They were having another one of their pointless arguments – a daily ritual, at this point. Today, the battle was about the dishwasher.
"I just don't get why I have to rinse the plates when they're going into the dishwasher anyway."
"The dishwasher isn't a miracle worker, Finn. You need to get the excess…stuff off before it can really clean it."
"Its whole job is to 'really clean' it. If we have to clean it before the dishwasher does, then why did we buy the dishwasher in the first place?"
"You're not really listening to me, are you?"
"I'm listening to you! You're just not making any sense, dear." He added snidely, which caused Quinn to drop the last, rinsed plate into the dishwasher, slam it forcefully shut (as to punctuate her point somehow) and then walked out of the room without making eye contact with Finn again. As she left the kitchen, he could have sworn he heard her sniffle slightly.
He knew he should probably feel bad, fighting with his wife over small things like rinsing plates before putting them in the dishwasher (even if he still thought it was the entire point of a dishwasher to rinse plates). He could probably stand to do it – he could almost hear Quinn's voice in his heard reasoning that 'it would only take a few extra seconds' – even if it meant that he was seeding yet another argument to her. She always seemed to pick the fights – about making the bed, about picking the paper clips before vacuuming (about which she might have had a point), about tying the trash before putting it in the garage – and Finn always gave up his ground in the end. He just didn't want to argue anymore, and he figured that if he gave her the small things, it would add up in the end.
Of course, they didn't fight about the things that really affected their relationship; they didn't even talk about them. Their dinner conversations were filled with the menial things about Finn's day at the shop and Quinn's day fitting shoes at the department store or how Mrs. Brady from up the street got in trouble for painting her fences the wrong color or how the McKinley football team was doing (terrible, as usual). Finn wanted to bring them up, somehow, but the conversation felt too heavy for the dinner table. The only other time he could think to do it was when they were settling into bed, after Quinn had folded the laundry or mopped the kitchen floor and Finn had spent the night mindlessly flipping through channels, not saying a word to one another. But at that moment, when he would slip into the covers and wrap his arm around her as she lay on her side, intertwining his fingers with hers, he felt it would ruin what felt like the only moment where he felt in tune with his wife, not tense.
Quinn really hated shoes; she always had. In high school, she had rarely deviated from the comfortable white sneakers she wore alongside her Cheerios uniform. Otherwise, she wore a pair of flats and occasionally, she snuck a pair of boots from her mom's old collection. But it was never something she would obsess over and surely nothing she would spend six hours looking for.
"So, I like the heel of this one, but the color tone is a bit different than what I was hoping."
"This one has more of an arch – it's better for your foot. But the peep-toe…"
"This heel is good and it has the right color, but the dress just wouldn't fall properly with it."
She was more glad that they seemed to have a good grasp on what they wanted and merely asked her for to fetch different brands every 20 minutes or so instead of asking her for advice. Luckily, they were the only customers she had on that slow business day, so her mind could wander a little.
She was upset with herself for picking such a stupid fight with Finn – yet again. She had told herself the previous day that she would try her best to not let the small things get to her. Lately, it seemed everything he did made her hair stand on end. Things he had done since before they were married were now like nails on a chalkboard – things like putting un-rinsed dishes in the dishwasher or leaving his shoes haphazardly by the front door when he came home from work. She knew she wasn't really mad about them – she could put away the shoes and the dishwasher did really clean the dishes, for the most part, without rinsing – but they were the things that kept her from erupting about the big things. The things she knew they both thought about, but never discussed.
She knew she should be happy with Finn. He was sweet and kind and he cared about her. After seeing her father – who had appeared, for so long, to be such a genuine and caring person – turn out to be manipulative and controlling, Quinn vowed to never fall into a relationship like that, like her mother did. That's probably why she was drawn to Finn again. He had shown her his deep care and affection for her, even when she had led him on. She was upset that she had ruined the chance she could have had with a sweet boy like Finn, but relieved that he came back her way – for whatever reason that he did. She could never trust Puck to be that way, no matter how she may have felt about him, and she couldn't trust Sam, not after she had seen her dad, who was so similar in personality and spirit, fall to the wayside. Finn may not have been everything for her, but he was enough, and Quinn was ready to accept enough over the alternative.
He was going to name her Abigail. Quinn liked the name too – certainly more than his suggestion that he gave their sophomore year of high school. Finn felt different this time around – probably because he knew, for sure this time, that this kid was his. He had just gotten promoted at work, and, at the very least, they weren't in high school this time. But in many times, it felt like the first time around. He would hold her hand at the doctor's appointments, shaking his leg nervously, and she would complain about the bills (which he always told himself were just the hormones). Things were tense, but every once and a while, he could smile at her and she would smile back and he felt things would be okay. There was nothing pulling them apart this time – no Puck, no Rachel.
He had broken up with Rachel their junior year of high school on an impulse. That's what you do when someone cheats on you, right? At least, that's what he had gathered, from past experience. For a while though, they hung in an odd balance – not together, but not apart quite yet. He knew something about his relationship with Rachel was different than his with Quinn. He wouldn't say better or worse – just different. It had always been that way with Rachel, though, from the time that he had met her. With Rachel, she was independent and pursued what she wanted in life with a whole-hearted passion. Finn may not have known exactly what he wanted like she did, but with Rachel, he felt like he could pursue it all the same. She made him feel liberated and inspired. With Quinn, he had always felt trapped -trapped by expectation, trapped by fear, trapped by normality. With Quinn, he was supposed to be the football quarterback, popular guy at school – which he was fine with, because he didn't know what he wanted beyond that – but it was nice feeling with Rachel that there was something more.
But then she had cheated on him – betrayed the trust that he had given her. Maybe he had lied about Santana, but they hadn't been together. Besides, he had a suspicion that it wasn't the lie that got to her. Because despite his constant insistence that she was beautiful and that he liked the way she dressed, she felt insecure and powerless against Santana's beauty. That's when he knew that he had to break up with her for good. Their relationship had taken the power out of Rachel's inner fire. The driven, motivated girl that he had fallen for had been reduced to a jealous, insecure girl, and he was afraid it was all because of their relationship. She had changed so much from the Rachel he, at least, knew. Rachel had bigger things to do in life, and he wasn't going to let her suffer because she felt like she needed to be a certain type of person to be in a relationship with him. She only had to be herself, and she hadn't been for a while.
Going back to Quinn afterwards was safe for Finn. She didn't push him like Rachel, but he never felt like she changed who she was for him. She was enough for Finn, and he didn't want to risk enough for the alternative.
Miscarriage. It was the only word that rang through Quinn's head as she drove home. The girls at the store had finally decided on a black heel that looked like every other shoe that was strewn about the department and had left, letting Quinn ponder her thoughts as she cleaned up the mess and headed home. Luckily, they hadn't started painting the walls and they hadn't bought a crib, but the emotional attachment was there. It was like this gift that would magically fix their marriage had been ripped from their hands. Slowly, from that point, things had deteriorated.
After high school, things between the two of them were great. They decided to move in together even before graduation, planning happily to start their new lives soon. The first year was touchy and hot and …real. She felt like she had made the right decision with Finn. News of the baby came when a lull had started to hit, and it felt like Abigail could have fixed everything.
Now, Quinn could barely remember the last time she and Finn had made love. She always said she was too tired, he always fell asleep before she had come to bed, or they just turned their separate ways, leaving a gap in the middle of their bed. In fact, she could barely remember the last time they had kissed. It was all avoiding each other like the plague (which proved difficult but doable in their small apartment) and fighting. It wasn't how a marriage should be. A marriage shouldn't be based on enough.
She blinked away a small tear as she pulled into their complex, taking a deep breath before heading in. She knew Finn would be home. She took another deep breath before pushing the key through the lock and turning it.
"Finn?" She said lightly, pushing the door shut. He had put his shoes away, she noted and smiled.
"Yeah?" He was in the kitchen, and she could hear the sound of running water. As she turned the corner to the doorframe, she could see him washing the plates before placing them in the dishwasher. She was biting her lips to keep from crying any more. "I just wanted to show you that I'm willing to give some – if it'll make you happy."
Quinn just nodded, now unsure of what to do. She just motioned for him to follow her, as she turned out of the kitchen to their living room. She heard him turn off the sink and rub his hands gently on a towel before following her.
She stopped in front of the couch and motioned for Finn to sit. She slipped off her jacket and then clambered onto the couch, placing either one of her knees on the side of his hips and resting lightly on his lap as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She looked into his eyes, which she could tell were a bit confused. She leaned forward and lightly pressed her lips to his. She then could feel his arms rub against her sides as they wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer.
It was the first time in the long time, so they both relished in each other for a second or two, finding familiarity in the lips of the other as Quinn ran her fingers through his hair and Finn pulled his arms even more tightly around her, bringing her closer. It was after a minute that Quinn pulled away, knowing her answer from that kiss.
"Quinn, we need to talk. This marriage shouldn't be about fighting. It should be about communicating." His honesty brought on the second wave of tears, beginning with just one that rolled down her cheek.
"Finn, I want a divorce."