R
Sitting near the window, I mindlessly stare at the steady stream flowing atop from my morning vanilla latte.
After finishing a six weeks long Broadway hit show of Fancy Lady, I decided to reward myself to a brief and a long-awaited tour to Paris, alone. Sure, I could have taken my fathers with me, or even my vacant boyfriend, but I just wanted to soak in the French culture and fully rejoice my successes in my life. I mean this is what I ever wanted, right? Then why doesn't it feel…complete? Or right? Just a week before the rest of my break ends, I decided to return to New York before continuing work. A mindset like mine always requires me to settle in and prepare for the next stage agenda since I've become one of the best and upcoming stars Broadway has ever seen.
No matter how much I needed to rest from jet lag, my biological clock inside of me decided to wake up at 6:00 sharp this morning. So I decided to head to the nearest Starbucks to bring me out of the foggy haze before running some much-needed errands.
I raise my latte to my lips and inhale the sweet scent before taking a tentative sip. My phone chimes a familiar tone that notifies me of a text. My eyes are still in its sleepy haze, so I let my hand scruff around for my phone and slowly bring it to my line of sight. A slow smile appears on my face when realization hits that the text is from Kurt. It is a sweet and pure message; just a simple good morning greeting and that I was the first thing he thought of when he awoke.
Of all the glee kids from my high school days, I only kept in contact with Kurt. He lives in Brooklyn and has his own show as a fashion specialist/stylist. From what I know, he's doing well and I always go to him when I need some fashion tips. We manage to visit when we have the free time, but it's not the same as the past. I miss Kurt and all the others, but we all simply lost contact. I know Mercedes has her own contract label and recently finished her second album, but that's all the information I know of. And honestly I yearn to have a glee club reunion, but I doubt that would happen anytime soon. A long and exaggerated sigh escapes my lips.
Next to me, the bell chimes above the door when I start to text a haste response to Kurt. I briefly look up at the new customer, still smiling, before returning to my phone, but only to look up again when the girl continues to openly gawk at me. As a celebrity, I get all sorts of looks if someone notices me, so this is nothing new. I use this opportunity give her a look over. The girl, still holding the door ajar, is wearing large sunglasses, a black trench coat, loose denim jeans, a brown side bag, and a NY Giants cap with a few stray wisps of blonde hair peeking out from underneath it. She locks eyes with me for about 3 seconds before recollecting herself and walk towards the lane of waiting customers. Something about the girl intrigues me and her pomegranate scent smells distinctively familiar. I narrow my eyes at the girl's head as she surveys the list of drinks on the menu on the overhead chalkboard.
My sixth sense is basically screaming at me as I feel a gravitational pull towards the stranger. So like any other occasion of this rare feeling, I began to observe. The girl, with her back to me, is impatiently tapping her foot, whilst her arms remains crossed. She doesn't bother to take off her sunglasses and her mouth forms an irritated scowl. Clearly the girl is in hurry, but her hidden profile is full of grace; a perfect example of a dainty lady. Wow, I should really learn from her.
"Lily! Tall, hazel macchiato with 2 shots of espresso?" barks the stout barista. The girl, with her head held high, grabs the drink and swiftly walks towards me. Well, towards the door.
Lily? I ask myself. I don't know any Lily's. My eyes trail her closely. And then I see it. She's wearing a scarf... My scarf. I bolt from my seat and run after her.
If I recall, Daddy wanted to learn how to sew since I was so disappointed of him from the costume he had made me for the Lady Gaga assignment. To make it up to me, he decided to join a sewing group with Dad. For Hanukkah, Daddy gave me a hand knitted scarf stitched of yarn. It was striped, burnt orange and neon green, with gold stars (that barely even looked like stars) in different sizes splattered everywhere. And to make the poor article even more appalling, a baby blue elephant with a dopey grin was sewn at the very bottom, so when it's tied that's the first embroidery stitch anyone sees. For his mighty efforts, I wore the thing as proudly as I could even though I knew I'd be ridiculed so badly. Man, did Santana have a blast. That very day, before glee practice, I had taken it off and left it on the chair. I swear, I did. When I left, I forgot to bring it home with me. I didn't want Daddy to know that I had lost it and I only had worn it once. So the next morning, I went to school early to hunt for my missing scarf. I couldn't find it and Daddy, still healing from all the bloody pokes he gave himself, ended up being disappointed in me. Such a cruel circle it has become.
And here I see it, five years later, around someone else's neck. Her pale skin, in contrast to her black coat, makes the scarf look very painstakingly to the any eye. Still, anyone could have an orange and green, star polluted blobs/blue elephant scarf, so I have sure.
My eyes zeroed in towards the back of the girl's neck. She senses my footsteps, or my intense stare, so she picks up her pace, but I see it. In the same baby blue yarn, a bold, cursive "R" peeks out at me. I stop dead in my tracks. She can't possibly be who I think she is, but all the pieces fit.
I can feel a lump forming in my throat and my palms start to sweat.
"Quinn." I hoarsely whisper. She couldn't hear me of course, but I can't have her running away.
"Quinn!" I half yell half squeak out, but my voice is firm.
Finally, the girl stops walking.
A/N: All characters belong to Glee, I do not own anything just writing for fun.
