Yay 50+ followers! Seriously guys, thanks!
Also, I know I've been interchanging the spelling from biffl to bffl. My intention is to only use the first one during actual dialogue but mistakes can happen.
As always, I hope you enjoy!
"I would suggest we play truth or dare but I have a feeling you'd shut that idea down right away." Emma breaks my surprising amount concentration for the task at hand.
"You would be right." I say without even looking up.
"But it would check off yet another sleepover must." She insists.
This line of pleading is not new. Ever since I opened the door tonight to an over-excited sheriff yelling "Sleep-over!" she had been systematically checking off activities from her never-ending checklist.
We had begun the sleep-over by drinking wine and eating Chinese food. Emma, of course, insisted that we eat it right out of the carton and in the living room where she had planned for us to sleep.
I could even get on board with that. It would mean that I wouldn't have to worry about dishes tomorrow. All of that would have been fine if Emma hadn't kept sticking her fork in my container as I was trying to eat it.
Next were the games. All games more appropriate to a middle schooler than two grown women…but then again, we are recreating a typical seven year old's sleepover. Except with wine…lots of wine. Seriously, Emma must have brought at least four bottles with her, and that's in addition to my own stash.
But the games were fun nonetheless. Perhaps that's because by that time I had been a little tipsy? First she taught me how to play M.A.S.H. in which I ended up marrying Archie, and living in an apartment with a pet sting-ray. Emma ended up divorced to Bashful and living in a mansion with a pet rock.
Next, she showed me how to make a paper fortune-teller. I explained to her how we could actually infuse the paper with magic and have the fortunes end up accurate but we decided against it. Drinking and magic do not mix well.
After seeing how well I was able to draw little pictures on the flaps of the fortune-teller, she insisted that we color.
That's the task I find myself shockingly focused on right now. It's very peaceful. Emma's seems to have noticed my lack of response for her "truth or dare" question because she huffs out a long breath. That's great too because I refuse to yet again let her magically convince me into doing something that I didn't want to originally.
"You like this activity a lot more than I thought you would." She comments.
"I haven't colored since Henry was small. He used to run over with paper and make me draw whatever he asked. Then he would try to copy it." I say to encourage the subject change.
"I sort of remember that." She admits. I look up and her face is scrunched in concentration.
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"Well most of the fake memories you gave me have started to fade overtime. I only remember important events in Henry's life now. That's probably because I've purposefully held onto them." She explains.
"Ah" I always wondered how others faired with the multiple lives and backgrounds in their heads.
"I vaguely remember drawing for him, but I was really bad so he eventually stopped asking me. From what I can see of your picture though, that was not the case." She compliments and tries to sneak more of a look at my picture.
Childishly I cover the sheet with my arm and pull it closer to me.
"He didn't actually stop asking me to draw for him until he started becoming distant." I correct the story. The happy memory of coloring is now being tainted by harsh memories of me dismissing my son and him becoming cold.
Emma reaches out and grabs my hand. She gently runs her thumb across my wrist.
"I'm sure he can draw better than both of us by now. I wonder if the author is automatically the illustrator too?"
"I would imagine so." I respond. "Although I would imagine he'd be better than us by now anyway."
"Yeah…we have a really great kid." She tells me earnestly.
"We do." I say and give her hand a squeeze.
"He must get that from me." She says with fake arrogance.
I scoff at the suggestion. Even though I think she's pretty great too.
"But seriously, you raised him to be a great kid even before I got here."
"I don't think I did anything worthy of praise."
"You did. You kept him and loved him." She clears her throat then. "Let's just say he's all the best of both of us."
"Agreed."
"So you agree that I have good qualities that are able pass down to our son?" She says cheeky.
"Fishing for a compliment Miss Swan?"
"No, but it wouldn't hurt for you to tell me I'm as cute as our son."
"He is rather cute." I say evasively.
She just laughs and pulls her hand away to continue with her drawing. I didn't realize how long we'd been holding hands until then...or how nice it had felt.
"You know what we're doing right?" She asks seriously.
What are we doing? I can feel my heart skip a beat from sudden nerves. Is she talking about the hand holding thing? Did I mss some hidden context clues? I thought all this was stereotypical friend stuff.
"What is that?"
"Boy-talk." She says happily.
"What?" Not what I expected but it allows my heart to start again.
"Yeah. It's a fundamental part of a biffl sleepover. Although I didn't exactly think we'd engage in it. I should have known better though. Henry is the most important boy in our lives."
"How right you are." I smile. "Okay now, let's see what you've drawn."
She flips her picture around. "I'm assuming that the stick figure with the crown and brown hair is supposed to be me." I guess as I stare at the picture. She nods yes. "Okay, and I'm doing what? Feeding a duck?"
"It's a swan, get it?"
"Am I feeding it an apple?" She nods again. "I think I should keep this and show it to Archie." I conclude and take the picture from her. "I feel that psychoanalysis could be done from it. It would certainly show more than an inkblot test." I tease.
"Ha Ha." She deadpans. "Alright Miss Artist, let's see your picture."
I flip my picture around and she shakes her head.
"How is it fair that you're good at everything? That's like a dead accurate horse." She complains.
"Hardly." I say and look at the picture again. "It's merely a cartoon of one."
"Well if you're keeping mine than I'm keeping yours." She says and grabs the picture out of my hands.
I give her a playful glare. I'm not actually upset, quite the opposite actually. It may be childish, but it's nice to know someone would want something I've made. It's not like my parents really encouraged me to be creative. My father was wonderful, but my mother never would have allowed him to encourage me in such "useless" activities.
Just then I give a deep yawn. It appears that I've hit the point where drinking wine has made me sleepy.
"I guess that's our cue to get ready for bed?" Emma asks. "I'll get everything ready and turn on a movie." She adds before I can comment.
I gather all of our coloring materials and glasses and bring them into the kitchen.
As I clean up I find myself staring at her drawing. On an impulse decision I magic a magnet into my hand and post it up on the refrigerator. I'm still smiling when I arrive back in the living room.
My eyes widen dramatically when I see what she's done with the room. Most of the furniture has been pushed back against the walls. The television has become even larger than my normal flat-screen and the couch has grown to a size where both of us could easily sleep on it. I'm assuming that is her intention too considering there are blankets and pillows on the cushions.
"What have you done to my living room?" I ask incredulously while looking at the changes.
"Calm down Gina. I'll magic it back in the morning." She sits on the middle on the couch and pats the seat next to her.
I sit where she had indicated and let myself lay back. "This is comfortable." I practically moan.
She laughs and reaches over me for the remote to start the movie. When she does I get a nosefull of Emma's hair. It smells like fresh grass and sunshine and springtime.
I curl an end of it around my finger when she sits back down. She eyes me questioningly but doesn't complain.
"Your hair is beautiful. I'm glad it's back to normal. I missed it." I explain.
I must have had way more to drink than I realized.
Emma seems to agree because she gives me an amused look and thanks me before focusing on the movie again.
It's only then that I realize it had started.
"Really? Harry Potter? I'm pretty sure Henry has made us both watch this many times before."
"I just picked something that we wouldn't mind falling asleep during." She explains.
A few moments later I realize my hand is still playing with the ends of her hair. She doesn't seem to mind though, in fact she soon angles her body to lean against mine, which gives me better access to it.
I take that as invitation to continue. I really can't stop myself anyway. I don't know if it's the alcohol or this newfound connection between us but I want to be close. When did I not just tolerate, or find comfort in her presence, but actually crave it?
I start to make little braids in her hair. Eventually, I wonder if she hasn't noticed or has fallen asleep but when I stop she starts to speak again. I'm happy to note that she doesn't move away.
"I never had anyone to braid my hair." She comments sleepily.
"I haven't braided anyone else's hair before...except Snow." I admit. "Yours is much nicer."
She gives a weak chuckle.
"You know what I've been thinking about?" She begins a moment later. "The author's alternative universe."
"What about it?"
"It's just strange how everything seems to be coming true. It was like prophetic. Rumple became a hero. Hook…died. Robin and Zelena are whatever they are together."
"Well I certainly hope everything isn't coming true." I practically shutter.
"Why not?"
"Have you forgotten what happened to me at the end of our time there?" I remind her of my near death experience.
"Henry saved you though." She reminds me right back.
"True. You're parents were also villains though. You can't want that to happen either."
"I didn't say I wanted anything to happen. I just said it seems to already be happening. Plus, my parents are the villains in Lilly's story anyway so maybe that counts."
"Maybe." I conceede. "I wouldn't worry too much, your parents are too dumb to be of any real threat as villains." I assure her.
I can tell she's not really awake anymore because she simply hums in response. A few moments later I can feel that her breathing has evened out. I don't want to move her so I throw one of the blankets over us and lean back.
Soon I'm drifting off as well.
