Title: December, Baby
Rating: PG(13)
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Summary: It's Rachel's 22nd birthday and Quinn is an entirely admirable girlfriend. Alternatively? I baked you a vegan cake with a vegan cupcake on top! And vegan candles!
Word Count: 1,650
The problem of living with Rachel Berry was her intense veganness. No, I did not misspell divaness, or chatteringness, or know-it-allness. I meant the vegan part. The part where I had a shameless love affair with bacon and by some ironic twist of fate, not only was my girlfriend Jewish, she was vegan.
When I made the mistake of telling Santana that Rachel "adamantly insisted" I brush my teeth and gargle with organic mouthwash (saccharin free, she specified) before I kissed her in the mornings, after a simple cup of creamed coffee, she cackled. Cackled. I genuinely had to hold the phone a good two feet away from my ear as Santana howled this demeaning, oh-my-god-you-are-so-pathetic laugh. I don't know what eventually quieted Santana down, I'm sure it wasn't my muttered chant of "shut up, shut up, shut up, seriously, shut up", but once she had let out her last graceful snort, she told me;
"Damn, I could eat a bag of onions and Brittany would still get all up on this."
Either her refined eloquence or the mental images left me absolutely speechless, so I promptly ended the call, pocketed my phone and went back to buying more organic mouthwash.
Once that precious cargo was secured, I made my way back home. Home was a jealousy-inducing 600 square foot apartment, with a small nook of a kitchen just big enough to bake up a vegan cake with vegan icing for a certain vegan's birthday. Which was exactly what I would be doing. Rachel's 22nd birthday was the following day, but that night we'd be celebrating together. I had cooked up(ha!) a grand romantic gesture, or at least as grand as the time and financial restraints of a college student would allow.
Originally this grand romantic gesture included a hired jazz trio, a secluded table at Rachel's favorite restaurant and a professionally baked vegan cake, appropriately star shaped and iced perfectly golden. Instead, I opted for my laptop's speakers, soup and a homemade cake. The shape and color were irrelevant at this point, really, I just wanted it to taste good.
Fortunately for me, she had late afternoon classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which ensured me enough time to easily pull together the tortilla soup and rolls. I almost felt like I was copping out, making a dish so ridiculously simple, but Rachel had assured me this was her favorite. The cake was a different story.
It was a battle, really, the likes of which you'd never seen before. There were so many ingredients and so little space, and I had never considered myself particularly organized in the first place. The very cute paisley apron I had purchased for the occasion - admittedly costing nearly as much as the cake's ingredients - ended up covered in flour hand prints and zucchini muck. See, the chocolate cake recipe I had settled on called for zucchini and I figured that would made it extra-vegan, somehow. Extra-vegan would make her happy. Personally, I wasn't sold on how green veggies and chocolate could harmonize and make something tasty, but the website I consulted guaranteed it.
The icing turned out easy enough, and when I dolloped the last bit onto the cooled chocolate cake, I felt proud. Genuinely proud that I had not set fire to the cake, set fire to the kitchen and consequently set fire to the whole damn apartment building. Rachel would be proud of me, too.
Though I still had my doubts about the scrumptiousness of a zucchini cake, I sighed in relief after running through my mental check list and realized only the coffee was left to be brewed. Fair trade organic Sumatran, yet another Rachel Berry specification, as being vegan was about the "ethical treatment of all animals - and yes, Quinn, that includes humans!" So Maxwell House was a definite no-go.
The clock ticked as the coffee began to brew, and soon enough I heard the jangling of Rachel's keys as she unlocked the door. I froze, heart thumping erratically as though I chugged down the contents of a full coffee pot, and just stared at the door. In came Rachel, decked in her favorite pea coat and rose printed scarf, a knit toque secured on top of her head - and when she saw me standing in the so-called hallway, a grin spread across her flushed face.
"Hi," she said, closing the door behind her. She looked me over, her smile becoming an amused smirk. "Where'd you get the apron?"
"Uh, same place I bought the couch pillows a few weeks ago. I got it for when I cooked."
"Really? It definitely looks like you've been cooking," she drawled out teasingly, unwrapping her scarf and placing it on the couch. "So, are you serving dinner off your apron?"
I gasped mock-indignantly, "I slaved over a hot stove for hours and all you can do is tease me? Really, Rachel, you're so immature."
"What do you expect from a careless twenty-one year old? Maybe one day I'll become as enlightened and wise as you."
"Maybe when you're a whopping twenty-two."
"Maybe." She stepped forward, and thanks to the small quarters of our apartment, she was soon standing directly in front of me with her fingers poking at my messy apron. "One can hope."
"We should eat," I said. "I made tortilla soup and it tastes pretty damn awesome, if I'm being honest."
And so we dined, on our faux leather bar stools(vegan!) at the counter that divided the living room and kitchen. The soup was a sure fire hit and she appreciated the tofu sour cream I bought, which had been acquired on my organic mouthwash run - not that I would tell her that. When our soup bowls were empty and the conversations tapered off, I grinned at her and childishly clapped my hands together in excitement.
"So I've got this cake," I started. "Rachel, I actually made a cake. I baked it in the kitchen and it's super, extra vegan. It's got zucchini and everything."
Her eyebrows shot up and she laughed, "And you didn't burn the apartment down? I'm exceedingly proud of you, Quinn."
"Exactly! I knew you'd be proud." And quickly, I leaned forward and gave her a kiss. "That's just in case you take one look at it and decide to high-tail it out of here."
"It can't be that bad!" she retorted as I hurried into the kitchen.
"Have you ever seen me bake before?"
"No. Perhaps I should put my coat and scarf back on..."
"Rachel!" I huffed, striking a match to light the soy candles I had decorated the cake with. She simply laughed. "Okay, do you want me to sing 'Happy Birthday' or do you want to serenade yourself? I know how much you love your - "
"Don't even go there, Quinn! Just bring the cake out and let's eat."
So I did, nervously grinning, hoping against all odds I had actually managed to produce something remotely edible. I lifted it up, for her to clearly see, and she laughed. She laughed.
"Seriously? Rachel!" I pouted.
"No, no, Quinn, it looks delicious," she amended, covering her giggling mouth with a hand. "Albeit tremendously lopsided, but delicious nonetheless. I promise!"
"It looks terrible and it's going to taste terrible and I'm going to feel terrible about it."
"Why don't we try it before you go spiraling into depression over a cake?" She was still repressing her laughter and I couldn't hold the pout on my face any longer, so I placed the platter on the counter and gestured for her to blow out of the candles.
"Could I wish for a cake that wasn't lopsided?"
"You're such a jerk."
Yet to my surprise, paired with a cup of hot and completely ethical coffee, the cake turned out exceptionally good. And later that night when we sprawled out on the couch, watching our copy of The Cat Returns, I dipped my head and kissed her - and then kissed her a few more times. When she pulled back, face as flushed as it had been when she had first walked in from the December chill hours earlier, she was smirking.
"This is why you should go vegan."
I slowly blinked, my mind admittedly elsewhere...admittedly no where near the subject of veganism. "Why's that?"
"Just kissing. No mouthwash." Her lips met the curve of my jaw. "See, it's beneficiary for all parties involved." And then my throat. "A completely logical course of action, which is to be expected from me."
"I'll think about it."
"Think about what, exactly?"
"Whatever you just said." She laughed again, the sound reverberating through my body as her lips stayed pressed against my pulse point.
And soon the movie went forgotten, and I never got around to putting the leftover cake in the fridge. In the morning, after I'd had my fill of coffee - a mild Ethiopian blend that was "not mild on ethics, mind you!" - I instinctively rushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and put the organic mouthwash to good use.
Because, as you see, the problem of living with Rachel Berry was her intense veganness. No, I did not misspell loveliness, or logicalness, or adorableness.
A/N: I am in no way a writer, haha, so pardon me if this is way painful! I don't even keep journals, but hey, at least you imagined Quinn in an adorably messy apron.