The letter trembles in between her fingers, and she wants to drop it into the trash can. The letters are blocky and clearly written. She's gotten letters before, and more often than not, she's tossed them away without a second thought. But not this one. This time, she can't bring herself to do it. Noah wouldn't take the time to write her if it wasn't over something important. What if her mother had died? What if her father was back in the hospital? What if Beth –
She refuses to let herself think that way. Quinn knew that she could deal with the loss of her parents; her father already denounced her as his child, and she lacks enough courage to ever look her mother in the eye again. But losing Beth, her child, her one perfect thingin this wretched, messed up world would shake her to the core, and Quinn would never be able to recover. She bites the inside of her lower lip in anticipation. Sam places his hand on her shoulder.
"You don't have to open it, you know. You don't have to read anything he sends," Sam sighed, attempting to calm Quinn down from the brink of a nervous breakdown. She shakes her head and turns around in her seat, looking at him with sad, empty eyes. He massages her neck and shoulders gently.
"I know," she answers him, and places the sealed envelope face down on the kitchen table.
Quinn kisses Sam for what has to be the third time that morning before she goes to work. Work. The word still feels strange to her, even though she's been out of school for a little over a year. She simply cannot wrap her head around it. She is nineteen years old – her birthday is in a month – shouldn't she be in college right now? Of all the places that she imagined herself after graduation, Charleston, South Carolina sat nowhere near the top ten spots. Not that Charleston is a bad town … the nice weather and easy access to a beach make it nice enough. But even with all of Charleston's redeeming qualities, it just isn't New York. It doesn't fit her life plan.
She picks up her wide-handled, baby-blue bicycle and carries it down three flights of stairs until she reaches the street. Quinn breathes in the salty, seaside air. The streets are relatively empty, apart from the occasional homeless man and concierge bundled up in his pea coat. Its funny, really, how people in the south think that this weather is cold. Quinn has lived through far worse winters, where snow rests above her ankles and the roads are salted to keep from freezing over. Here, the winter weather doesn't go below fifty degrees. That's nice, Quinn thinks, because after all that she's dealt with, she could use some warmer weather.
When she gets to the small art gallery on the corner of Broad and Trapman, she sees a woman waiting outside of the door. Quinn fumbles for the keys in her pocket, and apologizes once she has found them. The woman, who looks to be about Quinn's age, if not a year or two older, nods politely, and gives Quinn a smile. There's a funny thing about this girl; she's not like others Quinn knows, who smile to be polite, but rarely for anything else. This girl actually appears to want to smile, like she's found the secret to happiness, and wants Quinn to open her eyes and see it. Quinn ignores the look, and takes her place in the chair behind the counter. There are a few minutes of silence before the girl says anything.
"These pendants – they're very pretty," the Asian girl states, keeping her voice low.
"Thank you … I mean, aren't they? They're by a woman named Karin Collins. She's actually pretty neat." Quinn replies. The girl cocks her head to the side and looks at a pendant for a second time.
"And they're on spoons, too? I didn't even notice. I'm Tina, by the way."
"Tina. Cool. I'm Quinn. And you don't have to keep whispering, you know. Its not like your voice is gonna break the art."
"Where're you from? You don't sound local." Tina asks. It's a question that Quinn has been asked a lot. It seems like everyone here wants to know everyone else's story.
"Ohio," Quinn answers, automatically. It feels like both a truth and a lie. Tina nods and purses her lips.
"I have family up there, but I haven't been in years," Tina offers, and then tries to make conversation about nothing in particular. Nothing about the conversation seems stimulating, so Quinn stares into space while pretending to read a flyer about the gallery's upcoming shows and events. She looks up to see Tina standing closer now, only five feet away. Quinn bites her lower lip.
"Anyway. Why did you move here?" Tina asked. Quinn smiles, but bites the inside of her cheek.
"Its kind of a long story."
Quinn reaches the door to her apartment, fitting her silver key into the lock and turning it. After a few seconds of struggle, the door pushes backward, and she is allowed to enter. Her arms ache after she puts her bicycle back in its place. Quinn calls out for Sam. There is no answer. Good, Quinn thinks. She kind of wants to be alone for a little bit.
She likes Sam, but sometimes he comes off as a dorky high school sophomore rather than a person who has graduated. She doesn't blame him for being a geek; its kind of cute, and his Star Wars jokes make her smile. Plus, Sam is a good kid. He's not like the people from Lima, who she has gleefully left behind.
At least, who she thought she left behind. Her cell phone rings in her pocket, causing her to groan. What was it now? Or rather, who was it? The clock read five o'clock – Sam would probably still be at work, which meant that he wouldn't be calling unless it was an emergency. This is supposed to be her hour and a half of peace, quiet, and solitude. She looks down at it, and realizes that the number isn't one that she knows. Quinn presses the phone against her ear in order to take the call.
"Hello?" she asks curiously. Silence follows for a few seconds and she considers hanging up. This is a waste of her time.
"Is this Quinn?" The voice is familiar. Quinn recognizes the fast-talking, sharp-voiced girl immediately. Its Rachel Berry. Now she knows that this call is a waste of her time.
"How did you get this number?" Quinn responds. She's hoping her bitter tone will scare the girl away.
"So this isQuinn? Good. Listen. We need to talk."
"We don't need to do anything, Rachel. The only thing I need is for you to hang up and never call this number again."
"Quinn. Don't you want to know what's going on at home? About Beth? She's your daughter. She's your family. Don't you want to talk about her? Or catch up? Or, listen … Quinn …" When Quinn is sure that the other girl is out of words, she speaks up.
"Listen? I've done enough listening. I left Ohio, and I'm not coming back. I don't know how you got this number, but if you call me again, you're going to regret it. Got that? Or do I have to repeat myself to get it through your thick skull?"
"No, that's not what – Quinn, please." There is a click, and Quinn takes her finger off of the end button. The last thing she wants to do right now is get caught up in her past. She left Ohio over a year ago, and with it, she left the person she used to be.
