'm…"
"A mom who needs a kid."
"Yeah…" She says with a meek nod. "Is that crazy?"
His smile lights up his eyes, "You…really would want to be my mom?"
She nods and thinks to the wiggly baby she'd held in her arms nearly eight years before and how desperately she loved him—how she'd loved him so much she'd been willing to let him go in hopes he'd have a happier life. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do—yet she's lost count of the number of times she's doubted it and regretted it, just as she's lost track of the nights that boy's sweet brown eyes haunted her. It could be a coincidence and whether or not it is or isn't is completely irrelevant to her—she gave up one chance and now that a second chance has presented itself, there's no way she'll let it slip by.
"I just think that…maybe if we had each other, neither of us would be so lonely."
"I'd really like that," Henry tells her, grinning widely as the waitress returns with their food, boxed and bagged and returns Regina's credit card to her. She drops it into her purse and pulls her shopping bags with her before slipping from the booth; Henry mimics her, gathering the food and slinging his backpack over his shoulder—and then, he reaches for her hand.
Her heart swells and she smiles—she's never been one to believe in things like love at first sight. For everything she has she's battled for and had to earn. It's been that way her whole life and she's always known that good things don't just come along—yet when Henry looks up at and his eyes meet hers, she wonders if she hasn't been wrong all along—it is possible to fall in love in an instant and sometimes good things do happen—and some things are meant to last.
A content smile forms on her lips, as she watches Henry crosses the monkey bars.
In all her years in Storybrooke, she's never spent this much time at the park, she'd never had a reason—but now that she has Henry, she finds herself doing lots things she never bothered to do before. She's still herself, yet she's also someone completely different. When she wakes in the morning her first thoughts are no longer of herself—she no longer dreads another mundane day in her office, looking at budgets and researching different types of parking meters—because she has Henry now and he comes first in her world.
His adoption was finalized the other day—and they celebrated by making pizza and watching The Incredible Hulk. He'd fell asleep against her arm and she'd carried him up to his bedroom, tucked him in and kissed his cheek as her heart swelled with gratitude. When she'd returned from New York with Henry in tow, everyone had talked about how kind she was to take in a child in need; yet, what he'd given her was so more than she could ever give him because for the first time since love had been ripped away from her all those years before, her heart was now open and she as happy because he'd brought love back into her life.
"Roland! Roland, slow down!"
She turns at the sound of a man's voice and turns in his direction, watching as a curly-haired little boy runs toward the play ground. He stops beside her and shakes his head, "It's all fun and games until he skins his knees."
Regina grins and nods, "They think they're unbreakable."
"Indeed they do," he returns with a smile. "Is that your boy?"
She nods proudly, "Yes—and every time he climbs up onto those things, my stomach flips."
He laughs and nods, and then extends his hand, "Robin Locksley."
"Regina Mills," she says, as she shakes his hand and smiles politely.
"Oh, right—the mayor—I'm sorry, I should have known that."
"Don't worry about it," she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Is that the boy you adopted? He certainly is a lucky one." Her eyebrow arches in reply and he smiles awkwardly, "I read about it in the paper. I—I'm sorry if…"
"It's really okay," she replies with an easy nod and a smile as she glances back to the playground. Her smile deepens as she focuses her attention focusing on her son, and she can't help but think this man has it backwards—because she's the lucky one.
