Title: The Violets of March
Rating: Pretty much all K, possible T in later chapters.
Pairing[s]: On the most part, Fuinn.
Summary: In her twenties, Quinn Fabray was on top of the world; she had a bestselling novel, a husband plucked from the pages of GQ, and a one-way ticket to happy ever after. Nearly a decade later, the tiding has turned on Quinn's good fortune. So when her sister Charlotte invites her to spend the month of March on Bainbridge Island in Washington State, Quinn accepts, longing to be healed by the seas. Researching her next book, Quinn discovers a red velvet diary, dated back to 1943, whose contents reveal startling connections to her own life.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, any of the characters, nor do I own any part of the based-written book, 'The Violets of March'. Basically I'm writing based on the book, 'The Violets of March', but adding my own twists, quirks, and spins to it, plus including the Glee characters.
''I guess this is it, huh?'' Finn Hudson said, leaning out the door of our modern family meets antique looking condo. His eyes darted back and forth from furniture and now empty rooms as if he was almost trying to remember every detail of the New York two-story, the one we had purchased in late 2008. It was quite a sight for only a two-story; entryway with its almost gothic looking arch, the little antique painting we had purchased in Connecticut, and of course, the rich and fullness ways the living room and kitchen walls stood about with its floral painting. We had always been unenthusiastic about the paint color being almost bright firetruck red, so we later on had decided to finally paint it to a light pink and then of course overlay the floral designs amongst it. The red had been jarring and somewhat controlling, just like our marriage, so to speak.
Our eyes connected and met for about half a second before I quickly yet discretely looked down at the book my mother had given me when I was a little girl. Appropriately titled, 'The Secret Garden', it was my go-to book. It had always been secret to me, something I could always bury into my heart. Whenever I was alone on the weekends since Finn had work for extended hours, I'd cradle my cat into a fuzzy and warm content blanket and would fall asleep to the book listening to the rain outside pitter patter outside my window. I swiftly prided down the hallway, quickly unboxing an already taped up box filled with my belongings, pulling out a portrait of our family; the cat, him, me of course, and our two daughters, Lucy and Lucinda.
''Did you take an extra copy of the portrait, Finn?'' I called out discretely burdening it under my winter coat, standing back up to my feet facing the taller man. I had the portrait taken many a years ago in hopes of traveling to every home we purchased, leaving this in the house's memory. Looking back from then to now, I'll never seem to forget the photographer's lusty smile when she had taken that picture. I remember a smell. Oh, it's coming back to me now, I remembered, smiling a bit. The rosy scent of.. lavenders.. filled her room. It was a perfect scenery for the portrait.
Finn watched contently as I handed him the 134 by 204 portrait carefully. When I handed it to him, I let out a sigh of emotional and mental unhappiness. ''Oh, I'm sorry'', he said awkwardly now handing it back to me, almost dropping it which had made me frown furiously at him and he had taken back the awkwardness, now wiping his forehead, ''I didn't realize you-''
He didn't realize a lot of things about me, including my affix to the portrait. I grasped the portrait forcefully, and inhaled deeply, letting it out once again, setting it back down onto the top of the box. ''I guess that's everything'', I said, now standing back up from the box.
He glanced around cautiously almost as if I was a murderer, and I returned his gaze this time, now raising both my eyebrows. For another few hours, at least until I signed the divorce papers late that evening, he'd still be my husband. Even if it was difficult and painful to look into those dark brown eyes knowing that the man I married was leaving me for the girl he fell in love with in high school, Rachel Berry. How did we even get her, I always ponder and probably always will, even after the divorce.
The scene of our demise now reminisced throughout my mind like a sad and disturbingly tragic movie, the way it had just a million times since we'd been apart. It opened on a snowy Friday morning in December. I was making my famous grilled cheese and cabbage soup, Finn's favorite dinnertime/lunchtime meal, when he came home just to tell me about Rachel. The way she made him laugh at everything. The way she made him just as good food. The way she always talked about OUR kids. Our. Kids. I shuddered awfully. It's funny; when I think back to that day, I can still remember the smell of the soup. Had I known that this is what the end of my marriage would smell like, I would have at least made mac and cheese for our kids, at least.
I looked back up to Finn's face again. His eyes were soft and tearful. I knew immediately that if I sprung to my feet and just threw myself at him, he'd embrace me with love and tender care. But, no, I strictly told myself. The damage'd been done. Our fate has been decided. With that, I extended a hand to Finn and shook his hand. My heart may have immediately wanted to linger, but my brain knew better than that. He needed to go. Finn looked wounded, ''Quinn, I-''Wait a second. Was he looking for forgiveness? A second chance? I don't know! Huh, I told myself quietly. ''Good-bye'', I said at last mustering all my strength.
He then nodded quietly back, and turned to the door with his belongings. I closed my eyes tightly and shuddered coldly as he shut the door behind him. He locked it from the outside, a gesture that made my heart seize. He still cares.. I thought. About my safety, at least. I shook my head sadly and reminded myself to get the locks changed, then listened closely as his footsteps became quieter and quieter, until they completely were swallowed up by the taxi cabs and New York city chatter street noise.
My phone rang sometime later that day, and when I stood up to get it, I realized I'd been sitting on the floor engrossed in 'The Secret Garden' once again, ever since Finn left. Had a minute passed? An hour? I wasn't sure. Answering my phone, a bright spiritual voice sounded about through the speaker. ''Are you coming?'' The voice said. It was Audrey, my best friend. ''You promised you wouldn't sign your divorce papers alone!''
Disoriented, I looked sharply at the clock. ''Sorry, Audi'', I said, fumbling for my keys and my bag and then of course the dreaded manila envelope in my bag. I was supposed to meet her at the restaurant half an hour ago. ''I'm on my way'', I said. ''Good'', she replied. ''I'll order you a drink''.
The Calumet, our favorite lunch and dinner sport, was four to five blocks from my condo, and when I arrived ten minutes later after almost getting hit by a car on Pouncy Track Av., Audrey greeted me warmly with a hug. ''Are ya hungry?'' she asked after we sat down. I sighed disapprovingly, ''No''.
Audrey frowned. ''Carbs'', she said, passing me the bread basket. ''You need carbs. Now, where are those papers? Let's get this over with''.
I pulled out the envelope from my bag and set it on the table, staring at it with the sort of caution one might reserve for TNT or dynamite.
''You realize this is all your fault'', Audrey cackled, half smiling.
I gave her a dirty frozen look. ''What do you mean, my fault''.
''You don't marry men named Finn'', she continued with that tsk-tsk in her voice. ''Nobody marries Finns. You date Finns, you let them buy you drinks and pretty things from Tiffany, but you do not marry them'', she huffed.
Audrey was working on her PH.D in social anthropology. In her two years of research, she had analyzed marriage and divorce data in an unconventional way. According to her research, a marriage's success rate can be accurately precided by the man's name.
Marry an Eli and you're likely to enjoy wedded bliss for about 12.3 years. Brad? 6.4. Steves peter out after just four. And as far as Audrey was concerned, don't ever-ever-marry a Preston.
''So what does the data say about Finn again?'' I asked, chewing on an end piece of the basil scented bread.
''Seven point two years'', she said in a matteroffact tone.
I nodded briefly. We had been married for six years and two weeks.
''You need to find yourself a Trent'', she continued.
I made a displeased face, scrunching up my nose. ''I hate the name Trent!''
''OK. Then an Edward or a Bill, or-no, a Bruce''. She said. ''These are names with marital longevity''.
''Right'', I said sarcastically, ''Maybe you could take me husband shopping at a retirement home''.
Audrey is tall and thin and beautiful-Julia Roberts beautiful, with long way dark hair, porcelain skin, and intense dark eyes. At thirty-three she had never ever been married, surprisingly. It was too much to handle for her. Pft, I'd always say about that. Lies. Lies, lies, lies!
''Oh, ha. Oh, goodness. I have something from you! I mean.. for you'', Audrey said, handing me a green laced envelope.
''What?'' I asked, flipping it over. Audrey just tilted her head down, smiling.
I read the envelope.
Quinn,
The island has a way of calling one back when it's time. Come home. I have missed you, dear.
All my love,
Charlotte.
I pressed the postcard to my chest and exhaled deeply, biting my bottom lip.
A/N: :o. My god xD. This was very fun to write and I hope it's not too long! I tried to make it not too long but at the same time I felt needed to at least take it to the letter part at the end. Chapter two won't be as long.
Reviews are always appreciated and welcomed! Thanks! P.S. - chapter two should be up tomorrow or the following day if I get a few reviews (: