"Do you ever wonder, about the past couple of years and think fucking shit, our life could be a fucking tv drama. I mean none of this shit makes sense." she says. Quinn Fabray has always been an angry drunk. "Karofsky and Blaine? Rachel appearing on Broadway straight out of high school?"

"That time you got hit by a truck." Tina offers to the conversation. Hazel eyes cut to the girl sitting on her bed, thoughts about kicking her out for that dumb ass comment.

Tina only shrugs. "What?"

She ignores her continues with her angry drunken rant. "And now we are all supposed to be gathered for this wedding.What are the odds we all end up with our high school sweethearts." She takes another swig out of her flask before speaking again."It's about time we grew the fuck up."

"Q." Mercedes says, concerned for her friend. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Think about it. All this shit. That's what it is pure shit."

"Have some water. You're talking crazy Quinn." Mercedes offers, from the mini fridge.

"Am I, or have you thought of it too? Or did you forget that Sam's somewhere off with Rachel right at this very moment. Every time I see his face I just want to punch it."

It's quiet for several moments before she decides to talk again. Even in her drunken state she knew it was a low blow. She didn't mean it, but right now she can't say that, so she finds another excuse instead as she sighs. "I'm tired."

"We know."

"No I'm tired. When is it going to be about us. I'm tired of being this." Her hand runs through her hair. "Aren't you? We are the ones who are successful, why aren't they paying us attention."

"They didn't back then why would they now?" Tina says.

"Because we figured it out." Mercedes says interrupting the quiet that engulfed them.

"What?"

"How to grow up."

From her lip caught between her teeth, to the way she's playing with her hands, Mercedes knows her friend enough to know she's in deep thought. This morning she was a mess in the stupor of her hangover. Now cleaned up, sobered up Mercedes figured it was time to see if she could get into that blonde head of hers.

"You're really not gonna go?" At the sound of Mercedes soft voice Quinn removes her gaze from the window towards the brunette. Mercedes shifts closer to sit across from her friend. Here in the confines of her childhood bedroom she can't help but be reminded of the many other talks they'd had in this very room. Sometimes even in the same very spots. Quinn in the window seat, while she sat on the edge of her bed. When Quinn was living with her back when she was pregnant with Beth they'd talk about anything. From God to the devil in Sue Sylvester, to Puck, to her family, to other trivial things like why Mercedes mom could not cook to save her life.

It was almost odd now seeing how much they had grown, and at the same time how they had stayed the same.

"No." It's a straight answer. Very Quinn-like. Even if she still is thinking, the gears turning in her mind. They are her best friends after all. Start together, end together. Those words echo in her mind. Mercedes voice once again breaks through her thoughts..

"Why? You know you don't have to tell me." She adds on after a few moments of silence after her first question. "But I think you should at least call them...if not Brittany, then Santana."

Those hazel eyes find the ceiling. She's aggravated by how honest Mercedes is. "I think they deserve an explanation why their best friend won't be attending their wedding."

Quinn's gaze lowers from the ceiling as she watches Mercedes walk out the door. It's one of those times where she knows that she's right. So she picks up the phone, hoping for a voicemail.

"I'm happy for the girl who sang "Landslide" and "If I Can't Have You". That's it." she says into the phone. That's it, and that was all she needed to say. After all it was the truth, part of it.

She can tell Santana is confused. Why wouldn't she be? Getting a call from her best friend less then forty eight hours before her wedding without a "Hello" or a "Hey". But that's never been "them". Still she knows she doesn't get it. She can almost see the furrow of her brow, hear the racing of her thoughts trying to figure her out. "What do you mean?" she says after a minute.

Quinn's response is quick.

"You're not that girl."