For two days, Roland has talked non-stop about Regina.
He talks about how nice she was and how pretty she was, and most importantly, how kind she was to him. Roland tells him again and again how she sat with him on the swings and how she made hot chocolate just for him, and despite the fact that Robin was sitting right there, he recounts every bit of the conversation they had as they drank the hot chocolate. He tells him about how Regina asked him all about his friends and school, asking about the subjects he liked best and the recess games that he liked to play, and each time he retells the story, he asks a million questions, too—why he's never met her if she's one of Robin's friends, if maybe one day when Henry comes home from school if he can come over to play with him, and whether or not he can learn to make hot chocolate like she does.
And the more Roland talks about Regina, the more he finds himself thinking of her—and the more he finds it impossible to think of much else.
Roland wasn't the only one taken by her kindness.
As they all sat at the table, sipping on their cocoa and chatting as they watched it snow, he couldn't help but notice the attention Regina gave to Roland—and that attention came from actual interest. She wasn't kind to Roland to earn points with him. She asked him all sorts of things about his experiences at school, listening carefully and asking follow up questions, genuinely laughing at jokes only a five-year old would think were funny, never once looking at her watch or shifting the conversation to a topic Roland couldn't be involved in. The three of them sat there for well over an hour, and he suspected she'd have gladly sat there an hour more had he not (albeit regretfully) suggested that it was getting late and that it was time to go home. Her interaction with Roland reminded him of the interaction she'd had with the little girl who'd skinned her knee—and the more he thought about the kindness she bestowed to other people's children, the crueler it seemed she was now not allowed to properly mother her own son.
He wasn't sure how he ended up on the road that would lead him to the Blanchards' house—he told himself that he was trying to find a shortcut home after leaving the house of another client who lived across town, but he was well aware that that was a lie—but he found himself slowing down as he approached it, trying to come up with an excuse to stop and see her.
Finally, he mustered a flimsy excuse—something about checking in to see if either of the Blanchards wanted to add anything to his order before he or John trekked up to see Marco later that week—and as he pulled into the driveway, he rehearsed it, hoping it'd convince the butler to show him in and hoping the butler wouldn't default to only asking Leopold.
But when the door opened, instead of saying what he'd rehearsed, he simply asked if Regina was available—and to his surprise, he was let in and led to the drawing room to wait.
After a few minutes, Regina appeared in the doorway, an amused smile stretched across her lips.
"And to what do I owe this surprise?" she asks, breezing into the room and closing the door behind herself. "I barely believed it when Edgar said you'd come."
He offers a sheepish grin. "My son was quite taken by you," he tells her. "And I was hoping for the chance to properly thank you."
"There's really no need. I've told you that."
He nods. "Yes, but you see, what could have easily been one of those defining and scary moments when Roland was faced with the reality that I wouldn't always be there for him turned into an absolutely magical afternoon, and—"
He stops abruptly, thinking of Henry and the age he would have been when Regina dropped him off at boarding school, but Regina looks unfazed—and he wonders if she's truly unbothered or if she's just gotten used to him jamming his foot into his mouth.
"Anyway, we've now had hot chocolate a few times after dinner, and I'll have you know that despite making it just as you did, I can't seem to master the cinnamon to whipped cream ratio."
She grins. "Something tells me he's only saying that to make you keep trying."
Robin laughs. "You spend a few hours with my son and can already read him like a book."
"Henry's the same way," she says easily. "One cookie is never enough to know if he likes it. He always has to have a second, just to be sure."
"I suppose all children are that way."
"Master manipulators?" she asks, her brow arching as her grin turns coy. "Indeed they are."
He watches as she makes her way to the little bar by the fireplace. She pours herself a drink and this time, when she offers to pour a second drink for him, he doesn't decline it.
They settle together in the plush chairs opposite the fire, sharing anecdotal stories about parenthood and the struggles they've faced in doing it all practically alone.
It shouldn't surprise him that so many of their experiences are similar—after all, they're both members of a disillusioned generation marred by the horrors of war and tragedy, a generation that hides their pain behind the glitz and glamor of being labeled as one of "the bright young things" by the generation that came before them.
But, still, it does surprise him—and as Regina tells story after story about Henry's childhood, he finds himself easily putting himself into her position and Roland into Henry's. He laughs at one particularly familiar story, empathizing more than she could ever know as she recounts Henry's once-steadfast and simultaneous belief in monsters beneath his bed and a guardian angel who tucked him in at night but often showed up late, all in an effort to stay up past his bedtime and sneak in an extra story or two.
And as he listens and nods along, he can't help but notice the loving tone of her voice or the way her whole face lights up as she talks about her son.
And he feels a pang of guilt.
When he first met her and made the comment about sending Henry away, it'd come from a place of ignorance. He'd understood better as she'd put him in his place, and he'd understood better when he heard the icy way her husband spoke about the boy—and now, as he listens to stories of Henry's toddlerhood and as he thinks of his own son, his heart aches for all she's had to forfeit, all the memories she'll never have.
"I can't imagine how difficult it is to be without him," he says as her voice trails off.
"What's important is that he's safe, and happy," she says, struggling to maintain her smile. "I miss him terribly and fear that he's going to grow up to resent me, but this is what's best right now."
His eyes narrow. He's not so sure, but he'd never say that aloud. "When was the last time you saw him?"
"In the spring," she tells him, her voice flat. "Mary Margaret wanted a trip for her birthday, and convincing her that London would be more fun than Paris was incredibly easy." She pauses and he can see her thoughts drifting back to spring, likely letting herself relish—or perhaps pine for—the time spent with her boy. "He came home the fall before that," she adds. "Leopold was on a trip out west—the Rockies or… somewhere he could hunt buffalo. I don't remember where he went off to, I was just glad that he did."
Robin hesitates. "He didn't want to see him?"
Regina shakes her head and for a moment, he thinks that might be her reply, and then she sighs. "I'm not sure what he wanted, but at that time, I didn't want them to see one another."
"Ah—"
"I wanted to enjoy the time I had with Henry, not worry about what Leo was thinking or what Leo thought Henry should be doing or—" She stops abruptly, her eyes narrowing a bit. "Henry's a bit of a sore subject between us."
"I gathered."
"He'll have a happy Christmas, though," she says, likely for her own benefit more than his. "Even from afar, I spoil him rotten."
"Well, if you have the means—"
She smiles. "Henry loves Christmas, so I'm not really sure that anything could ruin it for him."
"Does he stay at school?"
"No," she replies easily. "When I enrolled him in school, a friend of mine moved to London."
"Was that just a coincidence or was it planned?"
"Incredibly planned."
"Quite a good friend—"
"The best," Regina agrees, nodding. "And truly, Mallory was always quite desperate to get out of Middle of Nowhere, Maine, so she jumped at the opportunity. London is a much better fit for her."
"Regardless, I'm sure you were glad for it."
"Incredibly."
"And so Henry will spend Christmas with your friend?"
"He will," she murmurs, her eyes cast down to focus on her nearly empty glass. "Mal always gets a big tree and lets him help her decorate it. They string popcorn and dried cranberries for garlands, and make ornaments out of gingerbread. Henry loves it."
"That tree sounds better than what I usually serve for dinner."
She grins as she looks up at him. "The Christmases around here are… fairly nauseating."
"Oh?"
"Leo throws a party," she murmurs, laughing out when he feigns an overly dramatic look of shock. "We do a gift exchange in the morning, then go to church and then…"
"Two hundred people you don't know invade your home."
"Exactly."
"How quaint."
"Mm, and this year, he'll be announcing Mary Margaret's engagement, so it'll be all the more ridiculous."
"And that's why you wanted Henry to come home?"
"In part," she admits. "But also because I miss him terribly, especially around this time of the year—"
"The holidays have a way of doing that," he says, his thoughts suddenly shifting to Marian. "I'm not sure what it is about them that make them harder than all the other days, but—" He sighs, shaking his head, momentarily at a loss for words.
"Some years are harder than others. I don't know why."
"And this is one of the harder years."
"Yes," she tells him, her voice barely audible. "One of the worst."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
Momentarily, he hesitates. "Why do you need your husband's permission to go and see your son? You've got more money than most people could ever spend in a lifetime."
"On the contrary, my husband has more money than most people could ever spend in a lifetime. I have a tightly controlled and very closely monitored allowance."
Robin stares at her for a moment, and then his eyes sink closed. What a stupid question. Sure, Regina was married to one of the wealthiest men in the country and everyone knew she'd brought a considerable amount of her own wealth to their marriage—all of which became his as soon as their vows were said.
"I'm sorry, I should have thought that one out," he tells her as his eyes open. "I didn't think—"
"Of course you didn't. You're a man. You don't have to think of these sorts of things."
He grimaces, once more feeling like he'd shoved his foot into his mouth. "Regina, I'm—"
"Don't apologize. It was a simple question with an uncomfortable answer."
"Right—"
She laughs softly and takes the last sip of her whiskey—and then, she shifts the conversation back to easier subjects.
He tells her about Roland's first loose tooth, and she laughs when he describes the way Roland closes his eyes and holds his breath and wriggles the tooth, a mix of excited anticipation and dread washing over him.
Regina offers up the suggestion of giving him a piece of salt water taffy, a trick that worked for Henry who'd been overly anxious about his own first loose tooth.
They discuss other childhood milestones before eventually rounding back to Christmas—this time focusing on favorite toys. She does her best not to laugh when he describes a rather frightening stuffed bear John had given Roland two Christmases ago, and simultaneously they start singing the praises of the ever-popular Lincoln Log sets. Regina brightens as she explains that this year, she's sending Henry an erector set—marking his graduation from the wooden Lincoln logs that Roland still enjoys—he tentatively shares his plans to give Roland a Morse Code Telegraph set. Regina's lips press together as he explains that Roland's been eyeing it and dropping clues here and there, and he knows there was a letter to Santa that had to have requested it and as he sighs thinking of the steady beeping and clicking noises he'll likely be listening to non-stop until spring. Regina teases that perhaps Santa can bring him a big bottle of aspirin.
They get caught up in the discussion and before he knows it, the clock is striking three. A bit regretfully, he rises up and explains he has to go to collect Roland from school, and Regina practically shoos him from the drawing room, reminding him that he's already averted one potentially scarring incident at pickup time, he likely won't be so lucky a second time—and then, as he's pulling on his coat and snapping it up, Regina smiles.
"Ten shakes of cinnamon."
He blinks. "What?"
"In the hot chocolate," she says. "I put in ten shakes. It gives it a nice little zing."
"I'll test it out tonight," he tells her as she walks him to the door.
"You'll let me know?" She bites down her lip. "I'm... curious to know if it's actually off or if your kindergartener is conning you."
"I am positive it's the latter—"
At that, she smirks. It most likely is the latter. "This was nice," she tells him, her demeanor turning sincere as she pulls open the door and lets in a gust of cool air that makes her shiver. "I anticipated a rather boring afternoon of looking at a catalogue of flowers for the wedding. This was a far better use of time."
It hadn't really occurred to him that she might actually have other things to do that afternoon, and his visit lasted far longer than he anticipated that it would. "Oh, I… I didn't put you behind or—"
"No, no, no. Not at all," she's quick to say. "I didn't plan on giving the task much thought anyway."
"I enjoyed myself, too."
She hesitates for a moment, then looks up at him. "Then… perhaps we should do it again?"
He nods, reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys. "I'd like that."
"Good," she murmurs—then before he can go, Regina's hand presses to his arm. He looks to her hand, almost as if expecting her to remind him of something. But she says nothing. Instead, she leans in to peck his cheek, giving a sweet little kiss goodbye.
She pulls back and avoids catching his eye as she steps back into the house, leaving him standing on the doorstep feeling a bit dazed—and then, as he's leaving, he sees her in the window, offering a wave as she watches him go.