Her father told her "You're funny," when Quinn confessed that she applied for a job.
He tossed back his head and really roared with laughter, the ice of his scotch rattling in his glass like Quinn's bones vibrated in her flesh. When he asked where, and she mumbled "Holly's," he only doubled over chuckling before scrambling to the next room for his wife.
"Judy! Christ, get a load of this. Quinnie thinks…"
Quinn was left at the dining room table with knitted knuckles. She had spent so much time meticulously planning, had memorized the specific wording she'd use to present this stage in her life. And there her father was, laughing.
Russell clambered back in, his wife gliding on his heel. Judy, as always, was all pristine jewels and blonde perfection. Wiping her hands with a white towel, she was smirking. Russell was grinning like a wolf over a lamb. Quinn's cheeks were inflamed under their prudent judgements. She remembered fidgeting under their stares, waiting.
"A job, Quinnie?" Judy asked eventually, her head tilted. The patronizing tone wasn't lost on anyone.
Quinn could barely breathe at the time. "Yes ma'am."
"At a bar."
"It's really a restaurant."
"With a bar."
Quinn only nodded.
Judy's smirk was bloodthirsty. Quinn swallowed.
Russell was watching Judy expectantly, waiting for her to pluck up Quinn's cell and cancel the entire arrangement altogether (their daughter hadn't been called back yet, but who wouldn't hire their little angel? It was barely a question that she was a shoo-in for whatever position she applied). This whole ordeal would obviously only wound their image if their sixteen year old barbie resorted to the sloppy working class. People would talk; was the business faltering? Were too many clients backing out last minute? Were they asking their daughter financial contributions around the house? Russell would wait a long time however, Quinn realized. Judy's lips were pursed, poised. It only meant one thing, but Quinn wasn't brash enough to get ahead of herself.
The quiet drowned them all. Scotch had Russell in a chokehold, Quinn's ears were ringing from the lack of sound, but Judy shaped the silence with her canine teeth.
"Alright, sweetie," she finally clipped. Quinn barely flinched, but her stomach lept. At Russell's incredulous looks, she added, "At least now, come your birthday, you can buy your own car. Saves us quite a bit. Right, dear?"
It was the closest to relinquishment she was going to get. Quinn didn't need to be told twice.
When Will called the next day, seeking an interview, she didn't share the good news. They already knew, and Judy never stopped smiling like her teeth were bleeding.