Mary Margaret outdid herself tonight. A mouthwatering array of dishes fills the table; chicken, steamed veggies, oven-roasted potatoes, salad with homemade vinaigrette, spaghetti, Brussels sprouts—I don't know why—and rolls from the store she heated. I haven't enjoyed such a bountiful meal since the last Christmas dinner Irene prepared. It's like Thanksgiving up in here—not that I'm complaining. The aroma of the food mixes with the scented candles, creating the delightful scent of family and togetherness.

Though, we couldn't be farther away from that.

It's fucking awkward.

Emma avoids Neal each chance she gets, despite Mary Margaret trying to spark conversation. David talks with Neal, but Emma brushes them off whenever he tries to bring her into the discussion.

I try to contribute here and there, especially when the topic transitions to the latest music we've been listening to. I talk about Britney Spears, Madonna, and the Spice Girls, as well as modern artists, like Taylor Swift, One Direction, Katy Perry, and Ed Sheeran.

To my disappointment, David shifts the topic to sports games. I don't know a thing about sports, so I have nothing to add other than how people thought I played basketball in the fifth grade because I was tall for my age. That's it.

"Mind if I divert the discussion to magic stuff, Bella?" Neal says.

It's clear that everyone in Storybrooke has a strong interest in the supernatural, and I don't want to discourage them. Not anymore. I hated it when people did that to me, so I won't do it to them. These people are my new friends, and it's clear their minds can't be changed about magic existing. To them, it does.

While I no longer believe in magic, I don't mind listening to them talk about it, and I'm going to be polite in my response. I won't roll my eyes or mock them like I've done. Besides, it's an interesting topic of conversation, even if it isn't something I subscribe to.

"Um—No. I don't mind."

Neal nods in appreciation, and his gaze shifts to the others. "What're we gonna do about Hook's sail? He can't keep the Shadow in there forever."

"I don't know," Emma says, folding a napkin in half. It would seem Neal's found a topic Emma would set her grudge aside for. "We could try burning it."

"But wouldn't that just aggravate it?" Mary Margaret asks. She scans each person at the table, seeking their input.

David's expression grows serious, his hand around his water glass. "Can it even be killed? It's a shadow."

"Who knows? For now, it's trapped," Emma says. "Gold can come up with how to destroy it later."

The Shadow? Killian's sail? The black sail. That's right. Killian told me about it soon after I arrived in town—about how Regina trapped Pan's shadow in the mainsail, turning it black. If I believed in this or wanted the others to think I did, I'd agree with the burning solution. But David's got a point. How do you kill a shadow?

"How are you and Hook, by the way?" Oh, boy.

Emma's caught off guard by Neal's question and looks at her parents with quizzical eyes. "We're...how we always were. In fact, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Emma. He hasn't said anything to you?"

"Other than 'Morning, Swan' when I saw him two days ago, no."

"Wow. I guess he meant it," Neal says, turning back to his food.

Emma rests her arm on the table with a thud as she swivels in her chair to face him. "Meant what?"

Neal becomes ashen. "I shouldn't've said anything."

"Meant what, Neal?"

He sighs, putting down his fork, then says, "About backing off. He said he would for Henry's sake. To give his parents a fair shot of getting back together without a..." he lowers his voice, "'devilishly handsome pirate' in the way."

I choke on my cider, trying to suppress a chuckle.

"He said that?" Emma asks, her irritation evident. Then again, when isn't she irritated?

"Y-Yeah? I assumed he'd've told you or mentioned something like that to you, but I guess not."

"No. No, he didn't." Emma reaches for her glass and drinks some cider, probably wishing it was wine.

"But now that gives you and Neal another chance. You two could make it work," Mary Margaret says, stirring the pot further.

"No, we can't."

"I knew you'd be hesitant to give us a second chance, but your mom's right. We could start all over. Be a family."

"No, I—I'm not ready for that. I'm happy with it just being me and Henry. No one else."

"Henry deserves a father, Emma," Mary Margaret says, fanning the flames of the discussion.

"Well, he should've thought of that before abandoning us," Emma retorts, her eyes reddening as tears threaten to spill.

"It's not his fault you never told him you were pregnant. You could've called or written to let him know."

"Don't you dare make this my fault," Emma's voice cracks with emotion. "I was seventeen. He was twenty-three. Who do you think should've been the mature one?"

"I thought you were eighteen when you had Henry."

"I rounded up. I turned eighteen two months later but like that matters."

"Let me try to diffuse the situation. Emma's right. I shouldn't've left her for my crime, but—"

"But? Are you seriously going to make an excuse?"

"Hear me out—"

Before the argument can escalate further, a knock on the door pauses the tension.

It's no wonder why Mary Margaret and David haven't upgraded their TV. Why pay for a flatscreen when there's live entertainment and Storybrooke madness each day?

Mary Margaret rises from her seat to answer the door.

"Is Emma here?" Killian strides in and stops short when he sees we're in the middle of dinner. "I apologize for spoiling the family festivities, but I must speak with Emma."

"About what?" she says, annoyance in her eyes.

He pauses, then shifts his gaze toward the door. "Can we talk outside?"

"In case you haven't noticed, we're having dinner. Can't it wait?"

"It's urgent."

"I think I know what this is about," Neal says, standing from his chair. "What happened to backing off?"

"Well, I didn't see you making any effort to win over the Lady Swan's heart, so here I am." Killian smirks.

Neal motions an arm over the table. "Then what do you call this?"

"I'd say a rather poor excuse of a date. Inviting the parents and all."

Emma stands. "It's not a date. More like a setup."

"I see." Killian's brows knit together. "So you didn't choose him?"

"I didn't choose anyone other than myself, which people keep forgetting I can do."

An awkward silence settles over the room, broken only by Mary Margaret's return to the table. "Hook and Emma kissed in Neverland," she blurts out to me, causing my jaw to drop. I want Emma and Killian to be together. They both deserve happiness and someone who's always there for them. They could help each other let down one another's barriers. I'm so excited to see what the future holds for their relationship.

"Mary Margaret," Emma scolds, her posture stiffening and face paling.

"There goes the blabbermouth again," Killian mutters, rolling his eyes.

David stands, his chair scraping against the floor. "I suggest you keep your opinions of my wife to yourself, or else you might find yourself missing more than just a hand. Mate."

I can't support the bullying directed at Killian. They're all ganging up on him, and it isn't fair, especially when he helped them. Supposedly. "Can we please all sit back down?" I say. "Mary Margaret made all this food."

"If your purpose for coming here was to cause trouble, then congratulations, you've done it," Emma says to Killian.

"You promised, man," Neal adds. "You can't break a promise."

"Mind you, I never promised. I only said I came to a decision regarding Emma. And now I've changed my mind."

"You can't go back on your word."

"I'm a pirate. I don't have to follow my word."

"There're cookies," I say. "I'll go get them." Without waiting for a response, I throw myself out of my seat and dash to the kitchen while the others continue arguing. I grab a platter and toss the cookies onto it, not bothering with the presentation.

When I bring it to the table, Emma says, "Why don't you just leave?"

My heart sinks for Killian. I want him to stay. I want him and Emma to get along, so she can realize they belong together. In the heavy silence, I hope for Emma to change her mind.

Killian glances at me before walking out the door. Placing the platter on the table, I make a move to follow him.

"Sit down, Bella," Emma says, exasperated.

"Sorry...but I can't." I exit the apartment, catching Killian at the top of the stairs. "Hey," I say, closing the door behind me. "Don't listen to them. Emma's Emma, and Neal's just jealous 'cause he knows he doesn't stand a chance. I wouldn't want to get back together with someone who left me behind for their crime, either."

"I hope you're right, love," Killian says with a sad grin.

"I am right."

"Knowing Emma, she'll choose Neal for Henry, whether she wants to or not. That's who she is."

"I wouldn't bet on that, pal."

"I'm a pirate, Palmer. What good could I do for her? For the boy? You saw what happened in there. Her parents don't approve of me. Even after I saved Henry and David in Neverland, they still view me as a villain. All of them."

"I'm sorry, but they'll come around." I shrug a shoulder. "They did for me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he mutters.

"Why?"

"People like them don't associate with people like us."

"'People like us?'"

"Pirates."

I groan and turn away, frustration bubbling up inside me. "This again," I mumble.

"You need to stop trying to find your parents and start finding a way to remember."

"Maybe I don't want to. Has anyone thought of that? Everyone keeps saying I have to remember this and remember that, but maybe I don't want to."

"You don't mean that."

"And what if I do?"

"You wouldn't want to remember me—of everything we've been through?" he says, raising his voice.

"I don't believe in all this. And it's frickin' annoying how everyone expects so much from me. I'm just a person."

The door swings open behind me, revealing Mary Margaret on the other side. "Is everything alright out here?"

"Yeah. Spiffy." I head back inside.

"Palmer," Killian calls out, making me pause and turn around. "At least try."

This is so fucking overwhelming! Everyone expects so much from me, and I'm not living up to their expectations. I don't know if I believe in all this fairytale stuff, and it's so frustrating how everyone keeps pushing me to remember. I don't know if I want to remember—or if there is anything to remember. I'm a person, not some chosen one.

As for Killian's comment about finding a way to remember, how can I when everyone sees me as a character, not a person? I can't help but wonder if I'll ever be able to prove myself to them—to myself. I hope, one day, they'll see me as more than just a fictional character.