Chapter 7: August 2006
Since the start of the month, Henry has told her the date of his birthday four times. Therefore, when August 15th arrives, Emma is ready — on top of the dry cleaning and the Book, she carries a flat rectangle-shaped package she wrapped by herself. (She never said she's good at it, but it was wrapped with love). Love, yes — she doesn't know how it happened, but that wonderful kid wormed his way into her heart.
It wasn't difficult to choose a gift. However, as she hears Henry coming down the stairs right when she shuts the closet's door, she's jittery with nerves. What if he doesn't like it? She almost spent all of this month's salary to buy the present.
"Emma!" His grin is infectious — his presence enough to calm her down. He will like it, right? She knows him enough to know his tastes and preferences.
"Hey kid!" she exclaims, holding the Book with one hand and the package with the other. "Let me just set this down," she says, referring to the Book.
Later, the way he holds the metal briefcase in awe will be a sight to treasure for many years to come. In its front, she attached a small happy birthday card which he reads and laughs and laughs about because "Emma, you're so silly."
"Come with me, let's open it together!"
She follows him to the living room, a fluttery feeling in her stomach. They sit down on the sofa, and she starts to bounce her knee. "I hope you like it, Henry," she breathes, rubbing the back of her neck.
He sets the flat metal box on the coffee table and carefully opens it, gasping softly at what he encounters inside. "Wow. Is this for real?" he asks in disbelief, his eyes wide and glowing. He turns his head to look directly at her. "You didn't have to!"
"I know, kid, but I wanted to." She grins, breathing a sigh of relief when he falls back against the couch in joyful laughter. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah! This is awesome!" he pronounces, and Emma watches as he starts to inspect the collection of color pencils, oil pastels, paint brushes, pencils and other art supplies neatly organized inside the briefcase. "I love it, look at this! All these colors and..."
A warm feeling spreads all over her body as she listens to him detail the items, one by one. Henry sounds so genuine she can't help believing he truly loves his gift. Who knew she'd be able to give something to the boy who seems to already have everything?
Then, when he finally stops talking, he throws his arms around her, loosely at first, not knowing how she'll react.
"Thank you, Emma," he mumbles against her chest, and she squeezes him tighter for it, closing her eyes to welcome the comforting sensation.
[SQ]
"Henry! We'll be late for dinner if you don't get ready now. Henry?" Regina sees the lights on in the living room and enters to find her little prince — not so little anymore, her mind supplies glumly — sprawled on the couch. She raises an eyebrow and places a hand on her hip, watching him from the threshold for a minute. His happiness is almost palpable in the air, etched into every line of his young face. It's a lovely sight.
What caused it, though?
She steps inside, pausing at the back of the couch and leaning forward to perch her hands on his shoulders gently. "Want to tell me what's got your tongue, sweetheart?" He tilts his head to look at her upside down, his green eyes sparkling. Amused, she leans forward to face him directly, brushing her nose against his playfully. He giggles, and the sound is a sweet melody to her heart.
"My awesome gift!" he says in a bubbly tone.
Gift? I haven't given mine yet, unless he found it somehow.
Something catches her eye, and she straightens up to see what it is. "From whom?" There's a card with a red balloon and 'Happy Birthday' written in capital letters next to a wide variety of art supplies inside a briefcase on top of the coffee table. Henry follows her gaze and finally moves from his slumped position to pat at the seat next to him. Rounding the sofa, she sits down, crossing her legs primly.
"Emma," he answers, beaming at her.
She quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. Emma bought him a present? But why? She blinks when Henry shoves the card in her direction. Before opening it, she runs her fingers through his hair, stopping to cup his cheek — she does not know how she was able to create such a perfect boy. It seemed like yesterday he was this tiny little baby, and now she looks at him and marvels at how much he has grown, looking like Daniel more and more every day. Her eyes are suddenly moist. Happy tears? Sorrowful? A mixture of both, she decides.
Henry's face falls, his eyes full of concern. "What, Mom?"
"Nothing." She shakes her head. "You're growing up so fast, that's all," she teases, trying to lighten the mood.
"Moooom," he groans, but the corner of his lips are upturned, belying his discontentment. "Read it!"
"Okay, okay," Regina appeases, chuckling. She finally opens the card, and Emma's characteristic chicken-scratch handwriting is what she finds.
From: the worst player of video games
To: Henry, the best kid ever.
Happy Birthday, kid!
I hope you have an amazing day.
Can't wait to see what you draw next!
Love,
Emma
"Look, Mom!" Henry exclaims, pushing the open briefcase in her direction, and Regina struggles to keep up with his enthusiasm. "I won't have to use your things now! Look at all these pencils and paints and brushes and—"
"Henry! Henry, calm down. Breathe," she interrupts him, chuckling heartily. "How about we get ready for dinner, and I promise to go over these with you right afterwards."
"Okay."
[SQ]
During dinner, Robin gives Henry two-hundred dollars and tells him to spend it on whatever he wishes.
It's impossible not to compare his gift with Emma's.
Regina is not be able to put into words how much she's touched by Emma's gesture. Seeing Henry this happy again fills her heart with joy. It's as if Emma read her mind — Regina gifted him a sketchbook for which she designed the cover, so now he has a full set of his own supplies to evolve his artistic abilities.
Emma continues to surprise her. Regina usually hates surprises.
She finds she does not mind them when they come from her Em— assistant.
[SQ]
Emma's procrastinated the whole month and now she glances at the computer's calendar with no small amount of dread. August 25th, it says. Emma has less than a month to tell Lena. How do you even broach the subject? How do you crush someone's dreams in the blink of an eye? 'Oh, Lena, by the way, Regina said you won't be going to Paris. I will, instead.' Yeah, like that will work.
She furrows her brows trying to recall where Lena might be right now. Emma has noticed that, little by little, the 'running errands' part of her job has become part of Lena's. Perhaps in preparation for Paris? Emma definitely misses walking through Madison Avenue to get Regina's Hermès scarves nearly every week. Instead of the thrill of doing those activities, she's chained to the desk until Lena returns.
And that reminds Emma she has to inform Lena about the change of plans, and soon.
Printing the schedule for the day, she attaches it to a clipboard. Just as she turns to sit again, Regina pushes the glass door open, still wearing her sunglasses. Her boss hesitates between the two desks before seemingly coming to a decision — she throws her coat and bag on top of Lena's desk and briskly moves into her office, not giving Emma a second glance. Emma's eyes widen. What does this mean?
"Emma." She hears Regina call a few moments later, so she grabs her Moleskine and pencil, walks around her desk and steps into the bright office.
Regina is at her desk, her fingers brushing through the competitors' magazines as if she's not quite sure which one to dissect first. She slowly looks up as Emma stops at a safe distance from her desk.
"Yes, Regina?"
"Has Lena returned with my order?"
"Not yet."
"Well, tell her to hurry up, and don't forget about Paris." Regina chooses the Vogue magazine from the pile. "Do it now," she adds, voice clipped.
Emma gulps and runs a hand through her hair. Now? What do you mean, now? "O-okay."
But nothing is okay. Especially when, five seconds later, the phone rings.
[SQ]
Inside the Lenox Hill Hospital, Emma counts to ten and exhales sharply, fists tightly clenched for a moment. Hospitals make her fidgety and nervous. Back in Storybrooke, she and her family visited Grandma Ruth every day until she passed away. Since then, there's something about sterile pastel-colored walls and a blur of white coats which contribute to a very unpleasant sensation inside her chest.
She enters the door numbered 205 to find Lena dressed in a blue hospital gown and propped up in bed. Doing a quick scan of the situation, Emma can see Lena's leg held by a cast, and when Lena turns her head, a nasty bruise on her cheekbone becomes visible. Her hair is matted against the pillow and it makes Emma wince. She knows how much Lena loves having shiny curls.
Crossing the room, Emma poises herself at the windowsill, trying to figure out what to say. Should she lie, say Lena can't go now, not like this? No, she's terrible at it. And she wouldn't be able to live with herself.
"I didn't look where I was going, carrying all those bags and…" Lena's voice cracks while she tries to disentangle the knots on her hair. "Everything went flying… all those scarves! Regina is going to kill me."
"No, Lena, that's not true—"
"Oh my god, Paris! What am I going to do," Lena breaks in, ignoring Emma's presence entirely. She buries her face in her hands and sniffles. Emma feels powerless; the words stuck in her throat prevent her from attempting to comfort the woman.
Then, Lena scoffs. "My god." She lifts her head, rolling her eyes. "I need to bloody calm down." Of course she admonishes herself for having a slight breakdown — and this after getting hit by a car. It's Lena we're talking about.
A few minutes pass without either of them saying anything. Emma is racking her brain for a way to broach the topic at hand, and Lena, well, who knows what's going on inside her head.
"September 23rd…hmm, my leg will be fine by then," Lena muses out loud. "There's no need to panic."
Emma clears her throat. "About that…" she trails off, biting her lip.
"What is it?" The guilty expression upon Emma's face must be evident, as Lena's frown suggests. "Stop that—." Lena motions with her hand in Emma's general direction. "Stop shilly-shallying and just tell me what's happened. It's excruciating to watch."
"Regina is taking me to Paris," she blurts out. Well, there goes tact.
"What?" Lena's confusion deepens, and her eyes dart around Emma's face as if she'll spot the lie there. "Why would she need two assistants?"
"She—" Emma's voice cracks. She closes her eyes and takes a calming breath when the desire to flee rears its ugly head. There's no use delaying the inevitable. "She doesn't. I'm going to Paris...instead of you," she says as steadily as possible, despite her heart palpitating like hell.
"She… she doesn't?" Lena's question is most certainly rhetorical, so Emma remains silent, the feeling of guilt escalating to whole different levels. Her insides twist as Lena's mouth opens in shock — it seems she finally grasps what's happening, what this means for her, for them. Her co-worker pinches the bridge of her nose, looking away. The movement is slow. Letting her hand heavily drop upon the stiff mattress, she suddenly turns to glare at Emma. "You knew."
"I-I didn't… I didn't have a choice! She was going to fire me," Emma proclaims, ignoring Lena's spot-on assessment.
"I don't care, you should have said no! You don't even— I can't believe… The worst part of all this is that you've been… For all I know, you probably lied the whole time. 'Oh, hi, I'm Emma Swan, I don't care about fashion, I want to be a journalist,'" she mocks, poorly imitating Emma with a high-pitched tone. Then, she lets out a bark of laughter with an edge so sharp Emma winces as if cut. "It's so unfair…"
"Lena…"
"Don't." She says, staring at the ceiling now, apparently refusing to look directly at Emma with her watery eyes. "Just go away."
[SQ]
Every day seemed like the wrong moment, especially when Emma takes into consideration what happened the last time she said, "I'm going to Paris."
At first, as soon as Regina had told her, she'd been too stressed to even think about telling anyone else. Her parents, as soon as she found the courage, were the first to know. They'd been happy for her, despite her worries, and asked if she had given up journalism. "Of course not, Dad! I'm going to meet writers and editors, as I told you when you two visited. Well, I told you that Lena was going, but… it's an amazing opportunity," she'd told them. That had been the end of the conversation.
Telling Lena like she did wasn't in her plans, obviously. Regina suddenly demanding she do just that, plus the accident, placed a deadline upon her shoulders. Now, a weight has lifted from her mind about not telling anyone else, and she has to admit she's getting excited for the trip.
[SQ]
During her lunch break, she calls August and he sounds even more ecstatic than she feels. "You're going to Paris for the fashion shows?"
Emma nods enthusiastically, before realizing he can't see her. "Yep!"
"That's… oh wow. That's amazing, Emma."
"Mm-hmm."
"Who are you going to see? Lagerfeld? Galliano?"
"Yes and yes. Oh, Valentino. And everyone else." He sighs dreamily over the line. What the hell. "Okay, now you're scaring me," she chuckles.
"It's just...awesome."
"Yeah, I know." She beams.
[SQ]
Lily is next, and it doesn't go well. At all.
"I haven't seen you in what...two months, three now? Suddenly fashion and couture," Lily spits those words out as if they disgust her, "became more important than your childhood friends. Does Neal even know? He didn't mention anything the last time I went out with him and August."
"Hey, you're making a big deal out of noth—"
"This person you've become…" Lily breaks in, "I don't get her. I really don't."
What?
"Lily! What the hell." This is not her friend… Why is she mad? For the first time, things are looking up, and instead of being happy for her, Lily is arguing?
And why does everybody say they don't recognize her anymore?
"Have fun in Paris," Lily declares, disconnecting the line.
[SQ]
"Hey, Neal, I'm home," Emma says, closing the door behind her. She approaches the couch, where he's watching TV. "I need to talk to you about something…"
He takes the remote control and turns off the TV, frowning as Emma's flickering smile greets him. "So… you're going to Paris."
Wait, how does he… She drops beside him on the couch. "Yeah, um… How did you know?"
He lets the remote clatter loudly against the coffee table. "Lily told me, but that doesn't matter…" With a contrite shake of his head, he closes his eyes briefly and runs a hand through his hair. "What matters is that I thought this was important for Lena, not you."
She blinks back tears. "Are you gonna give me a hard-time too?"
"What the hell, Emma, I don't get you anymore."
"What the hell?" she repeats. She gets up, pacing back and forth. He gets up too and that's when she stops, close to him, close enough to defend herself. "I didn't have a choice, Neal! She asked me to go and—"
"Of course you didn't have a choice! You never do, there. You can't choose for yourself—"
"You hate Runway. You think fashion is stupid. And…" She clenches her hands into fists. "You hate Regina."
"Why does it matter?" Regina. "What happened along the way, Emma? You used to say this was just a job. That those Runway girls were ridiculous!" He crosses his arms. "You're one of them now."
"That's…" she trails off, looking away. She can't admit the truth to herself, so why admit it to him?
"Fine. That's fine," he completes for her, "if you own up to it. Then, maybe we can stop pretending like we have anything in common anymore. We haven't had time for our relationship."
"I'm… I've made a choice. A choice I think is the right one." I'm choosing my own path. My own… happiness. And right now, that will be accomplished elsewhere in the world.
"Well…" he starts, eyes cold and hard like she's never seen before. It's then she knows this cannot be salvaged. Not anymore. "Maybe this trip is coming at a good time then."
Her lip quivers, but she won't cry now. She won't. "Yeah, maybe it is," she whispers.
They stare at each other, refusing to back down. That is, until the shrill tone of her T-Mobile alerts her to a new message. She's never hated it this much until now.
"See! In case you didn't know, the person whose calls you always take, that's the relationship you're in," he says, striding to their bedroom. "I hope you and your boss are very happy together!" he shouts from there.
Her mouth opens in shock, and her hands feel clammy. What did he just say?
