Work Text:
I.
“Henry, sweetheart.”
A hand on his shoulder gently tugs Henry out of sleep. He stretches out, his legs kicking the cushions off the side of the couch, and blinks up at his mom.
“What time is it?”
“Five minutes,” Mom smiles, and Henry sits bolt upright so fast that he feels his ears rushing a little. Mom laughs. “Hey, hey!”
“We have to go!” he says, tugging on her hand. “Go, go, go, fireworks!”
“There’s time, sweetheart, wait – “ Mom drags him to a stop out in the hallway, and pulls down his coat and scarf from the side. “It’s freezing cold, put these on.”
Henry knows better than to argue, and impatiently lets her zip and wrap him up. Then he grabs his snow boots, pulls them on, and jumps back up – all while Mom is still tucking in her scarf, and he feels his insides contracting with impatience. “Hurry, go, go, Mom!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming…” Finally, she takes his hand, and opens the front door. Snowflakes blow in at them, cold and fast, and Henry puffs out his cheeks to feel them melt against his skin, the cold-hot sting making him giggle with anticipation. Dropping Mom’s hand as soon as they get to the bottom of the tricky steps, he stomps down the path to wait at the gate, his hands already cold and tingling in the air, his fingers shining white when he wraps them around the fence posts.
“Hi, baby,” Mom whispers, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Henry leans against her, rubbing his hair against the front of her coat and giggling to himself when she pretends to gasp at the cold. “Excited?”
Henry nods violently, twisting around to look up at her. “How much time?”
“Nearly…” Mom squints at her wristwatch in the dark. “Hold on…” But she doesn’t get to finish that sentence; there’s a flash of light, and Henry hears the crash-fizz of a firework exploding in the sky behind him before he can even turn around and see it. Mom smiles wide, her eyes shining down at him in the dark. “Happy new year, sweetheart!”
Henry beams, leaning into her arms and closing his eyes tight as she presses a kiss to the top of his hair. “Happy new year,” he echoes, trying hard to remember the wish he was gonna make – he wrinkles his forehead, but it’s gone, disappearing as soon as another firework explodes in the sky, turning the world red-gold-magical. “Pretty,” he whispers, the wish forgotten in the sparks and colours.
Mom laughs, hugging him close to her, and for the first few minutes of the year they stand there like that, watching the fireworks light up the clock tower. A few other people have come out of their houses, and wave over at them with their grown-up friendliness; Mom raises a hand in greeting, and Henry puffs out a big, relieved sigh when no one comes over to chat to them. He likes his neighbours, he does, but it’s just that this is him-and-Mom time, and he doesn’t want it interrupted by anyone.
And then –
And then the sky is dark again, the last firework fizzling out in a shower of sparks that don’t feel enough like an ending for Henry to realise what’s happening until it’s too late, the tug in his chest feeling a little like feeling really, really sad, left in the dark with an unmade wish and too-cold hands.
“Henry?” Mom asks, leaning down so her hair tickles his cheeks, and he feels his mouth relax out of its downward tug, because he isn’t on his own, even if the fireworks have gone. “You’re very quiet.”
“I thought – “ Henry starts, shocked to hear how wobbly his voice sounds. “I thought the show was longer, and I didn’t get to make my wish, and – it just stopped!”
“Oh, sweetheart...” Mom breathes out, obviously relieved and trying not to laugh. “I know, you remember it being bigger, right?”
“Really big,” Henry nods flatly. “And it just stopped.”
“You were smaller then,” Mom tells him gently, squatting down next to him in the snow and tipping his chin up to look at her properly. “Remember? You’re so big now, and last year was your first fireworks show, of course it seemed really big.”
Henry frowns, not really understanding why Mom is looking at him with her eyes all soft, like she’s proud and happy and sad all at once. “It was big,” he says stubbornly, and Mom laughs, mussing his hair.
“Whatever you say, my little prince.” She blinks then, eyes wet, and Henry reaches out automatically to wipe at her cheeks with his fingers.
“Mom?”
“I’m all right,” Mom says quickly, smiling at him. “I guess things change, is all.”
Henry purses his lips together. “Obviously,” he says, his impatient tone making her laugh a little. “I’m getting bigger and bigger every year,” he reminds her, the familiar birthday-morning joke making Mom laugh even harder.
“Obviously,” she nods, standing up and curling an arm around Henry’s shoulder to steer him back inside. “Cup of cocoa and bed?”
“Can I have marshmallows?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
The magic is almost back – a warm, fizzing feeling in Henry’s stomach, an excitement first for cocoa and then for waking up on January 1st with snowmen to build and a whole more week before Mom goes back to work –
And then something happens, too quickly for Henry to see; Mom’s arm is firm around his shoulders, keeping him facing the steps up to the door, but she twists briefly away and then –
Henry whirls around, gasping as sparks of bright, white light start dancing out of the snow, individual snowflakes magnified and lit up and flying, whirling around the old apple tree and skipping up into the night.
It’s over before he has the time to think about it, the night around them wiped clean and dark again; Henry keeps his eyes wide open, leaning into Mom’s side as he stares over at the old clock tower and wishes, hard, that every New Year’s ever will be just as good as this one, and just as magic.
***
II.
Half an hour after Henry’s stormed upstairs, there’s a knock on the door.
“Henry?”
Henry curls tighter around his knees, staring out of his window and wishing furiously he could soundproof his door.
There’s another knock, and then a pause. “Henry, sweetheart, there’s a plate made up for you –“
“I’m not hungry!”
Mom sighs, and there’s a thud like she’s leaning her head against his bedroom door. “Henry, you can’t stay shut up in there all night…”
“Yes I can,” Henry mutters furiously, glaring hard at his reflection in the window, at the faint outline of the clock tower behind his face. It’s stuck at eight fifteen – it’s always stuck at eight fifteen, because of the curse, because of her – but the digital display on his wristwatch tells him there’s still nearly three hours to go before midnight.
“Henry, I’m…” Mom clears her throat, the worst raw and scratchy; Henry hunches his chin down, trying hard not to hear. “I wish I knew what I’m supposed to have done.”
Henry screws his eyes up tight, lip shaking as a sudden, overwhelming wave of anger washes over him. She’s still pretending not to know, then, still acting like he’s a dumb little kid she can just keep on and on lying to even though the truth is screaming them both in the face.
He doesn’t know how much time passes before Mom says anything else; sometimes, it feels like this is all they do these days, locked in stasis either side of his bedroom door. Eventually, though, she taps her fingers against the wood again, their old quick-quick-slow secret knock that sends unhappy shivers running down Henry’s back.
“There’s a plate out here for you,” Mom says quietly, and then her feet are padding away, and Henry is left alone.
Good, he thinks furiously, letting his shoulders relax and wiping at his cheeks with the back of one hand. He doesn’t need pity, or comforting, or a plate of his favourite meal just because it’s the end of one month and the start of another one. New Year’s is for babies anyway. He can’t be bribed with some pretty lights anymore, not now he knows the truth about the magic and how it’s all twisted and evil.
After another few minutes – when he feels sure his face is completely dry – Henry stands up, and heads for his bookcase. He can while away the next hours with a new comic book, something fast and colourful and easy, no fairy-tale curses, no baddies pretending to be moms; all his old stories feel too real now, too close to breaking apart everything he’s thought was the truth since he was a baby.
*
“Henry…” A warm hand on his forehead, smoothing away his hair; a rich, warm voice, whispering his name with endless love; Henry blinks groggily, and stirs.
“What time is it?” The question comes automatically; he’s already half-craning to look out of the window, to see the sky lighting up with colours.
“Three minutes into January,” Mom says, her voice filed with a tentative smile. Henry groans, slumping back over his still-made bed. He hasn’t fallen asleep before the fireworks in at least three years, and now he’s almost missed them – “Come on, let’s get a better view.”
Her arms go around Henry’s waist, swinging him up into her arms like he’s still five and the world is still soft, and safe, and the two of them. Henry leans against her neck, breathing her in, and for one long, fragile moment the world is just this, just Mom’s familiar perfume and the fireworks lighting up the town he’s lived in his whole life.
“I love you, sweetheart,” she whispers. “Always have, always will.”
Henry’s stomach twists itself into a knot, the words – no you don’t, no you won’t, liar, liar, liar, evil – blunt and heavy in his mouth. Maybe she feels him stiffen against her chest, or maybe she can just hear him in the silence – either way, Mom hugs him closer, and repeats, “Always, Henry.”
He should say something, he should fight back against the words he’s pretty sure are all lies anyway; except they don’t feel like they’re lies, and when a firework bursts into colour over their heads, Mom’s eyes reflect the purple-gold sparks, shining in the dark, and he can’t, he can’t summon up the right amount of anger right now.
Henry breathes out slowly, his breath stuttering out in uneven bursts until he feels himself sink back into sleepy, safe comfort. Mom presses a kiss to his hair, and in the last moments before sleep fogs back over him, he thinks about making a wish, about wishing for the curse to break – or maybe for his real mom – or maybe just for Mom to come back, for everything to go back to how it feels, right now, with the fireworks dancing over both their faces.
***
III.
Henry pushes his way past a group of Italian students, shoving his hands deep in his pockets to avoid having beer spilled over them. They barely notice his bony shoulders – one girl scowls when he jostles her mid-selfie, but apart from that he moves easily through the crowd, invisible, nonchalant. It’s taken him this long to get used to the city; even at its busiest, Boston never felt this pulsing, like the crowds are alive somehow, sweeping you along unless you know where to stand.
“Kid,” Ma calls suddenly, her voice loud and clear over the noise. “Over here!”
Henry grins, lifting one hand out of his pocket to wave at her before edging around a couple mid-argument to join her on the corner. “Hi,” he says, leaning in to her touch briefly before ducking away when she tries to ruffle his hair. Ma just laughs, happy and sweet, and hands him a red cup filled with something sparkling and sweet=smelling.
“Champagne?” Henry asks, sniffing suspiciously, and Ma laughs.
“Don’t tell the cops.”
Henry rolls his eyes “Ma, you are the cops.”
“Shit, yeah.” Ma burps quietly, rocking slightly back on her heels; her cheeks are flushed pink, and her words sound slightly unfocused. “I’m off-duty.”
Henry laughs grudgingly, linking an arm around hers and leaning his head against her shoulder; he’s almost as tall as she is now, and maybe next year he’ll have overtaken her. The thought makes him feel somehow really old and really young at the same time, his heart squeezing in his chest with affection for Ma’s familiar smell and her battered red jacket and her bright yellow hair, falling over both shoulders.
“It’s New Year’s,” she tells him then, nudging him slightly with her hip. “You can try a cup of champagne, kid.”
Henry nods, taking a sip as Ma beams at him, feeling the bubbles shoot down his throat and up his nose, making him sputter. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, the warmth spreading through him and the sweet, slightly fruity taste fizzing across his tongue; he grins up at Ma, and clinks his plastic cup against hers. “Thanks, Ma.”
“You’re very welcome,” Ma laughs, stroking over his cheek with one hand. “God, you’re getting so big.”
“Bigger and bigger every year,” Henry echoes, tempting a slightly-watery smile out of Ma and grinning up at her. “Right?”
Ma nods, wrapping her free arm around his side. “Right.”
There are moments – more and more, Henry thinks, since they moved to New York – where the world shifts away under his feet, like there’s a step he’s missed on the way, and his stomach sinks without knowing what it’s responding to.
“Ma?” he asks, staring hard at the giant countdown over the crowd, the seconds in the double digits now, the excitement around them getting more and more electric; he feels Ma hum in response against the top of his head. “Are you happy here?”
“Of course I am,” she answers, too quickly to have thought about it; Henry feels his mouth twist in frustration. “We’re good here, right? You like school, your new friends?”
Henry shrugs, half-shaking his head. That’s not what I meant. “It’s cool,” he says noncommittally, half-grateful for the noise around them making it easier to hide tone behind volume. “Better than Boston.”
A shiver runs through Ma at his words; he knows that she understands, that Boston was as full of ghosts for her as it was of unanswered questions for him, that here in New York they can just be, Henry-and-Ma, if it weren’t for that low hum of not-right-ness pulling at the edge of his consciousness –
“This is happy,” Ma says simply, hugging him closer to her. “You and me, kid, okay?”
“Just you and me?” Henry asks, without really knowing what he’s hoping to hear; still, he feels immediately guilty as Ma’s face creases with worry.
“We don’t have to do dinner with Walsh,” she says quickly, jumping ahead to the wrong conclusion but saying the right thing anyway. “If you don’t want to hang out with him, you know, it’s…”
“I don’t mind Walsh,” Henry lies. “It’s just –“
“Just?” Ma prompts, and Henry hesitates, not knowing how to stumble over sometimes it feels like something’s missing, no, someone, someone so, so important –
All around them, crowds of students and tourists and families start chanting down the seconds to midnight, and the world shifts back into focus.
Five.
They’re happy. This is what happy feels like.
Four.
Maybe he’s just feeling weird because of puberty, or something.
Three.
It’s not like he misses anyone in Boston, so this doesn’t even make sense.
Two.
He loves their apartment, their Sunday morning breakfast-and-video-games routines, their walks to the fountain in the park.
One.
The world bursts into colour and noise, fireworks soaring into the sky and the glittering ball bathing everything in light and the first chords of Auld Lang Syne blaring from the speakers. All around them, people are hugging and kissing, linking arms and slurring half-remembered lyrics into the night, and as Henry feels Ma hug him close, whisper-shouting “Happy New Year, Henry,” into his ear, he thinks, fleetingly, about wishing again, screwing his eyes up tight like he used to when he was a kid and the magic of fireworks felt like the most potent magic he’d ever seen –
Should old acquaintance be forgot…
The music is too loud, the crowds are too close, he doesn’t even get as far as forming half the sentence he wants to; but with Ma’s arms tight around him and the power and surge of thousands of bodies around them both, Henry closes his eyes and wishes, hard, for something, someone, to make things feel like home.
***
IV.
“Mom!” Henry calls, barely looking up from the slab of mozzarella cheese he’s slicing as thinly as he can. “Door!”
“Hold on…” Mom’s feet hurry down the staircase, soft and padded in her thick winter socks; neither of them felt like joining the town festivities tonight, so they’re doing what Regina is calling Loungewear New Year’s and Henry is calling Lasagne and Sweatpants Tuesday. The doorbell is ringing, though, and Mom throws open the door with barely-disguised ill temper in her voice. “Yes, what is – oh.”
Henry pauses in his work, listening curiously. Not a social call from one of the neighbours recruited by gran and gramps, then.
“Hi.”
Henry drops the knife with a clatter, barely pausing to shove it back onto the counter before running to the kitchen doorway, a smile breaking out across his face because it’s Ma, and he’s going to get to have them both here at New Year’s after all, and –
Seeing Mom and Ma standing there at the front door, Henry freezes slightly. There’s something still and fragile about the tilt of Mom’s neck, the way Ma is leaning against the doorway for support, their heads bent close together and Ma’s murmured words too soft for him to hear.
He backs away, closes the kitchen door softly behind him, and returns his attention to the lasagne; he and Mom had planned on making enough to survive on leftovers for the next few days anyway, so all he really needs to do is add another bowl of salad to the table and maybe chill another bottle of wine for them.
The year after the Final Battle has been the first peaceful one since Henry was ten years old; it’s also been the hardest.
He’s sometimes thought the only reason their whole family even used to talk to each other has been whatever new evil arrived in town that week, demanding cooperation and communication. Not just…this peace that’s felt more tranquilised than tranquil. His aunt moving across town with the baby he last saw at her first birthday party. Gran and gramps tucked away in their new home, big enough for two kids and a dog but somehow not having the same comfort as his bunk in Ma’s old room in the loft. And Ma –
She’s kept it mostly away from him and Mom, he knows, which is why it’s such a surprise for her to show up now. Still, he’s fifteen, not a little kid; he knows well enough what’s happening, no matter how many conversations abruptly peter out when he walks into the room.
It makes him so angry it’s almost physical, boiling his insides – Ma, who’s been so good and so brave and so strong for so long, getting someone else’s happy ending and everyone looking at her like it’s her fault when it goes wrong.
Not everyone; not Mom; but everyone else.
*
By the time they’ve finished dinner, the second bottle of wine has been opened, and Henry has been persuaded to play some of his old piano pieces in the lounge. Ma is curled up on the sofa, her feet tucked up under her and her hair loose and tired around her face; she looks worn-out with guilt, like she always does these days, but there’s a little pink to her cheeks tonight, and Henry thinks that Mom’s got the right idea by continually restocking the plate of cookies between them.
He finishes his piece, leaning back from Mom’s old upright piano with a huff and stretching his fingers. He hasn’t played regularly in a few years, not since he figured out his piano teacher was technically a hyena and refused to keep going, and his fingers feel stiff as they move through the old familiar movements.
Mom breaks the silence first, clapping with a wide smile, and he grins over at her before seeking Ma’s eyes. She’s staring at him with suspiciously shiny eyes, and before he can ask what’s wrong, she’s saying, “You played that in New York.”
Mom’s smile slips a little, and Henry feels his chest tighten. They don’t talk about it much, the strange tricks their memories played on them that year, but Ma’s right; he remembers a winter recital at school, Ma in the front row and whistling through her front teeth when he took his bow.
Henry nods, a little uncertainly; and then Mom reaches over and laces her fingers around Ma’s, and says, “There was a recital here, too.”
Ma looks at her, wonder and confusion blooming equally across her face; Henry thinks he knows what she’s feeling, because the idea of Mom and Ma sitting in the same spot during the same performance in two separate towns, two separate memories –
He scrambles off the piano stool, knocking the empty-again plate of cookies off the couch and squeezing in between Mom and Ma, wrapping his arms around Ma’s waist and pressing his face against her scratchy old sweater. Mom’s hand finds the back of his head, rubbing over the baby-soft hairs he’s never quite grown out of, and slowly Henry feels his heart slow down again, relaxing out of the sudden jolt of feeling into a slow, contented warmth.
*
They start hiking up into the forest with 20 minutes to go; Ma leads the way, and Henry and Mom follow, elbows knocking companionably.
“We always watched the fireworks in the front yard,” Henry says, half-thinking out loud, and Mom takes his hand in hers.
“We’ll see how the view is, okay, sweetheart?” she asks, voice low. “And if you’re tired after I can take us home by magic –“
“I don’t mind!” Henry says quickly, raising his voice slightly after seeing the slight hunch to Ma’s shoulders in front of them. “This is cool, it’s just different.”
Ma slows, and then stops. “Different okay with you, kid?” she asks, and Henry grins up at her.
“Different is great,” he says, so firmly that Ma’s smile breaks out again, familiar, long-missed, sunny in the night. She waits for them to catch up to her, and Henry lets her take one of his hands while Mom takes the other, and they continue up the gentle incline like that, arms swinging.
There’s a bench at the top of the hillside with a view over the whole town, the harbour shining in the moonlight just beyond the last row of houses; here they stop, and sit close together, and wait for midnight to strike. Henry lets his head rest on Mom’s shoulder, breathing evenly in time with her, and thinks that this is the first time all year that he’s actually believed in their peaceful new beginning.
“Here we go,” Ma whispers, as her wristwatch gives off four short beeps. Henry sits forward on the bench, excitement fizzing in his chest, and when the first fireworks explode over the water he feels a wave of warmth wash over his skin.
“Did you do this?” Mom asks behind him, laughter barely held back, and Ma makes a smug kind of noise. “Emma!”
“Pulled in a few favours,” Ma says quietly, and Henry beams out over the water, the fireworks – red-green-blue-golden-purple bursts of colour and light – taking on a new kind of magic. “Thought it might be fun, I don’t know.”
“It’s wonderful,” Mom says quietly, and Henry nods.
“It is,” he announces, turning around; both Mom and Ma start slightly, like they’d forgotten he was still there. “So, so cool, Ma.”
Ma smiles at that, leaning towards him and touching her fingers to his. “Thanks, kid.”
Henry just smiles at her, and then turns back to the fireworks show – there’s several rounds going off at once now, explosions in corresponding and contrasting colours illuminating the sky from every direction across the harbour.
“I was sick of flinching every time I walked past the pier,” Ma says quietly, and Henry hears Mom hum in quiet, warm response. "Wanted to make some new memories." He doesn’t have to turn around, this time, to know that Ma’s hand will be clasped in Mom’s, or that Mom will have that careful, shining smile she thinks no one else can see.
This year, Henry just watches the fireworks light up the water, Storybrooke shining in the dark; Mom and Ma are either side of him, and he knows, this time, that all he wants to wish for is for nothing to change, for this moment to be all there is for every year after this one.
***
V.
Henry wakes up with a crick in his neck and sleep clouding his brain, and all he can hear is a hushed giggle that sounds suspiciously familiar.
“He’s waking up!”
“Shhh, darling, let him sleep.”
“It’s nearly time!”
“I think I saw him move just now…”
Henry holds himself very still, keeping his eyes carefully closed; still, it’s hard not to smile when a pair of warm, sticky hands are planted on his cheeks, the fingers poking determinedly into his skin.
“Da-ad! I can see you laughing!”
At that, he gives in, letting out an exaggerated yawn and stretching so hard that his ten-year old lands on the floor with a bump. “Oops, sorry, Lucy,” he grins. “Didn’t see you there.”
Lucy sticks her tongue out at him, and from across the room Jacinda rolls her eyes. “Morning,” she says, smiling a little when Henry blows a kiss across to her. “Sleep well?”
“Not long enough,” Ma calls, coming back in from the kitchen with another two glasses of champagne; Henry just sticks his foot out to catch her on the shin as she passes, and she grins. “I was all for drawing a moustache on you.”
“Oh, really?” Henry asks, frowning; on the floor beside him, Lucy nods gravely.
“I was gonna help hold you down.”
“Of course you were,” Henry smiles, leaning down to grab her under both arms and hauling her up into his arms. “Little monster.”
“What happened to princess?” Jacinda asks, sounding amused; Henry just shrugs.
“Monster suits her better, don’t you think?” He swings Lucy around a few times, making her giggle helplessly whenever he pretends to hit his head on the lighting fixtures.
“You hear that?” Ma asks, sitting back down in her seat and passing one of the glasses to Mom. “You gonna let him talk to our granddaughter like that?”
Mom just smiles, winking when Henry slows mid-spin to raise an eyebrow at her. “Maybe,” she says slowly, drawling out the syllables for effect. “That depends on how many cookies she’s left me.”
“Oh, really?” Henry grins, turning Lucy upside-down in his arms, holding on tight to her waist and letting her hair tickle over both his moms’ feet. “Luce? What’s the number?”
“Zero,” Lucy giggles, cheeks red and excited as the blood rushes to her head – Henry laughs, and gives her a little shake before setting her back on her feet again.
“Zero,” Mom repeats archly, sitting up a little straighter in her chair and fixing Lucy with a direct stare. “Interesting.”
“Oh, I love it when she goes all Queen-y,” Ma whispers, and Henry pulls a face.
“Not in front of the kids, moms.”
“Kids, plural?” Jacinda throws in, catching Ma’s eye with an amused snort. “Counting yourself, still, Mills?”
“Always, duh,” Henry grins, and Lucy gives him a fist-bump before hurriedly turning her attention back to Mom’s stare.
“I’ll make you more,” she promises, stepping forwards and taking Mom’s hands between her own. “We can do all the baking tomorrow when we wake up, and have cookies for breakfast, and –“
“Oh, no, no, no,” Ma interrupts, horrified. “No baking before noon on New Year’s. No loud noises. None.”
Mom smiles sweetly, gathering Lucy close to her and pressing a kiss to her hair. “Deal,” she says, and Ma slumps in defeat. “Eight thirty, sharp, Lucy, set your alarm clock.”
“Alarm clock?” Henry echoes, exchanging now-equally horrified looks with Ma. “Mom, we’re sharing the guest room.”
“I call the couch,” Jacinda calls. “You guys have fun.”
Lucy giggles, Mom gives Ma a smug look, and Jacinda raises her glass in a salute as Henry buries his face in his hands. “I give up,” he says, loudly and with an added sigh for dramatic effect. “The Mills women have beaten me.”
“Swan-Mills,” Ma corrects, laughing a little self-consciously when Lucy pulls a face at her. “What? If everyone’s teaming up on the guy then I want in.”
Henry laughs, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and pulling Lucy back towards him, his hands going to her shoulders as she places her feet on top of his with practised, familiar ease. “Speaking of alarms,” he says then, reminded suddenly of why he was woken up at all. “Shall we go?”
Lucy jumps up and down, landing hard on Henry’s toes and almost drowning out his wince with her sudden, high-pitched excitement. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“Okay, giggle-girl,” Jacinda smiles, unfolding herself from her chair and holding out a hand. “Let’s leave your father with some of his toes intact and see about finding your coat, mmh?”
Lucy nods, throwing a perfunctory “Sorry, dad!” over her shoulder before skipping across the room to drag her mother out into the hallway. Henry sags slightly, exhaustion taking hold for a moment as the room is suddenly left in silence.
“Hey, kid,” Ma says quietly, snapping him back to reality. “Had a good year?”
Henry doesn’t even blink. “The best,” he says quietly, smiling in surprise at himself, at how sure his voice sounds. It’s true; sometimes, he looks around at this life that he’s made, at this family brought together and forced apart that somehow, always, found a way back to each other – across so many realms, so many realities he honestly thinks he’d have lost track if he hadn’t started writing down those bedtime stories for Lucy –
It’s the weirdest, strongest, most wonderful kind of magic he’s ever known.
“Come on,” he says then, holding out his hands so that first Mom, then Ma, can stand up and join him. “Same spot as last year, right?”
“Unless you know a better bench to see the only fireworks in town worth seeing,” Ma quips, earning her a dig in the ribs from Mom. “Hey! No offence, your majesty, I’m sure yours were amazing, too.”
“They were the best,” Henry nods, smiling as he remembers glowing snowflakes, the haze of colours over the rooftops on Mifflin Street, Mom’s arms warm and safe around him.
“They were,” Mom nods, dipping her head slightly. “But then we found a new spot. A new tradition.”
“And joined forces,” Ma throws in, laughing. “That helped, too. Kid, your mom’s tricks with fire are awesome.”
Henry feels his heart squeeze tight in his chest, and in an impromptu moment of old childhood fondness he stretches both arms out to hug both of them together, his head fitting neatly on top of theirs now instead of under their chins, and for a few seconds they’re tangled up in a laughing, ridiculous hug –
“Love you, moms,” he whispers, shutting his eyes tight and letting the moment sink in, knowing that for this next year, really, he has absolutely nothing to wish for. And then:
“Wanna make out while he’s not looking?” Ma whispers.
“I wish for new moms,” he says loudly, opening his eyes to find Jacinda and Lucy giggling at him from the doorway, wrapped up in their matching new hats that he bought them all before the drive over here for the holidays. “And a family that doesn’t laugh at me.”
“Sorry, honey,” Jacinda says, while Mom and Ma giggle at each other under Henry’s long-suffering chin. “There’s no magic in the world strong enough for that.”