That Friday, as she stirs the pans on the stove, I twiddle the stem of my wine glass between my fingers.
"Regina," I start, "I'm sorry, about the other night." Her gaze flicks to me, and then away, and she bends to check the meat in the oven.
""It's alright, Sheriff – I understand." She smiles, and turns her head. "I understand." She doesn't understand, her voice again light and casual, masking the hurt underneath.
"Snow shouldn't have spoken to you like that, and I –," I trail off, unsure of how to proceed.
"Well, she doesn't have to worry," Regina says, "I've got the message."
"No," I say, reaching out for her arm, before it is whipped away from under my touch, "What I mean is -,"
"Sheriff." Her tone is hard, cold, decided. "I've told you – it won't happen again."
There's no other mentions of the kiss in the weeks that follow, and nor does she ever try to kiss me again. I get invited, once a week, for dinner and a film on a Friday. When Henry goes to bed I get the feeling I have to leave as well, my glass whisked away from under my fingertips and hastily stacked into the dishwasher. I want to talk to her, to fix my mistake, but Regina seems to manage it so we're never alone long enough to talk. And so time passes, as it always does. We settle into some kind of routine, friendly enough, but never close again. She makes no attempt to bar my access to Henry, and I make sure to always play by her rules.
That's why, as the winter hardens and December hits, one Friday night I hang around in the kitchen as my glass is tidied away, and broach the subject of the holidays.
"I thought, perhaps, you two could have a family Christmas, and then Henry could come to me for New Year." There's only the slightest hitch in her movements, a momentary pause as she bends to a cupboard, but immediately I want to fix it. I remember her face, that day, when we left her uninvited, and wince with the memory. "You're invited too, of course."
She shakes her head, softly, like she regrets the motion.
"Thank you, Emma, but no. I won't intrude on your family." She sighs, and looks away. "You have no idea how odd it is that you all remember things about me that I still don't." She doesn't mention the fact that what Snow and Charming remember is their hatred and distrust of her. When she looks back, she's smiling. "Perhaps I'll go away, take a trip, see some of the things I've forgotten." I nod, understanding.
"New York's good for New Year: Times Square, all the parties. It's a good place to get lost in." Her smile twists sideways, and her eyes catch up with her grin.
"Why, Sheriff, I'm not going to get lost. In fact, I rather think I'll find myself."
And so it goes. New Year at Snow's is lovely, all family fun and games, the kind I had always wished for as a kid. Henry's face at midnight is a real sight to behold, and he's so excited on the phone to his Mom in New York that I wish I'd insisted she stayed. But I didn't, and she didn't, and a few days later, over hot chocolate at Granny's, Henry tells me he thinks she found more than herself on her trip. He doesn't put it quite like that, of course. He tells me how she came back 'dreamy' and how she's been texting, and leaving the room to take phone calls in the evening.
"I think she met someone," he says, frowning. He doesn't look pleased, and, if I'm honest, I guess I'm not either.
"That's a good thing, though, right?" I ask him. "I mean – the whole Evil Queen thing was over a lost love. If she's found someone, and is moving on, it means she's really not the Evil Queen anymore." He nods, but seems unconvinced. I guess my powers of persuasion work better when I really mean what I say.
The year passes, and Regina seems to come no closer to remembering her old life. She carries on with her mayoral duties, and slowly, I notice a change in the way people talk about her. She's not the queen bitch anymore, or just 'her'. It's like people are actually letting her have a second chance, a fresh start to go with her fresh memories.
Henry was right – she meet someone in New York, and the weekends when she leaves him in my care get more frequent. We are in the middle of a town council meeting, sometime in May, when a giant bouquet of flowers arrive with her name on them. She blushes and smiles like a schoolgirl with her first valentine. I suppose, in a way, she is. I leave straight after the meeting, and though I hear someone calling my name and panting footsteps behind me, it's not Regina running after me and so I don't stop, but barrel out through the doors and away.
Our weekly Friday night dinners continue, all through the spring and summer. With the advent of this New York lover, the distance and tension between us seems to melt away with the snows. Some nights, when the day has been hot, we eat outside in the garden and after Henry goes to bed, Regina and I sit there, watching the sun set. Every week I end up leaving late, midnight often, so content am I just to sit in companionable silence with Regina. Those dinners have ended up being the brightest, happiest point of my week, a habit that none of us want to break. Or at least, I don't want to break it. But then, Regina comes to me, in the last weekend of August, and cancels that week's dinner.
"I've invited Frances for the long weekend," she says. I know what a big deal this is – Regina has never suggested bringing her lover to Storybrooke before. And all the while she was elsewhere, I could almost pretend she wasn't real. "You'll come to the party though, on Saturday?" Oh yeah – the Labor day fete Regina's been organizing for weeks – there goes my plan to hide in the apartment with a case of beers and multiple take-away pizzas till the danger has passed.
"Wouldn't miss it for anything," I say, and it's the truth.
Saturday lunchtime is bright, one of the last days of summer, with no fall coldness in the air. It seems like the whole town is packed into Regina's garden, drinks and hot dogs stuffed into their hands. I can't see Regina anywhere, and I find myself hanging around the apple tree. The branch I chainsawed away has healed in the intervening time, covering over. The branch is still gone, of course, but the stump no longer looks quite so raw and angry. It's a lot like Regina herself, I think, and my hand drifts up to run along the surface.
"Hello," says a voice from behind me, and I jump and turn, my drink slopping over the edge of the glass and down my front. The woman in front of me is immaculately tailored and coiffed, just like Regina. Compared to her I feel scruffy, unkempt, all too aware of the fraying edges of my jeans, and the scuff marks on my jacket. My hair's escaping from its tie and blowing across my face, and my shirt is covered in still lemonade.
"Frances Hartnett," she says, extending her hand for me to shake. Her voice is deep, rich, full of confidence, and just drips with money and education. If there was ever a person to compare myself against and come out of it well, she wouldn't be the one I chose. "You must be the famous Emma Swan. I've heard all about you." Normally, that's just a simple pleasantry to be said and ignored, but in her mouth it sounds almost like a warning, or a threat.
"You have?"
"Oh yes." She smiles, tightly, and then frowns. "What I want to know, is am I going to have any trouble from you?"
It's not what I expected her to say. I don't quite know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. I swallow the rest of my drink with a gulp.
"Trouble how?" She sighs, and puts her hand on my arm, turning me away from the crowd.
"Look," she says, "I really like Regina, and Henry. And I think we could really make a go of this. If we're given the chance."
"I'm not in your way, Frances," I say, but I know that I am. That I want to be, which is still pretty incomprehensible.
"You are. I don't know what kind of fucked up relationship you two have, but I'm telling you now to back off." I'm about to reply, I really am, something clever and sophisticated, but then Regina herself is there, hand resting casually on Frances' back.
"What are you two talking about over here?" she says, bright and cheerful. My throat works soundlessly, and Frances steps in.
"You, actually. And what a great party this is." Regina beams at the praise, gazing devotedly into Frances' face. "Come on, babe, introduce me to everyone." And off they go, winding their way through the townsfolk, the very image of a modern power couple. Then my phone buzzes, and I'm called away to the station. On my way out, Regina catches me for a hug and as I pull back I see Frances staring at me, her warning still clear. I nod at her in reply, the muscles of my jaw tight, my teeth locked in place against each other.
I don't see them for the rest of her visit, probably because I make a point not to go anywhere other than the station and the apartment. Henry comes over once, and he's so full of Frances and his Mom, so happy for them. I try to hide my own feelings, but he gets that there's something up and changes the subject to safer ground – comics and school.
As Charming takes him home, Snow comes and sits next to me on the couch. She doesn't say anything, and doesn't have to. I lean my head into her shoulder, and cry. When Charming comes home, a look of confused concern on his face, she waves him away and we sit together until the small hours of the morning.