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Emma Mills had always loved playing exceptionally long pieces on the piano, it was one of the very few activities in her life where her overactive brain quieted down and just let her be in the moment for longer than a few minutes. Usually she felt like she was both constantly living in the past while also trying to predict the future with the way her thoughts tended to jump from one subject to another. When she was stressed her mind became hectic to the point that it could be physically debilitating and cause her to lash out violently. She took medicine every morning with breakfast to help with that.
Her long slender fingers flew effortlessly across the white and black keys of one of the college's grand pianos. She had been writing this symphony for four years and knew it by heart. Behind her a few feet away, her friend Fa Mulan was playing the violin, trying out a change that Emma wanted to make during the second movement. Emma couldn't see her, but she knew the girl's brows were furrowed in concentration as she studied the sheet music.
She liked Mulan, had liked her since the moment they'd met at Freshman initiation three years ago when the serious quiet girl and herself had been paired up to tour UCLA's music department together. They'd hung to the back of the tour group and Mulan had struck up a conversation about their majors that had led to a very serious and stimulating conversation about the history of the violin. Emma...she didn't often make friends, not because she couldn't, but because she preferred not to, but she liked Mulan. She was intelligent but also funny in a way that reminded Emma of her very best friend Ruby. She was also a very understanding and empathetic person.
Emma had been seventeen then, starting college a year early an entire year after ‘graduating’ high school two years early. She had been homeschooled. Her mother had enlisted and controlled a veritable army of expert tutors to educate Emma from the age of seven and up. Any subject that Emma had shown serious interest in, her mom had found a tutor for. Now she was twenty and she'd just graduated college a few days ago with a dual major in Ethnomusicology and Linguistics & Anthropology.
Emma really hoped that she'd be able to keep in contact with Mulan after they parted ways in four days. Mulan would be returning to her hometown of New York City to stay with her parents for the summer and do a workshop, and Emma would be starting a year and a half long gap year before she returned to start on her Master's degrees.
The piece came to an end and she smiled when she heard Mulan let out a little breath of relief after her last note was played. "So what do you think?" Emma asked, spinning around on her stool.
Mulan smiled at her as she began to store away her violin. "I think it's a great change Emma, just like all the other ones you keep making," her friend teased with a shake of her head.
Emma's cheeks turned pink and she shrugged. She'd ‘finished’ the symphony two years ago and had been adjusting it every day since then. It was that gentle teasing like Ruby did that had made her like Mulan she decided. When she was little, in the system, and in the brief time her mother had put her in a private school after adopting her, Emma had always been harassed by her peers. She'd been an easy target because she had a lot of...odd intricacies, she was almost painfully aware of them sometimes, and both Ruby and Mulan tackled them head on with affectionate amusement. Emma liked that approach a lot better than people who tried to act, for various reasons like she wasn't socially awkward at best.
The sound of her alarm chiming in her bag brought her out of her thoughts. She needed to pack up her sheet music and go get in her classic VW Bug in ten minutes or she'd hit five o'clock traffic. Her mom had added that alarm to Emma's extensive series of alarms two weeks into her freshman year after she came home late and grumpy several times. It was called the five o’clock traffic alarm.
"You better get going or you're going to get grounded," Mulan teased, poking Emma in the arm with her bow.
Emma sent a fake glare her way but couldn't help but smile. Mulan was one of the few people that Emma had been mostly open to about her…unique romantic situation. Mulan had taken the information in stride, asked a series of pointed, but non-intrusive questions, and then had just rolled with it judgment free since then. Emma thought that it helped that they hadn't met when they were younger.
"She literally only grounded me that one time," Emma groused as she gathered up her handwritten sheets of paper.
"Yeah when you were seventeen," Mulan said with a chuckle. "Okay I'll see you Thursday before the concert," she added, gently gripping Emma's forearm. Another sign Emma really liked Mulan. The girl was always good for a gentle arm grip or a firm shoulder squeeze depending on the situation. They'd even hugged a few times after concerts. Emma didn't like to be touched by other people. She had to have a close connection with them for it to be okay, and it was difficult for her to make those kinds of connections. There were few people that Emma was close enough to to feel comfortable being touched by and Mulan was one of them.
Emma told her goodbye and finished packing up her things. The tall blonde shrugged on the red leather jacket she'd bought two years ago. Her mom acted like she hated it but Emma knew that's just because then the older woman couldn't freely ogle her muscular arms and shoulders. Emma loved it. It fit perfectly with her unassuming standard wardrobe of jeans and graphic t's. And when she saw it at the mall Ruby had said it made Emma look older. The blonde had blown half of her first tutoring paycheck on it immediately.
Emma turned around and faced the empty auditorium, intending to cut through the building to get to where her bug was parked. Her mom actually did hate that independent purchase that Emma had made. She’d cried when Emma had pulled into the driveway with it and she’d had to take it apart and put it back together with mostly all new pieces until her mom was satisfied that she wasn’t going to break down in it every five miles. Emma would cut through the building and book it to the bug. If she wasn't impeded by anything she'd be home in an hour to help her mom get the food ready for the dinner party they were having tonight.
Emma took one step and froze. Up at the very top row she could just make out the familiar shock of bright red curly hair in the dimmed auditorium lights. A moment later the person stood up and Emma took a sharp breath as she watched her Aunt Zelena start her graceful descent down the stairway towards the stage. Emma's hands clenched and unclenched at her sides in pace with the clenching of her jaw as her brain raced to prepare herself for the rapidly approaching situation. How should she act? This was completely unexpected and she wasn't prepared for it in the least. What was the social etiquette for this situation?
The last time she'd seen her Aunt she'd been sixteen and her comfortable life in Boston had just imploded. She'd very nearly punched her Aunt in the face but her mom had caught her around the waist and dragged her back into the house. Then she refused to be signed over into the redhead’s temporary custody. She'd loved her Aunt Zelena so much back then and losing her in the way she did cut Emma deep. First and foremost she was still furious with her and was incredibly protective of her mom. The blonde stood up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest, she was upset with her so that's how she would act she decided.
Zelena came to a stop a couple of feet from the edge of the stage and looked up at Emma. Her features were soft, and when she greeted Emma her smile was sad. "Hello Little Dove," she said, her familiar light English accent making Emma feel suddenly nostalgic as her racing mind remembered all the times her Aunt had called her that nickname growing up. It hurt.
Emma swallowed and clenched her jaw. "What are you doing here?" She asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Her hands clenched at her sides again and she began to fiddle with the ring on her left hand. Her ring was perfect for her. It was platinum with a large emerald on it. Best of all it had moving parts she could play with to help her concentrate. Her mom had had it custom made for her because she understood Emma like no one else in the world did. Ruby had laughed and called it a thirty thousand dollar fidget toy.
Zelena sighed and the look on her face grew sadder. "I had one of the district leaders in this market look you up. He asked around campus about your routine and told me when a good time to talk to you alone would be. I just want to talk Emma," the older woman said, her hands open at her sides. She had that tender worried look in her pale blue eyes that Emma had always craved when she was little. It was more information than one would usually give. But that's because Zelena knew that Emma would have had follow up questions about how she'd found her here, alone and done for the day. Aunt Zelena had almost always been great at anticipating Emma's train of thought until she wasn’t. The blonde unclenched her jaw and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I also wanted to tell you how proud of you I am. Two bachelor's degrees in three years and graduating Summa Cum Laude, first in your class. I'm so so proud of you, Love," Zelena said, her voice drenched in sincerity.
"Thank you," Emma said in a clipped tone as she uncrossed her arms and then recrossed them.
"How many languages are you up to now?" Zelena asked. Her tone was just a little teasing. She was the originator of the ‘gently teasing Emma about her eccentricities while simultaneously acknowledging them and accepting them’' strategy.
Emma didn't smile but she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the familiar topic. Aunt Zelena had always been fascinated with Emma's fluency in multiple languages. She'd gone out of her way to test Emma all the time. "Twelve now. I learned Mandarin Chinese and Vietnamese over the last three years," she finally replied, holding her head up high. She was pretty proud of the accomplishment. Emma uncrossed her arms and began to play with the hemline of her jacket. She liked the feeling of the leather against her thumbs and had worn down a patch of the hem on her left side.
"That's my smart girl," Zelena said, tilting her head to the side and looking at Emma fondly. That pissed the blonde off more.
"What do you want?" Emma asked, crossing her arms again and standing up straighter.
Zelena winced and then sighed. "How is your mother then?" She asked in an almost pained tone that made Emma bristle protectively.
"She's great," she said quickly. "The Benmosé Gallery is doing a show of her paintings. It opens Friday night and runs for two months. Four pieces have already been sold."
Zelena's smile was tight and she straightened up then as well, crossing her own arms then. The redheaded woman took a deep breath and then pinched the brow of her nose. "And you two...you're still…" she trailed off as she waved a hand through the air a few times. Her voice and demeanor was uncomfortable, even Emma could see that.
"We're engaged. Getting married in December," Emma said, her jaw squared and tone clipped again.
Zelena's expression changed from uncomfortable to upset very fast. "She's marrying you?" She asked incredulously.
"Yes she is," Emma said, puffing out her chest and tilting her head up. "I asked her and she said yes."
Zelena rubbed her face and stared down at the ground for a moment, her lips moving silently as she no doubt said words that would have infuriated Emma if she could hear them. Blue eyes flashed up to meet Emma's. "I want to see her...talk to her," Zelena said.
Emma didn't want that. She didn't want that at all. All she could think about was the last time her mom and Aunt had ‘talked’. Her mom has cried so hard that night she made herself sick and it has taken the better part of a year for the brunette to recover from her heartache enough to leave their new house here in L.A. Emma didn't want Zelena and her judgment coming into their lives and making her mom feel that kind of pain again. In her mind she heard the awful words that Zelena had called her mother. Pervert. Pedophile. Monster. She'd accused her mom of only adopting her to groom her. She'd tried to take custody away from her. She wouldn't listen, didn't want to listen. Even now her mom still struggled with so much self loathing. She didn't need someone, least of all the sister she loved so much, making it worse. Emma remembered her mom laying in bed for months after they got to LA, just hurting so bad. Her mom was the greatest person in the world to Emma and she deserved to be treated with love and respect and understanding. She didn't do anything wrong no matter what anyone said, or even what she felt herself, and Emma would die on that hill.
"Dove...come back to the present," Zelena said suddenly, pulling Emma out of her mind spiral. Her green eyes snapped up to meet Zelena's. "I just want to talk to her Dove...try to understand. I want to understand." She held out her hands in a placating gesture.
Emma didn't want this, but she knew her mom did. She knew that she had been waiting and hoping for this day. She said that she owed Zelena the whole truth about her relationship with Emma. Emma personally thought that was crap, but Emma also wanted her mom to get everything she wanted. She wasn't like Emma. She couldn't cut people out of her heart and write them off. Where Emma found emotions to be an unnecessary burden, her mom was pure emotion. She thought with her heart first.
"I'll text you our address and what time to come over tomorrow," she said finally, looking away from her Aunt rather pointedly.
Zelena's smile returned to the sad expression she'd walked in with. "Thank you Dove," she said, tilting her head to the side. "You know I love you with all of my heart right? I've only ever wanted the very best for you Emma."
Emma didn't say anything because she didn't believe her. If she loved Emma and wanted the best for her she wouldn't have done everything she'd done. In her mind she got a flash of her mom being handcuffed in their living room in Boston. She'd been crying so hard and the police officer had been unnecessarily rough putting them on her with a disgusted look on his face. Emma had nearly lunged at him but a different officer had grabbed her and cuffed her then for breaking Milah Gold's nose. They had put them in separate cars and she hadn't seen her mom for three days. Zelena had tried to take her home after her Grandmother Cora had gotten the charges against Emma dropped later that day, but Emma had refused. She'd told CPS straight up that she would run away from her Aunt's house the moment her back was turned. Emma was sent to a temporary group facility. Back in the system nine years after her mom had rescued her from it.
Zelena, ever aware of Emma's mannerisms must have realized she wasn't going to get a reply because she sighed then, her body deflating in front of Emma. "I'll see you tomorrow Dove," she said before turning to leave.
Emma couldn't just let her go like this if she would be coming over tomorrow. She had to protect her mom. "Aunt Z," she called out, turning to level the redhead with an icy stare. Zelena turned back and looked up at her with a grimace. "Four years ago I said I wasn't going to just stand by and let you insult her. That still stands, even more now that she's going to be my wife. If you...if you call her...if you make her cry...I will make you leave."
Zelena just smiled sadly up at the blonde and nodded before leaving. Emma stood on the stage for several minutes after Zelena had gone, trying to use the breathing techniques that Dr. Hopper had taught her to calm her mind down. But it was useless. She needed to get home and see her mom and then she could calm down. She was going to be so late.
She was late. Walking in the door almost an hour later than she was supposed to. Emma's whole body was tense as she took off her boots and put them neatly by the door. After hanging up her jacket she also took off her socks and flexed her toes into the plush black carpeting. It calmed her down enough to unclench her jaw. Emma liked plush textures like their carpeting and her mom had thus filled their home with them. She always tried so damn hard to accommodate Emma's things.
Emma could hear the familiar tune of her mom's favorite Italian singer playing in the kitchen, but she didn't want to face her yet. If she walked into the kitchen like this the brunette would instantly be worried and Emma wanted to be worried for her right now. So she went to their bathroom instead and put her socks in the hamper because her mom hated it when she left them laying by the door. And then she went into her office to store away her bag of sheet music and plug her laptop in. The blonde sat down in her overstuffed armchair and tried her breathing techniques again. They worked better here in her home that smelled like her and her mom.
She was concentrating so hard on calming herself down that she didn't notice their cat Duchess had come into the office until the fluffy white cat jumped up into her lap. She head-butted Emma's jaw and immediately started purring, making Emma smile softly. She leaned over and buried her face in the cat's fluffy white back. Duchess was an old lady. Fourteen years old this October. Emma would be lost without her. She always came to Emma when she was having an episode. After they'd been arrested Killian and Neal had broken all the windows out of their house in Boston and Duchess had run away in fear. Her Grandmother and her had searched for her for two days after her mom was released with all charges dropped, and they had picked Emma up from the temporary group home. Luckily they found Duchess in a shelter.
One day later her grandmother had hired a moving company to pack up their belongings, said goodbye, and they'd driven to Los Angeles from Boston in a rented car the next morning with just a few suitcases and Duchess. Her mom's benz had had all the windows and lights busted out and it was covered in spray painted profanities. Emma recalled her mom standing on the front lawn of the house she loved so much with tears in her eyes on that last morning. They'd left at four a.m. so no one would see them leave.
Finally Emma got up and carried Duchess out of the room. As she passed through the living room she stopped to admire her mom’s latest piece of artwork that was sitting on an easel out on the patio. The blonde stepped up to the glass doors and studied the painting. Her style was impressionist with thin brushstrokes and a brilliant eye for color. This piece was the last one she would be doing for her show. The painting was of Emma. Every painting in the show was. This one was a twenty year old Emma laying on her back, the perspective was that of looking at her from the side. Her head was tipped back and the expression on her face caught her mid-orgasm. Her mom had titled it Perfection. Emma loved it, but her favorite piece in the show was called Fate. It was her at the age of seven sitting on a bench in a crowded courthouse waiting room.
Emma kissed Duchess on the head and sat her down on the back of the couch before she finally headed towards the kitchen. The sight of her mom standing with her back to Emma, with her shapely hips swaying to the music as she speared chunks of marinated meat and vegetables onto skewers made Emma smile widely. The older woman was singing softly under her breath as always. Emma remembered standing on a stool next to her mom when she was eight while she taught her how to make pasta from scratch. She was singing then too. Her mom had been the one who sparked Emma's love for music. She'd had dozens of tutors and teachers and could confidently play a wide range of instruments, but her favorite lessons had been with her mother sitting at their baby grand. She'd been so little then she'd had to sit on her lap. Just a little runt of a kid.
Her mom moved to the side to wash her hands in the sink and Emma crossed the kitchen in four wide steps, her bare feet pattering slightly on the smooth stylized Moroccan tiles they had put down in there together. The older woman heard her, started to turn to greet her, no doubt to ask why she was so late, but Emma wrapped her arms around her from behind and buried her face in her curly black hair. She inhaled her familiar sandalwood and jasmine perfume deeply. She bought it from India and had been wearing it since Emma was ten and they'd visited the country for the blonde's birthday. She sighed and all the leftover tension bled out of her muscles. Emma didn't like metaphors, but the crook of her mom's neck was her safe space and had been since she was seven years old.
Her mom softly hummed and finished wiping her hands off before turning in Emma's arms. The older woman rubbed her hands up Emma's biceps and then started massaging her shoulders. "What is it my love?" She whispered in Emma's ear, pressing her lips firmly against it.
So much for not worrying her mom, Emma thought forlornly. Now they were both worried. Her mom knew she was very stressed. Her voice always became so much softer when Emma was on the verge of a panic attack, which she guessed she was. She talked to her with the same tone she'd talked to Emma in when she was little and scared of the world. Emma was afraid of how she would react to the news that Zelena was here to talk to her. Emma didn't like not knowing how her mom would react to things. She didn't like it of anyone, but she especially didn't like it with her mom. If Emma couldn't predict a reaction her mind would supply a few dozen scenarios for her, most of them distressing. She could usually predict how the older woman would react to things because she was so predictable. Emma was fairly certain that was because she made herself predictable for her sake.
Emma looked up into her mom’s soulful brown eyes and took a deep breath then. "Aunt Zee came to see me on campus today. She wants to come talk to you tomorrow. I told her I would text her a time and address. I also told her we're engaged. That's why I'm late." And then Emma Mills held her breath.