For Day 4 (Thursday) of Prompt Party 2019
Set in my A Home for Christmas verse, which you should read first if you haven't yet, so that this piece will make more sense.
Prompt 123. Robin consoles Regina after one of their kids yells "You're not my real mom."
She'd been warned by the adoption therapist that this would happen eventually. That he would use this as a way to throw a temper tantrum when he didn't get his way, as kids tend to do sometimes, and Regina had prepared for it, had readied herself to stand firm, to not give into whatever he would try to get from her by using such an insult.
But she hadn't been prepared for how much it would hurt to hear it.
They're fighting, a common occurrence these days, it seems—he's no longer shy about asking for what he wants, and thus Regina has to say no more often now, which Henry isn't pleased with— but this time she's had to put her foot down, and he is angrier than she's ever seen him.
"But William's my best friend! I wanna go!" he bellows. Thank God Roland's at a sleepover and doesn't have to hear any of this.
"And I told you no," Regina fires back. She doesn't raise her voice, but her tone is steely, firm. "We agreed you could go to his pool party tomorrow if you finished all your homework and cleaned your room today. That was the deal. Did you finish your homework?"
"No," he practically spits, and out if the corner of her eye she sees Robin about to scold him for his attitude, but he refrains, and she's glad. This is hers to handle.
"And did you clean your room?" she continues, and Henry shakes his head, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest.
"But tomorrow is only Saturday, I can do all of those things on Sunday!"
"That wasn't the deal we made."
"But—"
"No more buts, young man, you've been home since three and played video games for hours instead of getting your homework finished. You have no one to blame but yourself for this. Now, please go to your room and start on your math exercises, I want at least four of the six done before bed."
That's what does it, what has him yelling out in frustration and snarling, "Why?!"
"Because I'm your mother and I'm telling you—"
"No, you're not," he growls back, and that stops her.
"Excuse me?" Regina asks, her voice sounding just a little pitchy now.
"I said, you're not my real mom!"
"Henry!" Robin interrupts then, ready to defend her.
But Regina holds her hand up to him, then looks back down at her son and says, "I'm sorry you feel that way, but you're still not going to William's party tomorrow. Now, go to your room and think long and hard about your terrible behavior today."
He stomps as loud as he can as he walks down the hall, and once he's slammed his door, Regina inhales, exhales, and collapses on the couch.
"Well, that was fun," Robin says, plopping down next to her, his arm settling over the back of the couch as he grins. "Ah, the joys of parenthood."
"Yeah," Regina agrees with a humorless chuckle, trying to calm the storm raging inside her. When she fails, she rises and asks him to help her make some dinner.
"I got it, you stay here and relax," he urges, pecking her lips softly.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Positive," he insists, wiggling his eyebrows as he adds, "You can take the lead on dessert later."
Regina nods, smiling a bit at his shameless flirtation, but she's still feeling a bit out of sorts, so she sits on the counter stool instead, with the excuse that she enjoys watching him cook.
She focuses on his methodical cutting of vegetables, admires the way he bites his lower lip as he focuses on his task, appreciating the view of this handsome, wonderful man she loves cooking a meal for her. But the entire argument with Henry plays over and over in her head throughout it all. They eat, they watch a movie, call Roland at his friend's house to wish him good night, and Henry remains in his room, his door still closed.
"He'll be fine," Robin says when he catches her looking down the hall.
"Do you think he's hungry? Maybe I can bring him some food—"
"Love, he knows there's food here, if he gets hungry, I'm sure he'll stomp right out, grab something and then glare at us before he goes on his petulant way back to his room."
She supposes he's right, and really, she knows Henry, she knows he needs his space to cool down, so she swallows the anxiety, turns back to their movie, and tries to put the whole thing out of her mind for a bit.
But by the time they're getting ready for bed, the adrenaline of the day has started to wear off, and tears begin to form, escaping before she can blink them away, rolling down her cheeks like little tendrils of shame.
"Oh, my darling," she hears Robin say, when he comes out of the bathroom and sees her current state. He's on the bed and wrapping his arms around her in seconds, bringing her close as she cries into his shirt.
"He didn't mean it," he tells her, planting little kisses in her hair. "It's alright. Shh, shh, it's okay. He's just angry because he didn't get his way. He didn't mean any of it."
"I know," she blubbers, "it just..."
"Sucks?" he supplies, and she nods into his shoulder, burrowing there as he shifts her onto his lap, one of his arms settling lower now, hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of her back.
"I know," he tells her. "But it will be okay. This will pass."
"What if it doesn't?" she asks, pulling away to look at him and voice her fears at last. "What if he regrets us moving in with you? What if he regrets choosing me?"
His eyes soften at that, and he leans in, his lips warm and tender against hers, a kiss meant to ground her, to stop her from conjuring all of these frantic thoughts. It works, a little. She can feel her pulse settling, his hand on her face a source of calm amid the chaos, his thumb's gentle caress of her cheek a soothing balm to quiet her loudly spinning mind.
"That will never happen," Robin tells her then. "He's eleven, Regina, he's only being cruel because he thinks it will get him what he wants. You did the right thing by standing your ground."
And he's right, she knows he is, but the sting of Henry's words is fresh and pulsing in her heart, scoring her very soul, so she sniffs pathetically, and admits, "I don't want him to hate me."
"He doesn't," Robin tells her, his voice low and soothing. "I promise you he doesn't, he's just being a moody little brat."
She smacks him on the shoulder at that, and he chuckles, "I'm sorry, but he is."
"I know," she sighs. "I just hate it when he's mad at me."
"Mom?" asks a small voice from the doorway, and Regina looks up to find Henry there, pouting and looking so small in the one-size-too-big Captain America pajamas Ruby got him for his birthday a couple weeks ago.
She sighs, and extricates herself from Robin's hold so she can open her arms in invitation. Henry wastes no time, runs and jumps onto the bed, throwing his arms around her neck and hugging her tight. He always hugs her so tightly, so fervently it almost hurts. It's like he's afraid he'll never get the chance to do it again.
Regina loves it.
"I'm sorry," he cries into her neck, and she tries to pull away to look at him, but he doesn't budge, clutching her and spilling muffled apologies against the cotton of her shirt. She squeezes him back, takes in the scent of strawberries in his hair, and exhales slowly, her eyes closing as all the anxiety and sadness melts away.
Robin has left them to it now, standing by the bed and smiling at her as soon as her eyes open to find him. He mouths a simple You okay? that she nods to in response, and he grins again, then walks into the closet to give them some privacy.
"I didn't mean it, I'm sorry," she hears Henry say, and finally, he pulls back, looking her straight in the eye as he admits between sniffles, "I was mad and wanted to make you feel bad. You are my mom. You're the best mom. I'm sorry."
"I accept your apology," she tells him, cradling the side of his face in her hand and wiping tears away with her thumb. "I don't enjoy punishing you, sweetheart, but you have to understand that your actions have consequences. We had a deal for William's party."
"I know. It's my own fault. I'm sorry," he says again, looking down in shame.
"I know you are," Regina replies, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "But you've learned your lesson, right?"
He nods, still looking away, as if afraid to say what he's thinking.
"Henry? Honey, what is it?" she presses, holding his chin delicately and coaxing him to look up at her.
"You won't send me back, will you? To foster care?" he asks at last, his voice breaking, and she feels a stab of pain in her chest at the mere notion of it.
"No!" she hurries to say. "I would never do that, Henry. You're my son, and I love you so, so much."
"Yeah?" he asks, wiping tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Always," Regina assures.
"I love you, too, Mom," he answers, hugging her again.
After a minute, Robin comes back out from the closet, one hand hidden behind his back.
"I'm sorry I was a brat," Henry tells him.
"Have you apologized to your mum?" Robin asks solemnly, and Henry nods, cuddling closer to Regina and sitting on her lap, his arms holding her around the neck loosely as he rests his face against her chest, her chin touching his hair.
The action makes her smile, makes her hug her son tighter to her as she lets Robin know, "We're okay."
"Great," he says, pulling out that hidden hand to reveal a familiar green box. Regina and Henry both gasp in delight just as Robin adds, "Now we can end tonight on a sweet note."
And with her son cradled against her, and Robin planting a kiss on her lips as he offers her the Thin Mints, Regina knows that despite the many challenges that parenting has brought and will continue to bring her, they will be just fine.