4
The words wouldn't come.
No matter how long she stared at the screen and tried to force them, tried to keep to her publisher-approved story outline, Regina couldn't make the words appear. The flashing cursor at times mocked, at times comforted. But, it remained.
It felt like her mind was blank. As if when Emma left, she had taken every wisp of inspiration with her that had allowed Regina to work, to write, to create. What was it Lord Byron said? "If I do not write to empty my mind, I will go mad?" Regina had always thought it was a crock of shit from someone who had fucked his way across Europe and likely smelled of venereal disease and patchouli.
Turns out, though, it was true. She had never known it before because words usually came easily. Before Emma, it was fine. While Emma was in her life, puttering around her house and handling her business affairs – and some personal affairs, admittedly, Regina's work never suffered. In fact, it flourished.
But no longer.
Regina felt the chair underneath her, the slickness of the laptop keys under her fingertips. She heard the slow ticking of what must be the slowest fucking clock in the world, but none of it helped. And, she knew, none of it would help.
Because Emma was gone. Emma was gone and had sucked all the fresh air out of her lungs, had taken the light from the home they had shared for awhile, even if it was strictly business.
Regina scowled. Strictly business. If she hadn't been so stuck on business, maybe Emma would be with her right now. Maybe she would be swishing around the room, offering much needed distractions from work that was on like gangbusters. Just laying her eyes upon Emma helped Regina center herself and form the words needed to make stories people seemed to love.
Deeper in the house, a door slammed so hard it turned askew some of the papers on Regina's desk. It didn't take long for the trespasser to make her way to Regina's study.
"Regina!"
"Mother," she said, rising slowly from her desk chair. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
It had been weeks since Cora Mills had visited her daughter. Usually, they met outside the house for a meal or a drink, something that allowed each of them to leave whenever they wanted. While cordial, their relationship had been strained for many years due to Cora's interceding in Regina's professional and personal affairs.
"Dear, where is my lovely Emma Swan? Did you finally give her a day off, you termagant? You really are too hard on the girl, your expectations are far too high."
"You have no idea," Regina muttered, turning to straighten the skewed stack of papers back into a semblance of order.
"What?"
"She's not here, Mother."
"But why? She told me she loved working with you! That's something you don't hear often. That someone loves working with the reclusive hardass Regina Mills."
"Yes, well. Emma Swan terminated her employment," Regina said tightly. Her chest felt white hot as she said it aloud, spinning angrily toward her mother. "She no longer works for me."
"Oh," said Cora. She just looked at her daughter. Cora's deep, dark eyes may have been windows to her soul, but they were also like X-rays going right to the depths of what her daughter wasn't saying. "Oh!"
Regina's eyes narrowed and she brushed past her mother, intent on putting her hands to work doing something in the kitchen. Anything.
"Tea?" She found herself making the offer before being consciously aware of her intent.
"Of course. The lemon ginger, please," Cora said. Regina nodded. She knew which tea to brew for her mother. It was the same tea she had drunk since childhood. She claimed it was good for the lungs and chest. Regina wondered if it would cure that burning in her chest that started when Emma left.
"So why did she leave, dear? Were you not getting along?" Cora asked as she removed her light jacket and made herself comfortable at the eat-in table. Her keys clanged on the slick glass top as she lay them down.
"I suppose you would have to ask her, Mother. She didn't bother to let me know."
Cora let that sink in and the air settled around it. It didn't ring true somehow. The Emma Swan she had met would have at least left a resignation letter.
"I see. Nothing but trouble, that one. I'm glad she's gone," Cora said.
Tending the electric kettle, Regina startled. She wasn't glad Emma was gone, not by a long shot. Everyone seemed to love Emma. She had thought her mother had adored the girl. Regina felt the heat in her heart become partners with a sudden heat in her brain at the thought of someone trash talking Emma. After all, she was the woman she lo ...
What?
Regina missed the #1 Mom mug that Emma had bought and reserved for Cora's visits and poured boiling water on the pad of her thumb.
"Goddammit!" Mentally, she began counting to five as she dragged her hand over to the tap where she could run cold water over it.
Cora rose and assembled her tea, dropping a spoonful of honey from a tacky bear-shaped bottle into the liquid, before returning to the table to sit smugly and blow on her drink. Gripping the cup with both hands, she brought it to her lips and drank as she gave Regina time to think over the impact of what was said and not said.
Regina held her hand under the cold tap until the burn eased and her fingers got stiff. "I kissed her," she whispered.
"What?" Cora asked, having heard damn well what her daughter had confessed.
Regina whipped away from the sink and flicked the faucet off. "I. Kissed. Her. That's why she left, Mother."
Cora smiled.
"Oh, darling. I'm sure that's not why she left."
Crossing the kitchen, Regina sat heavily in the chair across from her mother. "No, you're right. She left because I apologized for it."
Oh, dear. That did surprise Cora. Regina's mother cleared her throat and set her cup on the table.
"Why did you do that?"
"Well, I'm her employer, for one thing. It's not ethical for me to be mauling my employees, now is it?" Regina snarked as she wiped her hand dry. Some angry pink remained, but she figured it would be OK.
"Generally, no. It wouldn't be ethical. However, given how our dear Emma left in the middle of the night and ran to her friends' bosoms, it doesn't sound as if she took offense to the kissing."
"Mother, how do you know where …"
"And furthermore, you didn't tell me about the note she left, which leads me to believe that kiss meant far more to you than you are willing to admit, Regina."
"Seriously, how do you know all this …?"
"I'm on her friends' band's Facebook site. I love their blend of punk feminist folk rock," Cora said, shrugging a shoulder as if to say no big deal.
Regina just looked at her mother, an eyebrow raised. "There are things I do not know about you, old woman. So many things."
"Well, dear, this is true. However, if there is one thing I know about you, it is that you are shit with dealing with emotions. You can write about them all day every day in your book manuscripts, but as far as real life? No. You're a terrified little girl."
This gave Regina pause. She knew her mother was right. God, she hated when her mother was right.
"You're right."
"Well, mark the calendar!" Cora crowed and swallowed down the last bit of her tea and setting down the cup with a click. "The ball is in your court, as they say, dear one. What do you want to do?"
"I need her back. I need my inspiration to return to me. I can't do anything without Emma, mother. She's the one who made everything make sense. Without her, it's all wrong – I'm all wrong," Regina said, her gaze focused on the floor under the glass table top. It was as if the words trapped in her mind had flowed only when she was thinking about Emma or in Emma's presence.
Her life just didn't work without Emma Swan. Accepting that made Regina feel better, but there was still the problem of convincing the woman she loved to come back. Not as an employee or friend, but as her best friend, companion, and - hopefully one day - her lover and partner.
Cora nodded to herself, happy with what she knew was going through Regina's mind. "OK, so Operation Homing Pigeon is born."
"Homing pigeon? That's a ridiculous name for an operation," Regina couldn't help but smile.
"Well, we're going to bring your Swan home to roost, dear. And just so you don't have to ask, yes, I'm going to help your pitiful self," Cora said, opening the Facebook app on her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm scrolling through the Facebook page for The Screaming Harpies, that's the name of her friends' band. I saw something yesterday about them hiring a new manager, and that's what Emma's doing now. Managing a band. Can you imagine that? Our little Emma traveling with a punk feminist rock band? Looks like they do a lot of festivals," she said, still scrolling. "They'll be a little town in Maine called Storybrooke for the band's anniversary, playing someplace called Granny's. How quaint."
"When?" Regina asked, pulling up her favorite airline's website, ready to book a flight to the closest airport.
"In two days' time."
Logging in on her iPhone, it only took Regina a few determined taps to book a business class seat for the next day. It felt as if she had air in her lungs again. The words would come again.
She was going to bring Emma home.