It comes in the mail one day. A too fancy envelope with her name in embossed black script on the front. She lets it sit on the table while she gets herself situated in her apartment for the day. It goes forgotten as she begins her routines, does a load of laundry, and begins dinner.
She sits down to a small meal of pasta and salad by six that night, alone at a four-person table that would never be filled unless she had guests over. The black embossed script of her name stands out among the mundane envelopes containing bills.
She reaches over then and grabs it, using her clean knife to carefully open the envelope and peruse the contents. The embossed ivory card with lavender and gold accents stands out like a sore thumb already in her apartment.
You are cordially invited to the blessed union of Noah Puckerman and Jane Williamson.
The embossed ivory card with lavender and gold accents falls out of her hands and into her remaining pasta as she gets up from her seat to grab her phone. She dials a familiar brunette's number as she tries to keep whatever she's eaten down, unable to turn around and look at the embossed ivory card with lavender and gold accents.
"Santana," she whispers once she hears the answer of the phone.
"Hold on, I'm coming inside," she hears the familiar voice of the Latina, followed by the opening of a door behind her.
She drops her phone onto the counter as she turns around and runs into her embrace, sudden wave of nausea having turned into sadness and hurt. She doesn't notice she's crying until she feels the sudden wet spot on the girl's shoulder.
"He's getting married," she mumbles through the sobs, holding the girl tight. "He's getting married, San."
The Latina shushes her, rubbing her back as she tries to get her to stop crying. She pulls away from her a short while after the tears have stopped and wipes away the tracks on her cheeks. Silently, she turns to the freezer, grabs a tub of ice cream (chocolate chip cookie dough—Quinn always kept a pint or more around) and grabs a spoon before leading the girl to the living room.
"What do you want to do about this?" the brunette asks her once they're both seated on the couch and she's got an arm wrapped around her.
"I love him, San," she whispers before taking a spoonful. "I never stopped loving him. I never thought he would…."
"We never think much of anything, until it sneaks up on us," she tells the blonde as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I don't want him to get married," she tells her. "At least not to her. At least not until he knows how I still feel."
"Then finish your ice cream and get your miles," she responds, rubbing her arm to comfort her.
"What?" the blonde mumbles with a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.
"We have a wedding to crash."
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