Rachel says, "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
The look Quinn gives her is utterly blank.
"We don't argue," says Rachel. "Not really. I mean, about who has to clean out the litter box, maybe, but not about anything important."
"Who cleans the litter box?" Justine asks.
Quinn arches an eyebrow.
Rachel blushes. "Okay, so maybe I don't do—I play with her! And I feed her! And we both take her to the vet. It's not like I'm not doing anything. She's my cat, too, and we share the responsibility."
"Was she your cat first, Quinn?"
"Her name is Helen Hayes; what do you think?" Quinn says drily.
Justine smiles.
"We got her together," says Rachel. "When we moved into our apartment. I thought we should get a cat. I could never have cats at my house because my dad's allergic—my dad Leroy," she clarifies, although she's already discussed her dads at length with Justine. "My daddy Hiram had cats as a kid, but I never did. I had a goldfish, once. It died; goldfish are a lot harder to take care of than one might suspect."
"Did you have pets, Quinn?"
Quinn doesn't say anything immediately, and eventually shakes her head very slowly.
"Why not?"
Quinn doesn't reply.
Justine waits.
Rachel doesn't know the answer to this question—it's never come up before—so there's nothing helpful she can add.
Finally, Quinn says, "My grandad had a dog. A bluetick coonhound. He used to hunt with him, when I was a kid."
"You never told me that," says Rachel.
"My dad thinks hunting is hillbilly." Quinn sounds like she might agree.
"What was his name?" Justine asks.
Quinn smiles. "General. He was named after General Neyland, the Tennessee coach? Grandad didn't go to Tennessee, but he loved watching them play football. I asked once why he didn't call his dog Smokey—Smokey's a bluetick, too—and Grandad said 'there's only one Smokey.' So his dog was called General."
Justine's voice is very soft. "What happened to General?"
Quinn licks her lips. "My grandad, he got sick, and he couldn't—my Grams died when I was ten, so Grandad had to go live in a, a place. A home. A nursing home. That was when—there was other stuff going on. I didn't even know until later. And my dad didn't like dogs, anyway, so it's not like I could have even if I was living with them…."
Justine hands Quinn a tissue, but there are no tears on her face.
"Our sex life is wonderful," Rachel insists.
Justine nods; she seems to spend most of their time together nodding.
"Quinn's always been very accommodating—our first time together was magical: candles, soft music, roses. I've heard that a lot of people regret their first time—I know Finn did, after he slept with McKinley's bicycle when we were broken up—but I don't at all. My first time was excellent; I was prepared, and my partner was supportive and took direction fairly well. It wasn't altogether a wonderful as subsequent times, and subsequent people, have been, but with Quinn, well, everything has been simply splendid."
"Quinn?" says Justine.
Quinn glances at Rachel.
"When we went to Florence last summer," says Rachel, "just before I signed the lease on our new apartment, Quinn fulfilled one of my longest-standing fantasies: we reenacted Romeo and Juliet's wedding night. She found a barn to rent, and while we weren't in full costume—"
"It was July," says Quinn.
"—We were appropriately garbed for our roles. Quinn was Romeo, of course."
Quinn snorts.
"And the rest of your intimate life?"
"I suppose I'm a little bit more adventurous than Quinn, of course—" Quinn has the faintest trace of a smile on her face at this. "—But as an actress I need to be slightly more expansive in my quest for experiences than someone with Quinn's background. That said, she's very willing to try new things, and so far, she's never disappointed me."
Rachel says, "Of course I'll listen if she tells me she doesn't want to do something, if she has a good enough reason. But sometimes she needs a little push. She didn't want to go to Columbia—"
"—Barnard."
"And look how that turned out!"
Justine says, "Quinn, you didn't want to go to Columbia?"
"I'm enrolled at Barnard."
Rachel waits, and waits, and waits for Quinn to say more, anything more, until she can't stand it any longer and then blurts, "She was worried about the debt. She had to take some student loans to pay for it, but she got into Columbia! I mean Barnard. Who gives up Columbia? And they gave her a scholarship. It would have been stupid to not take them up on it; Columbia's a fantastic school, and it's in New York."
Justine says, "Quinn?"
Quinn shrugs. "It's a good school. With a degree from there, you can do just about anything."
Rachel says, "She got a full scholarship to Michigan, too, living expenses and everything, and it might have been cheaper to go there, but why live in Ann Arbor when you can live in New York? Besides, we love Columbia. It would have been a terrible decision not to go."
Justine nods, but she's not looking at Rachel. She's looking at Quinn.
Justine says, "Quinn, can you tell me a little bit about your relationship with your parents?"
Justine is waiting, but Quinn's not saying anything, so Rachel tries to fill the uncomfortable silence. "She calls her mother every Sunday, right at 1:05, so Judy has enough time to get back from breakfast after the 10 am service and Quinn still has time to make my 2 o'clock show; it's an hour earlier in Ohio, of course. I don't think she's talked to Russell since—since—"
"Sophomore year," Quinn says. At least, Rachel thinks that's what she says; Quinn's voice is so low she's not entirely sure.
"But it doesn't matter," says Rachel. "My parents are enough for both of us."
Justine nods.
"Dad and Quinn are learning to cook together online, so we don't spend so much money on take-out. And Daddy loves to go to baseball games, and I had no idea how much Quinn liked baseball until the first time my parents came to visit us and Daddy asked who was going to accompany him to the Mets game that afternoon. Dad and I had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and Daddy knew it—with all that atonal shouting and belching and hot dogs—so he was just teasing, but Quinn said she thought it might be kind of fun. I have no idea how it might be anything resembling fun. But Quinn and Daddy went to the game, and they came home smelling like hot dogs and sweat and cheap beer. And they both forgot sunscreen! Now they go all the time, whenever my parents come to visit."
"Which is how often?"
"At least every other month. Ohio is so close to New York; I didn't realize when I was growing up, it seemed very far away, but it's wonderful now, and of course my dads love all the culture: the shows, the museums, the restaurants."
"The Mets," says Quinn.
"Does your mom enjoy New York, Quinn?" Justine asks.
"Actually," says Rachel, watching Quinn stare out the window, "she hasn't visited yet."
"Can you tell me," says Justine, "about when you weren't living with your parents?"
Quinn meets her eyes steadily. "I got kicked out. I didn't live with them. Then, my mom kicked my dad out and I moved back in."
"You were asked to leave your home?"
"I can't even imagine," says Rachel. "Being asked to leave your own home for anything—I think would destroy me—"
"Twice," Quinn says.
Rachel blinks. "What?"
Quinn enunciates carefully. "I was asked to leave twice."
"When?" says Rachel. "You lived with your parents until they found out about the pregnancy, and then you moved home again until we left for New York."
Quinn is staring at Rachel, but Rachel honestly has no idea what she's talking about.
And then the lightbulb goes off.
"Oh! Oh. I never—I didn't—"
Justine says, "What happened?"
"When Finn found out about the baby," says Quinn, and she's clenching her hands in her dress so tightly her knuckles are bright white. "That it—she—wasn't his, he and his mom—Carole is very nice, but I'm not her daughter, and Beth wasn't her granddaughter."
Rachel's never thought of it like that.
"Can you tell me about a time when the two of you were in conflict?"
Quinn goes very still and gives Justine a look Rachel hasn't seen since high school. Kurt used to call it Quinn's serial killer look; it's utterly penetrating but there's nothing in Quinn's face to give away what she's thinking.
Even though the question was clearly directed at Quinn, Rachel can't help herself. "We don't fight. We discuss our problems—not that we have any; I mean, if we did have them we'd discuss them like rational adults—"
Quinn says, "Rachel went to junior prom with my boyfriend."
Rachel stops, stunned. "No, I didn't! I went with Jesse, not Finn. And, and, and he was just being stupid. He got in a fight with Jesse," she quickly explains to Justine. For someone who doesn't know their history, it must all seem very sordid. "They got in a fight, and they were both asked to leave, and then Quinn—there was a terrible practical joke, and our friend Kurt was elected Prom Queen, and Quinn was upset, and she sort of, possibly, sort of—she slapped me."
Justine looks at Quinn.
"I'm a terrible person." Quinn smiles. Or maybe it's a smirk. "And I didn't mean Finn; there were two other boys between us."
"And this boyfriend—"
"Sam," says Quinn.
"Wait, we went as friends," Rachel says. "I never dated Sam. At the time, I was single and so was Sam—you had been broken up for months by then—and we had this other friend, Mercedes, and we went as friends, the three of us. Sam couldn't afford to get tickets, so Mercedes and I bought them, and then Jesse showed up—he was my ex-boyfriend—and came with us, but it wasn't—does it bother you that I went to prom with Sam?" she asks Quinn. "You never told me that."
Justine is back to watching Quinn. "Tell me about prom."
"He was pissed," Quinn says.
"Finn?" says Rachel, confused.
"Sam. He was pissed that he couldn't afford to buy tickets to prom. He loved that it was sort of his and Mercedes' first date, but he felt...emasculated. The two of you even paid for his drink at Breadsticks before prom."
Rachel says, "That wasn't—we didn't mean to—I didn't know he felt like that."
Quinn's not listening to her; she's too busy staring at Justine. For once, Justine isn't nodding.
"Tell me about Sam," she says carefully.
"Both of his parents got fired within two weeks of each other," Quinn says matter of factly. "Only a few weeks severance. They had a house, a mortgage, three kids to send to college. And this was back during the worst part of the recession, so there just weren't any jobs."
"They lived in—" Rachel starts, and then glances at Quinn. This feels like it's not her information to share, but Quinn's still leaning forward, staring intently at Justine. "They were—just for a little while, they lived in a motel. Almost like an apartment, just—smaller."
"It was a residential motel," says Quinn. "For six months, until his dad got his old job back in Tennessee and they moved home."
"Did you miss him, when he moved?" Justine asks.
Quinn purses her jaw. "He was really happy to leave."
Quinn says, "She loves me."
"Is there anything you want to add to that?"
"No. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Rachel loves me."
"That wasn't the question, though."
Quinn stares at Justine. Rachel squirms a little at that look; it's all too reminiscent of high school.
Justine doesn't seem fazed. "The question was about what makes you feel secure."
"That," says Quinn tiredly. "Rachel makes me feel secure."
"And conflict with Rachel—"
"We don't fight," Rachel says immediately.
Justine drags her eyes away from Quinn and glances at Rachel.
"We don't," she insists. "Okay, sometimes Quinn doesn't share as much as I might want her to, and maybe possibly I still get the occasional bout of insecurity, but that's purely based on high school developmentally appropriate emotional turmoil, but that's not really a conflict so much as... It's not a conflict. It's just the way we are."
Justine looks back at Quinn. "Is that your assessment, Quinn?"
"Yes," she says. "We don't fight."
"Quinn?" says Rachel. "What's the worst that could happen?"